My ability to write is both a cruse and a blessing.
Some wouldn't agree but even I do not agree with my own.
I have realised not long ago that I am starting to become like those who'd fight for the throne
Those I mocked..
My yearn for pride and knowledge is far too powerful

It seems that I have lied , perhaps I just never really knew
I am dead and missed my own funeral.
I can't recall when was it last that I breathe
I have missed my death

I shall not lie ,it isn't very clear in my head
Rather blurry albeit I seem to love it
Or do I ? I find peace in longing and keeping to myself


I want to stay put and quiet for a while but
But how can I stay silent when my head is flowing with words?
Can you blame me after all
This world does not pity , rather you'd fight or not
You'll still be covered in dirt either way.

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