The Flaky Derelict

Of masks, monsters and demons caged in my head.

In his head, he wishes he was dead

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Between two evils

one wearing good as a mask

and one declaring darkness,

he lies, insane

he tries, in vain

for he had flames for eyes

and demons in his head,

he wishes he was dead,

rotting in the ground beneath

like a sword

that never left its sheath,

eternal,

immobile,

dead.

He was never ahead,

his mask lived instead

in the lands of the wicked

and the living undead,

he was a saint that sinned,

he was a beast that grinned,

he left no stone unturned,

now he is spewing

about love, lust and the suffering,

about demons, angels and the healing,

with feeble spirit,

aching and timid,

and all is lost,

all is dead,

save the humans instead

and all hail the red he bled,

he bled for brethren unborn,

he bled for future torn,

he bled with disdain and scorn,

for he was comfortable not caring,

he was at ease not giving,

he wishes he was dead,

at his maker instead,

telling stories

of saints and sinners,

of lovers and lechers,

of the birth and the undoing,

of what once was

and no longer is,

he wishes he was dead.

Such a shame,

no one is to blame

for such mortal wish,

of the big fish

in the little pond,

ruling as a God,

among minions,

that never worshiped,

let alone faked praying.

He wishes he was dead,

in the comfort of his bed,

with no one to mourn,

and no one to remember,

for the reason behind his wish

is to be forgiven,

or to forget

that he’s already

dead.

Yours insanely,

Zeus

Image

Christian Bale American Psycho by Lord Iluvatar

Author: Zeus

I am the grey area, everything by choice and nothingness by choice, wherein everything is possible as it is improbable.

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