It's a mix of this and that.
It's a potful of drama.
I hold all grudges and grudgingly I remain. I resign and accordingly I sink.
I refuse and thoroughly I collapse. I condenm and vitriolically I fade.
We all can tell the tale of the boy who slowly but surely succumbed to death, for his demise was certain, more and more so than any of us, for we all head to the same grounds. But some go faster, alas, enforced.
And though all efforts could be made time and again, in order to assure the hands grasp you long enough, strong enough. So you feel your breath vanish, as reality subdues your senses and seldomly you'd be thinking it could just be done already. That would miss the point. And miss it by a long shot. For dread and awe, as amazing as they be, cannot vanquish what we found.
And hence, I beg your ears for another round.
As no men of art, nor culture by any means, we insist on this dwelling. As harbingers of fortunes long reversed, and grimaces so twisted it sounds like chuckles. Our most preposterous mighty endeavor, toward an end to advocate. But not an end that enhances circles, cycles eternally interlooped, the egregious fate of all existence. It is us who seek the devil? Or is it him that calls beneath?
You see, all these doubles separated. United far away. At extremes so abrogative. Is it the light that needs the darkness? Or is it the darkness that cannot see?
I for long have been hiking, and climbing and diving if you let me. At times reckless and self-denying. Cruel, far and between. Oh, don't look to the horizon, it's you the world I see. For seeking I've been, on and on, these eyes born on thee. And though perils warned they have, you had to come to see. So, won't you please, please my darling, just give that soul to me?
