Disco at the Panic

The heavens hang heavily on the frail timber frame of my house. A paper prison of sorts, too weak to be broken from.
I find myself a prisoner of the day. It is hard for a ruler to become his kingdoms slave; An embodiment of the all too common \"crappy diem.\"
And my lessons, once treasured as if every textbook were bound of ivory and every letter stamped in gold leaf, have become nothing but so many bowls of oatmeal that I am force-fed.
But my predicament is nothing special, Terra herself has thrown a masquerade ball and everyone\'s invited.
However, hopelessness is (thankfully) reserved for the dramas and the dramatic, and there is a ray of light.
I should say rays, from the disco ball. An abrupt interruption to a melancholy and sophisticated soiree (I\'m not sure Terra knows what to do with it.)
It won\'t prestidigitate the oatmeal into lobster tail, but the music and the lighting makes the flavor, well, bearable.