 Late night screams fall on deaf ears, either they just ain't listening or they were never really here to listen anyway. Just to watch, observe, account, and fade back to grey as night descends. But these non-committal ghosts of my past still haunt the places I fear to go, places drenched in long ago events, the stain of choices rendered with no thought to consequence and no avenue for retreat, the light leeched from my eyes, the life drained from my heart. I can't even summon up the energy to whimper any more. Pale sweat and crusted tears, a patina across the surface of this broken colossus, built tall by people long forgotten and left to weather and rot and decay once their empire collapsed, a hint of their once great work long since superseded by the trivial antics of those who came after. And so my mind draws back from those dark places, and I think to myself, am I the one screaming, or am I just the amplifier?