He clutched his blatant disregard under the guise of a spotless record. All the while, refusal gripped it's cold hand around the throat of acknowledgement.
His innocence held captive by defiance, history bears witness, silently, to a decline as days became nights.
Trailing into a collection of years.
His seedlings are then propelled forward tangled in motion below each inherent stage of circumstance.
Each encoded within a programs obscure necessity.
And he denies the strength of his light even as it calls into the recesses of his mind, in hope of reminding fear that it is truth. Held in the memory of pain, distorted by time, abandoned but sheltered behind bars inside.
His instinct knotted, feverishly waiting for the blowback.
It does not come.
He crawls back into the suspended confusion,
The stage of manufactured illusion.