“My mind is a sanctuary full of thorns
Where from the heart sprouts as a timeless rose;
O’ the beauty of this wicked distraction!
Not yet curdled to the dire taste of shame
Or the airless conscience of Hecated time
Following exteriors of contraction;
*sniffs up*
These stars are prophecies of my madness,
Fiery eyes reflecting the Sun as blackness;
Space is the projection of my desire,
Each convulsing spec picks out my soul
Transforming the guilt only I can own,
Leaving me alone to a love I transpire;
And who, which God abandoned me here,
Which faceless instance left me forever faithless?
Nothing, truly nothing, can budge this emptiness,
The comedy always chased by something near,
The tail circling it’s own vastness
Chasing the parallel of no circumference.”
*Stares at his reflection*
What grudge do I hold from the pitiless tomb
That renders my adoration of beauty
And drains me normal beyond belief?
It seems, as is the essence of facts,
That reminiscence is the result of something missed —
The parody we interlock ourselves to
Is the constancy we can barely see through,
Forging a reason to care… and what do I?
What do i care? I sacrifice only boredom,
I retrieve only what I give, underlining
The wish to find a God that surprises,
Starving the nourishment of a furnace
The destroys as it grows ever less and less.
Arosa: The gift you ordered for Ms.Truo has —-
Are you Okay?
No.. I have lost something.
But, I do not want to be sure of it.
What is it?
The grey board I found at sixteen,
The chalk I can now barely touch!
The grave I hoard from sixteen
The corpse encompassing touch!
Do you understand or do you hear?
Well, I believe I understand what I hear
Are you sure you don’t hear what you understand?
I am sure, my lord.
A thousand avenues of blood stain the wind,
A race enslaves itself to it’s own hatred,
An eternity exposes only potential,
An essence contains never as itself,
And I, And I… prefer to watch myself die
In the festivals of lonely madness.
What bothers you about it?
Why, why ask that?!
Everybody asks that!
They place a hope in God
Because fear paralyses them to idleness;
God can be anything
And that’s why his being
Is a certainty!
Ah! Nothing is certain!
The home of motion!
But they don’t feel themselves
As a piece of God —
Whether in science, philosophy
Or anything they become
And proclaim their essence!
But how does one become?
If you gave me an answer,
As something else,
I would most certainly
Question your composition of how.
Now, I don’t believe I understan—
Now, or forever
I know
You’ve been waiting to show
You understand,
How else could you hear?
You know, I know you know
Otherwise, I could not know..
Especially you, especially you at all!
Honestly, I am not —
Leave, think of what I say
And not how you responded!
There is magic in all eyes,
You just need to know
How to look…
Okay I —
Leave! Leave!
Run to the sun!
Run, I say!
Don’t come back
Until you’re lost!
*nods his head*
Go! Go! Run!…
Keep going,
Make sure there’s room
In the inn!
*Hysterical laughter*
O’ what a time… —
How perfect it is
To be confused as a child.
To be ideally diseased
Without knowing anything at all,
To never erect yourself
As something different from darkness.
*Faces mirror, pulls out sword*
And what about you?
What now, I say!
How, how did you find your self there?
Why did you ever look at a—-
No! You will not, don’t you see
The divinity of everything!
Nature, the void of love!