A story of blood, revenge and deception in four acts, four seasons.
act one: the dawn
A day, a
year, a life, an age ago it seems.
While my
heart was still baffling from first hearing the horns of victory being blown
farther and farther in the distance, while I was still starting the
million-piece puzzle, it all happened.
During the
night, a second skyscraper erupted from the soil.
As the sun
walked up, it shadow threw its cape around each corner of me.
The dreams
of the dog nights came all at once true.
Flowers
bloomed in one stomping momentum. It was spring.
act two: the day
Caring,
gentle, passionate affection.
Intense,
sick, tainted love.
As
voraciously as comets, but as subtly as the growth of a flower, the branches
twirled together in one big piece. All the leaves and flowers shared the same
core. The forest became one single tree.
And as
roads were being crossed and the unknown was being mapped, a particular
paradise was hand-made, under the pallid sun of the late winter, particular
spring.
The sunset,
however, eventually comes.
act three: the night
A new season
came, giving chills as the fresh breeze became colder and the weather went
nippy.
Dead leaves
were falling to the ground; with them, the decay of my own very establishments.
About then,
I reached the big metropolis, almost immediately morphing myself into a
cutting-edge glammed up version of me.
It was late
at night. I was walking down the bohemian streets of the city, unapologetically
bumping into faceless strangers and refusing entry to strip clubs. All sorts of
thoughts were running through my mind, in a chaotic storm boosted by the
intense sleepiness.
What is it you spend your entire life building
and that the slightest autumn breeze can make it crumble?
What is this hatred towards odd numbers?
What is this single-lane road I gaze before me?
What am I here for?
What is it all?
The fire
lost focus. It was spread to the lands out of sight.
My thin
embrace could not carry the heavy, bulky load of all the items I picked along
the way.
In the
middle of the tug of war, I was aware of my very fragility, my faults and my
failures.
Me, my ego and my aspirations were heavily violated. I was in pain.
act four: the boy who murdered
love
His cheeky character is fool's gold
He will tell you the story mostly untold
He will make. He will break. He will overtake.
He is the boy who will murder love.
In the
winter, my army failed. The rope was torn.
Felt in the
battleground, their unconscious bodies were slowly covered in frost, forming a
beautiful crystallized whitish field, not even loosely resembling the glories from
the past.
And I -- I
was left on my own, struggling to steer throughout the falling snow, keep myself
warm from the intense coldness, and maintain some of my dignity.
I could see
no further.
I could see
no future.
My
integrity was broken.
Being a
victim of such destiny, I had a revenge to make.
A cup of
coffee, maybe two.
I closed my
eyes and became a statue of salt.
Forgive me.
Feeling
safeguarded by the miles, I was in the sink again, trying and wash off the spider
webs. The ugly face shown in the mirror was no help.
My limited
eyesight will never be able to capture the immensity of it. All them flowers dead, them leaves dry.
In the very corner of my room I wonder again, what is it all?
In the very corner of my room I wonder again, what is it all?
You've dragged this fuckery way too far, young
man, I scolded
myself
I wish I could swallow your pain, I told him in thoughts.
A liar, a
thief, a murderer. A criminal, it is. This bruises me too.
A new dawn
will come.
And I shall
be steering on my own.
xx