The Breadth Of Your Metronome

We play on our little stages, limited only by all that we know we see, 
Varicose knowledge sent us deeply into infinite dependence,
In resemblance of the rooms that we reserve to fill, and the lights that we leave on at night.
All our troubled voices tremble to the same ear,
Vices feed us up and down in to the same fears,
That's when we all but lose our minds inside the sane's times of tears,
And voices deeply echoed through endless chasms, 
Dimly lit by intermittent strobes of light from bones exposed,
Diminish overnight,
Mind your pieces,
Bare the futures in the fragments of your minds betrothed, cast your shadows among their illustrations, wipe their asses young and old, and hold their hands as they learn to walk in circles throughout the stories you've prescribed them to,
And as you fade away they look into your eyes, in question of the time they've spent as mirrors to the legends of your misdirection's, and watch in serotonergic flow,
As your body melts into the fires of its earthen brevity, it crumbles into dust and is inhaled into the breadth of your metronome of ahhh.