Imgormiel
Part of the furniture
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
- Messages
- 4,372
And the faces become one
See the blatancy, acceptance and jeer.
The mirth of the people.
I cannot find.
The scenes of self-infectious despair.
Look at ‘I’, and see them all in my hollow eyes.
The pictures in my pupils, here on show to all.
The worth of worthlessness.
The excitement of joy.
I manipulate you.
Like the playthings of boys.
I do not see those things the way that you see them.
This demesne.
All this is mine to take and give.
I am the one to strike you down as I endure your lives, work, hardship, pain, joy, prick, wanker, **** and fucker.
Seeing you all fucking yourselves over – one way or another.
Not a care that identifies among your seventh Dante hell.
Damnation whispers faster than blogs on an internet of controlled news gossip.
The self-obsession that the ’I’ is, so fulla shit that the truth is now a lie.
With your own fornication, I tell you my guise.
Acquiescence.
Yet in observation, I make no apology if I falter in error.
To my own surprise, I surrendered in an effort to alter.
Pin a face to my head so mine becomes just like yours.
Just so, I can make every effort to disfigure a truth.
I will be your mirror. Just so you can fuck things up more and more over.
See the answers you do not seek in every way to not, make you things clearer.
Perplexed you still look at me and wonder why I say.
You prick. Wanker, **** and fucker.
See the blatancy, acceptance and jeer.
The mirth of the people.
I cannot find.
The scenes of self-infectious despair.
Look at ‘I’, and see them all in my hollow eyes.
The pictures in my pupils, here on show to all.
The worth of worthlessness.
The excitement of joy.
I manipulate you.
Like the playthings of boys.
I do not see those things the way that you see them.
This demesne.
All this is mine to take and give.
I am the one to strike you down as I endure your lives, work, hardship, pain, joy, prick, wanker, **** and fucker.
Seeing you all fucking yourselves over – one way or another.
Not a care that identifies among your seventh Dante hell.
Damnation whispers faster than blogs on an internet of controlled news gossip.
The self-obsession that the ’I’ is, so fulla shit that the truth is now a lie.
With your own fornication, I tell you my guise.
Acquiescence.
Yet in observation, I make no apology if I falter in error.
To my own surprise, I surrendered in an effort to alter.
Pin a face to my head so mine becomes just like yours.
Just so, I can make every effort to disfigure a truth.
I will be your mirror. Just so you can fuck things up more and more over.
See the answers you do not seek in every way to not, make you things clearer.
Perplexed you still look at me and wonder why I say.
You prick. Wanker, **** and fucker.