I am made of flaws, layers of insecurities weaved together with threads of fear, embedded on a weak fragile heart, I am lost in the realm I've created, I am a king of my own imaginary domain, I don't have anybody, but I never needed any companions, I perfectly crafted my territory that no one can reach up to me, no one has the chance of triumphing over me, I am on top, but still I am endeavoring to be more than what I am today, I am fearless, I am the one everyone used to look up to as a role model, I was chosen, I was the one that is supposed to set everyone free, but I struggle with decisions, I can't make up my mind, I cannot trust my clueless empty heart, and my brain is so fucked up it wouldn't stop thinking of every single possible and impossible circumstances, it is an ordeal, a dilemma of its own.
But the life I am living is indubitably deranged, I have lost any means of harmony, it is baffling mystery to everyone that knows me, but somehow, it is a particularly piquant story, an intriguing puzzle, I cannot be solved, ergo I am trapped in a sophisticated web of the lies I keep telling, forsooth I am a sadist, at least that's what I was made to believe, but that is incogitable for me, my ego will always sugarcoat every little flaw I have, it is fancy and demiurgic, and ornamental withal. I cherish the life I am living; I smell of my own musk and darkness, an alluring mix that makes my blood burn, a pulchritudinous paragon, I am comfortable in the unwanted world I have created, it suits me well.
I loathe most the people on sight, I decided to abstain from involving in their world, I yearn for a glimpse of human connection, yet I am so indulged in an inertia, I drove myself into an oblivion, I try to make my way through a gloomy corridor lit by oil lamps, but soon enough I am dispirited, and I manage to subdue an instinct to escape. It is atrocious; surrendering to what you have become, I pump gobs of heroin through my bruised arm, I put on my headphones and promptly I start dancing in a desultory fashion, a futile attempt to make myself feel a little better, to make me feel like a king again.
Irresponsible actions have garrisoned my kingdom, a vain effort I do every day in an attempt to equilibrate the unsteadiness I am imprisoned in, sometimes I can hear my bones straining from the weight of all the lives that I did not live. And for once, I am afraid; I will never achieve the status I desired, I say that as I have another shot of Absinthe; The ambrosia that is constantly pushing me into different levels of amnesia, a constant urge to keep going into divergent measures of delirium, an unmatched aeipathy.
My life is going to end and so will yours, I will be looking for the Elysium within the labyrinth of my hallucinations, I sing myself another lullaby as I lie on the cold marble floor gazing into the crystal chandelier above me, the clear crystal slowly turns into an obsidian that creates a perfect replica of the golden chandelier, I am an aesthete living in an aphotic place, the sole method of speaking I know is breviloquence as I am too tired of trying to illustrate what I am going through to everyone else, I am innocent, at least that is what I try to constantly believe, I tend to regularly wear an immaculate white suit to contrast the darkness inside me, I have a small spot in front of my home that is solely planted with vivid incarnadine roses that I perfectly aligned in a mesmerizing constellation, I capture a few crimson petals every week to fit perfectly in the margin of my notebook, a memento in a miscellany I have collected.
I am in constant search for a state of tranquility, it feels like all the happiness I can have is transient, a brief glimpse of hope making its way through my vacuity, the other day I bought a turquoise rug to match with the white velvety texture of the sofa I am lying on, I sit down and I roll another cigarette and I exhale clouds of grey smoke to match the grey zone I am living in; A continuous battle for my sanity, I walk over to an old dusty wooden turntable that I have forgotten that I had, I look through a tall column of stacked vinyl records for vast artists from the last millennium, I used to indulge in these smoothly orchestrated pieces of art, I place a Pink Floyd record on the platter and turn the switch on, as the old worn-out motor driving the platter starts to engage, I dance ecstatically in an evanescent state of euphoria, with trembling steps and a cigarette in hand I walk towards the veranda, I rest the soles of my guilt-stained hands on the rusty rails that surround the veranda neatly, I take a look at the fuliginous sky around me, the crumbled golden maple tree leaves as they slowly fall into the wet muddy ground, I have always found comfort in Autumn; its resplendent colors always managed to lighten up my soul.
