Death of thousand cuts, pain deeper than the fresh wounds
Scars like
medals of honor grace the body.
Is this
the famous warrior or a wretch cursed by someone powerful?
Is this
the promised saviour or the plague surfacing from the misery within?
…
Life like
an ancient fairytale I relive every day -
Pages filled
with pretentious heroism as if the world is only black and white;
Misunderstood
villain with the best case ever plead losing sympathy just because.
And in
this fantasy utopia I try to stay alert for all the misalignment
Shiny does
not mean better – the brighter the colour more poisonous the creature.
Pointless
cheers burden the throat yet the truthful whispers cost the tongue.
And here
I stand engulfed by countless thoughts if these applauses are for victory to
see it clear
Or
another spectacle witnessing my inevitable fall.
Every smile
feels insanely fake as if I am the brainless princess from the castle above,
Every act
of kindness looks like calculated move.
Is the
clear thought a sign of golden crown or finely forged shackles leaving invisible
prints on the body?
Every
face I’ve met I marked it mentally with the signs of the betrayal,
Loyalty
is the impossible currency that everyone claims to posses yet the pouch is
empty.
High
demand yet hard to find.
This fairytale
command for strong hero, yet no one really wants to pay the enormous cost.
Villains
born out of necessity for opposition – who is the secret puppet master?
Every war
I win feels like a compromise; every feast tastes like ash and dirt.
What if
the world is dividing us into saints and monsters from an early age,
What if
feel I am both yet neither feels close to my nature within?
What if
the bright weather is just another mirage – poisonous air inhaled in every step
I make?
What if I
know I am going insane and yet I bravely chose this path?
What if
the day is just a wishful thinking when I am prisoner in the darkest dungeon
And my
eyes forgot the feel of sun rays?
What if
this fantasy world is just my way to stay sane in a world extremely unhinged
and deranged?
…
I close
my eyes, tired I have decided to leave this story unfinished
Leaving the
imagination to run wild as we all know the truth is not universal
Everyone
has its own version like cover of a famous song.
And if I
am fictional, I don’t need to find a bard to make a tune for me.
I prefer
to stay a silent whisper on the lips of someone unknown.
A hero
or a villain – I am unsure if I was ever real at all.
