The conceded notions made by a life filled with disappointments. Distorted and twisted to fit morals and misconceptions charging with only one aim.the aim to to protect and safeguard the selfish episodes created by my well being.they go as far as to claim all vices failures and all virtues non existent. The mere probability of a possibility is reduced to nought.creating ignorance of an arrogant nature.where pessimism meets his dying brother in arms,realism.with a swift declaration it swings despair deeper in to the chest of the relentless. Using guilt and remorse as tools to subdue weak sentiment. Until comfort,pleasure and fanciful fantasy supersede nostalgia and diminish in to melancholy.
Hungry for the pleasures and passions of others
Hungry as a grand poet who writes not the life he leads
Hungry for borrowed sins and missed adoration
I solemnly swear that I am poor.poor in the way I can afford nothing but self denial. I give payment of my dues with the remorseless suffering guilt of conscious degradation. Why,my only comfort is the discovery of pleasure in all things which leave me unsatisfied.
Am a pitiful creature?
Why, yes I am
Do you know why?
I’ll tell you why
Because I am human
The human being is a liar. All this fuss over sincerity and honesty is but a charade of willful thinking. Why,at his very core he succumbs not of truth but of passions and dreams he wills defeated in to apparition. He is the vulgar,the common and the ignorant. He is afraid of exquisite temptations like the intellectual fears thought. As much as he may quiver trembling in cowardice he submits to it willfully,almost with mad glee. To this,our very essence our lost ideals and false aims we have no escape,no refuge and no salvation.until by a stroke of luck you are taken.snatched unbeknownst. A mercy merciless while you beg for time.time you’ve lied through and time you’ve thought less of.
Winter breezes breathing windy
On faces solemn,soulful yet flimsy
Grown from wear,masked but not rare
Was his face,if a face was to share
Quivering in stark madness he clenched his fist in a motion slow as the sonder realisation of self irrelevance. His eyes bore rings of fire into souls he despised. Dissapionted and in trembling control he went to somewhere.wherever his comfort in The usual was to be sought