A zephyr of wind conveys coldness to my bruised weak chest, I shiver briskly, I make my way swerving back inside, I consume another bottle of intoxicating drink as I try to soothe myself from the persistent agony I am in, I scream tumultuously, I know I am stuck in a loop, a lonely miserable world that I chose to build deliberately with my own helpless hands, an imaginary domain which I made myself a king on, it has one exit, a long corridor lit by oil lamps leading to an asylum, I smile carelessly and close those sleep deprived eyes as I lie restfully on the dusty burnt brown parquet.
But the life I am living is indubitably deranged, I have lost any means of harmony, it is baffling mystery to everyone that knows me, but somehow, it is a particularly piquant story, an intriguing puzzle, I cannot be solved, ergo I am trapped in a sophisticated web of the lies I keep telling, forsooth I am a sadist, at least that's what I was made to believe, but that is incogitable for me, my ego will always sugarcoat every little flaw I have, it is fancy and demiurgic, and ornamental withal. I cherish the life I am living; I smell of my own musk and darkness, an alluring mix that makes my blood burn, a pulchritudinous paragon, I am comfortable in the unwanted world I have created, it suits me well.
I loathe most the people on sight, I decided to abstain from involving in their world, I yearn for a glimpse of human connection, yet I am so indulged in an inertia, I drove myself into an oblivion, I try to make my way through a gloomy corridor lit by oil lamps, but soon enough I am dispirited, and I manage to subdue an instinct to escape. It is atrocious; surrendering to what you have become, I pump gobs of heroin through my bruised arm, I put on my headphones and promptly I start dancing in a desultory fashion, a futile attempt to make myself feel a little better, to make me feel like a king again.
Irresponsible actions have garrisoned my kingdom, a vain effort I do every day in an attempt to equilibrate the unsteadiness I am imprisoned in, sometimes I can hear my bones straining from the weight of all the lives that I did not live. And for once, I am afraid; I will never achieve the status I desired, I say that as I have another shot of Absinthe; The ambrosia that is constantly pushing me into different levels of amnesia, a constant urge to keep going into divergent measures of delirium, an unmatched aeipathy.
My life is going to end and so will yours, I will be looking for the Elysium within the labyrinth of my hallucinations, I sing myself another lullaby as I lie on the cold marble floor gazing into the crystal chandelier above me, the clear crystal slowly turns into an obsidian that creates a perfect replica of the golden chandelier, I am an aesthete living in an aphotic place, the sole method of speaking I know is breviloquence as I am too tired of trying to illustrate what I am going through to everyone else, I am innocent, at least that is what I try to constantly believe, I tend to regularly wear an immaculate white suit to contrast the darkness inside me, I have a small spot in front of my home that is solely planted with vivid incarnadine roses that I perfectly aligned in a mesmerizing constellation, I capture a few crimson petals every week to fit perfectly in the margin of my notebook, a memento in a miscellany I have collected.
I am in constant search for a state of tranquility, it feels like all the happiness I can have is transient, a brief glimpse of hope making its way through my vacuity, the other day I bought a turquoise rug to match with the white velvety texture of the sofa I am lying on, I sit down and I roll another cigarette and I exhale clouds of grey smoke to match the grey zone I am living in; A continuous battle for my sanity, I walk over to an old dusty wooden turntable that I have forgotten that I had, I look through a tall column of stacked vinyl records for vast artists from the last millennium, I used to indulge in these smoothly orchestrated pieces of art, I place a Pink Floyd record on the platter and turn the switch on, as the old worn-out motor driving the platter starts to engage, I dance ecstatically in an evanescent state of euphoria, with trembling steps and a cigarette in hand I walk towards the veranda, I rest the soles of my guilt-stained hands on the rusty rails that surround the veranda neatly, I take a look at the fuliginous sky around me, the crumbled golden maple tree leaves as they slowly fall into the wet muddy ground, I have always found comfort in Autumn; its resplendent colors always managed to lighten up my soul.
A zephyr of wind conveys coldness to my bruised weak chest, I shiver briskly, I make my way swerving back inside, I consume another bottle of intoxicating drink as I try to soothe myself from the persistent agony I am in, I scream tumultuously, I know I am stuck in a loop, a lonely miserable world that I chose to build deliberately with my own helpless hands, an imaginary domain which I made myself a king on, it has one exit, a long corridor lit by oil lamps leading to an asylum, I smile carelessly and close those sleep deprived eyes as I lie restfully on the dusty burnt brown parquet.
