"He, she, you, me, I -
Brittle pronouns
simply confine.
Shall I? May we...? Can I?
Questions surmount...
No remedy found.
Live life,
Don't be just alive;
Another soul
That simply strives.
Be the one that did it all
Gave it all -"
And so I flew.
Soared high.
Storms blew -
Winters passed me by.
Illusions held up by the sky...
Nothing - a delusion, I've realised.
Teetering on the edge,
Of a poorly held ledge.
When these rocks will tumble,
They'll drown and they'll crumble
- into nothingness.
This cornucopia of pleasures,
So firmly held, in the recesses
Of your mind -
Are constructs of the Devil.
No horns and pitchforks,
Just self-imposed spectres.
He, she, you, me, I...
These are to identify
Brittle as they may be
Without them, what are we?
Alas! Tis' a pity.
Questions will forever plague the mind,
To oppose this,
Is human nature denied.
I am not just alive,
I am pulsing, I survive.
It's a cutthroat world,
Cliches are deadly poison.
So let me be as I am,
My vitriolic, undead person.
