This room is seemingly filled with everything he might need
Aside from that a relative willingness to breathe – enough but never too much
So highly strung and in more ways than just the one, incredibly falling right out of touch
No-one dare broach the all too heady subject as yet
He will play his strings amidst mid-morning injections which only ever bring with them a certain degree of everlasting hope
One boned out guitar aside that of an equally empty man – one gets to eerily strum whilst the other listens as best it can, mutter these precarious, utterly hapless words
At everyone and no-one – three cognitively created, not to mention incredibly mind-boggling ghosts
Absurd from the outside looking in, even more so disdained from the inside trying desperately as you might to peer right the whole way out
Petrified entirely by all of nothing

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