Descended into this world, a blank canvas of potentials. Guided with unravelling stark, a commanding cosmos of aspirations. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Dreaming unimaginable outcomes for this cycle with High Hopes for the voyage, picturing its supreme alluring culmination, with nothing but a locked-away set of instructions as the compass that you have previously encrypted, to remind of why you came. A dearest memo that you vouched to never forget, nor ignore despite all the hardships you were warned you’d endure. A map buried within, one you knew from the start, that this existence would maul its way in to mutilate, along with the surrounding coding of your soul. The chart you knew glinted brighter than gold. The plan you designed to be your guiding light. The dazzling Philosopher’s Stone carried within. The supremacy that all others that have by now fallen, bred talons and creature-toughen coatings would diabolically track to steal. Their means weren’t important but you rather not fight it off, instead accepted it as the standard. It didn’t take long until the first encounters with the poisons of this realm. All the beaten down models that once have recognised one another, now fighting the wrong battles, consoling the same errors that render them captive. It wasn’t long after you arrived to play this game they call life, that others enthralled you to stay stuck, deep in the same quicksand pits they couldn’t escape themselves from, once upon a time. You grew weary in your sanity to keep your promise. There were no cyphers that revealed your legacy to be real. There were no signposts to lead you down the right path, it seemed, and if there were, its superb light was constantly obscured by the warning qualms of those meant to guide you. You have grown bitter for all the wrong doings, you have grown indifferent and numb in your quest to be allowed. What you have forgotten was to grow wise. Wiser of your own truth. And you misplaced Loyalty. Gradually they tell you that nobody needs your smartass wits, you are told to shut up and never meddle. You grow into a false sense of insignificance. Not because you don’t matter, but because those that have drifted don’t want to drown alone. You learn not to be seen, your voice vanishes in the gloom too. You have absorbed your surroundings unrestrained, taking in the good and the bad, hazily and unaware. You have two choices at the bifid road, you either give in and give up, hand over your innate properties, becoming the background of your own Masterpiece. Casting yourself to play the extra on your very own Stage. Or you summon the courage in an unbelievable act of insane vulnerability to sort out through the time-encrusted lacerations in the mess of your inner territory and claim your Victory.