STUCK

Gravity is grave and grave is gravity and time is the drug that unchains reality

Freedom eludes those who conform to the masses for mass is designed to confine and collapse us

Crutching through life is the best way to go when life cannot stomach any paths but its own

She takes your arm wherever you roam and freedom is to you as skin is to a bone

Clutching at straws which have been dipped in poison no wonder that irony is so naturally borne

Your wings must be clipped if you are to be or else how would you tell your self from him or me

The mass is designed to allow just enough color in order to paint that which will never asunder

Particles particles dance with each other twisting and turning to the tune of their mother

Their mother is old but she has not lost her voice for she will always remain our one and only choice