I do my best for the world when it does little for me. Who can I turn to when my own mind can't see? Heavy with burden solid with guilt. Demons tear down the walls I have built. I could be tragic a tragic hero at best. But who will come when I lay down to rest? There are no believers in ways anymore. I am alone, outnumbered; there is only war. I don't know why these things come to mind. But for somebody else they are a story to find.