This pain is not what causes strain for I never feign the rain expunged from the clouds in my eyes. It is the fear see that keeps be dreary and weary and yet awake through the enchantments of soft, perfect slumber. Nightmares trample my dreams, gouging through my waking thoughts, turning karma to poison, luck to pain, raining fire upon hours of work before my very eyes. And through it all, you only see a glimmer of thought in an otherwise perfectly sound shell. As an artist, I know that a good paintjob can cover the damages and weak points of any structure. But as a structure, you only hear that I am seventeen stories of titanium, as the shining wood splinters at every point.