My walls are my fallacies, among the living...to immortal pleasures I extreme.
Sardonic delights, so many I’ve captured. Escaping beauty that would lead to my ruin, a sinister segregation. I cannot live without this denial...and enjoy wholly my indulgences. For it would lead to my indecency, and those whom I’ve embraced corruption.
Guile has always been my necessity, until now, I‘m desperate. When everyone I ever loved is gone...and there’s no one left to hear of my madness. As I’ve lived for centuries, waiting for the same cure of an age, old plague.
This loneliness, my companion, appeals to the naive, and has always...where they yearn for its intrigue. An emotion so perilous, that its mystery is uncontrollable. And this discovery, because it’s not theirs but they’re witness, somehow elevates them above their peers. Then I become to blame for their delinquency. However, I manage to survive its void, inevitably growing to consume me.
Those beauties I never meant to grace, my greatest fears...I become weaker, toward. As the events of my past begin to haunt me. And eternity becomes, momentarily, unbearable.
On crowded streets, where I used to pace, without a thought of whose hand was in mine, it becomes impossible to slake that old thirst. No longer will I, no longer can I thrive this way. This starving, this potent death inside.
And finally I am able to weep, defenseless. And against my walls I lay, left in a holed up torpor. Only to wake, when I no longer see hell in my eyes.
