I wonder after these versus, versus of attitude, secrets, and mysteries. Such is the droll of wealth and jade; both founders from innocence and poverty. So long have I imagined and thence developed a proper attribution for everything I ve won, for everything I ve done.
The darkness and the light, my confliction and now conviction honor me its balance. One night stalker whom speaks of angels doesn t make him a saint, stresses the critics. Well aware these virtues, I confront but also detest it as my rule of adaptation and is condensed in code here; written I condone on all of my subjects.
Some would say I m reduced in my perpetuity to rabble about sweet nothings to them while they re precious to me; sentimental memories conclusive of my character. No one passes an interest to what was until that mystery has bloomed. Stark becomes the audience now compared to then, as all of us were amateurs to our desire. This makes us rare companions in the light. Strange then comes my transformation that separates us once more. Midnight crawls over their familiar becoming mine once more, breaching our unnatural differences.
Recurrence becomes my flaw as I think in centuries and not years; cursed this laborious task to tell my story as I was once cursed for living it. Flogged over and again by the whip of my nightmare...
*Fear was my silence under my master but not my sire
Stolen his property and left of my womb
Contempt was my sacrilege for his fit command, longing his escape
More that I was lost within his grasp as I was coveted
Token years of my immortality whilst I kept, just for my classic bosom*
As bearer of the lonely shadows of my past I am warded by confession; my gratitude becoming my lost silence. Just one more soul I relinquished to deliver bent for a hungry public. So I filled my tall glass again cheering their blood champagne, listening as their voices screamed of my blood campaign.
