I have been
with many days in my past
a story untold,
a winter day overcast.

but never have I been
as you have made me
as I have felt
as you have seen me be

Inside this shell
there may be nothing,
but the nothing echoes
and I am something

I must be something, if not bright and new
then at least an old and rusted mechanism
so often unoiled in useless atrophy
an unimportant self worthy euphorism.

So where do I follow this path from the river?
can I turn away
here at the end of all that's been done?
I want to stay.

nothing can drain me, I'm already gone.
Don't try to save me, as you might have once done.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Khepary, in the year 122 MA.