A year of making a narrative.
A year of hurling the dimension of body to body.
A year of lies.
Second-guessing your feelings,
Denial of faith and future,
by throwing hate and the fallacy of normalcy,
to conclude a "non-judge" statement.
The whole audience vomited,
The wall turned grey,
The door shut itself,
The room wanted to burn;
even the devil is scared of what you've done.
You've created a dungeon for me,
implied I was the evil.
yet only for your escapism,
your surrealism,
your reasons,
for nothing.
Did you find what you've looked for?
Is she your answer to your moan?