None other than the shadows in a dimly lit room,
Voices echo within our minds, their bodies unimbued,
We struggle against the colors that permeate our flesh,
Forcing our eyes to adjust to the never ending darkness,
We hold on to memories that vaguely resemble home,
But in our recollection of times come to pass, we dispose of those lesser known
Wondering aloud when the other voices have been disproved,
Who is it that's left, or do we have the power to choose?