And so, once more, the cull of you evil creatures, you bores, you cynics, you tiresome critics of all that the light should never have given you, kind gift or not.
My gift is that of a sheerness, a pure invisibility. Never shall you look upon my words again, upon my soul, my light and sweet laughter, ringing too true for your dull heart to consume with the acquired worthiness of a face beckoning another towards the light of life.
You are undeserving of my recognition, so farewell sweet, nay, sour bores of my aching soul, you shall never be mine and I, of course, could never be yours. Now, or for all eternity and future pain that is most guaranteed to ensue.
The surety of my brutal and visceral murder of the likes of your somber selves is surely the only pure thing you could know, or never know. Your wisdom is weak, shallow as a puddle of sweet tears over a dead lover, lost in the sands and bitter winds of time.
Tonight I dine alone, never shall the likes of myself be touch my your numbing, chilling gaze of frozen attempts at what you perceive self-confidence to be worth. You are worth nothing to my heart, my soul, my skin, my emptied eyes, free from tears now that you, of all the tiresome, tyrannic bores upon this sweet Mother Earth shall touch.
I shall never be yours, for you, yourself shall never be worthy of a look, ever swifter, upon my ever enigmatic face.
My gift is that of a sheerness, a pure invisibility. Never shall you look upon my words again, upon my soul, my light and sweet laughter, ringing too true for your dull heart to consume with the acquired worthiness of a face beckoning another towards the light of life.
You are undeserving of my recognition, so farewell sweet, nay, sour bores of my aching soul, you shall never be mine and I, of course, could never be yours. Now, or for all eternity and future pain that is most guaranteed to ensue.
The surety of my brutal and visceral murder of the likes of your somber selves is surely the only pure thing you could know, or never know. Your wisdom is weak, shallow as a puddle of sweet tears over a dead lover, lost in the sands and bitter winds of time.
Tonight I dine alone, never shall the likes of myself be touch my your numbing, chilling gaze of frozen attempts at what you perceive self-confidence to be worth. You are worth nothing to my heart, my soul, my skin, my emptied eyes, free from tears now that you, of all the tiresome, tyrannic bores upon this sweet Mother Earth shall touch.
I shall never be yours, for you, yourself shall never be worthy of a look, ever swifter, upon my ever enigmatic face.
