The Existence of One

Indulge ones self completely,
Devote yourself to darkness,
Now I’ve chosen my fate to be broken.

Changing reality, into a fantasy,
Clouds of angels are here now,
Begging for the mace of destruction.

Crimson chimes sound in the distance,
Must this valley be so vast?
It makes the mirrors collapse.

So the waking of the morning sun,
Has not even begun,
Like the spiteful fist of your son.

Shattered and discarded,
Replaced by the better and new,
Tomorrow’s existence is futile.

Ian Robert Potapoff