For I am a child who is playing all by himself under a grey blue curtain of a certain becoming afternoon, dwelling on his own fantasy in the face of all apathy
I cannot imagine how he would grow up inside this whole other head in another universe whereas yours truly he died yet again for another day in reality enveloped
Feet, for this feat of courage to keep on hurting his already broken heart by the world that once welcomed him, now let him be like some unpopular piece of furniture!
Oh such poison I'd be writing again for as these words now they'd take me, I can never aloud be much saying that this is I on a wild and sombre fancy free outing from the past
For this summer's silent agony of within for without here I am so walking aimlessly in the sun waiting for another sensation to come
Or lest one could forget that it is here that this boy split apart to become a pair, of each they'd live in different worlds and destined never to meet
And this might be the next sad story of ages if only the author lives long enough to even begin the telling, forever he's bound for essential anathema from evils untold
Then swing low now, my friends, for only I am the one who exists among us all, for the rest are but figments of loneliness carved into reveries
That neither ghosts nor creatures of the night be they dare to commit to light this fear of the unknown, for a loathing that would kill even the ugliest of truths, this much is true
And dour was the lightning that struck in the midnight hour of this attic where humanity forgot, my childhood oedema untreated till festered to be a man so hateful of society
And remarkable it is to know that all these while I would only tread the dark and light so clear and smooth like a funeral on whitest snow, lest condemning be my fantasies till never will they find, where I've lost it all...
Good Night.
THE SIGN OF SHAIRO
KL
2013
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