The Watcher کے بول

I am part of the gate. cold hard rusted keeping the prisoner inside. I am just an outline... disease starting down so deep eating its way out. this is where it begins (secret captive sin) in a single rod of the iron gate rusted and no longer serving its purpose I curve my posture, veil the reflections of comprehension in eyes and breathe... and watch them participate in the movement of the play while I am welded into the gate to watch them marching onward... I am just an outline... travel onward through crevice of shallow space catch a breath crawl onward travel onward through crevice of shallow space catch a breath crawl onward searing in this I die, in the openness of wound... I am part of the gate. I am cold, I am rusted. I am the prisoner inside.