The Frame Ceiling

our pen slits through the dark fabric of space skeletal forms of the night, we soar, hidden from sight thin skin connected like liquid drops of steel covet each meter of our limb as we scheme and we decline. but what is this! a road turns upside down and buildings drop into death turns out, it caused quite the unrest, a need for the unseen frame yielded a search for the slit of our pen ruin was never the worse, only the friend, the fire, the spark, a bulldozer that broke down the vault only to reveal the grand absurdity of it all-- the vault was never hammered in place, there never was a vault to begin with only utter devotion to a nonexistant reality created from the mind wake up - draw.