I Foreswore Lights in Pursuit of…?

You and whose army?

As if the crooked has risen from its cursed tombstone, lurking in the shadows and blocks all spaces but one spot for a noir contrast. The red wine is served for the opera but we’re not worthy for such a final act.

“You served your country in World War?”

The war hasn’t ended, it just runs in a designated system that stifles mankind in an illusion. We experienced firsthand the preceding amiss of technology and infrastructure, but you are not invited to attend the gala’s.

You are important, but not prominent.

Vengeance is the most costly and dissipating of luxuries.

— Winston Churchill

I remember it, very vividly. The anger that rose my cortisol rapidly, I snapped it out of my system since he told me to bypass conveyance during the event of crotchety. Turn on the ignition, I was going nowhere.

I should have stayed in my room, let it known that your cunnings aren’t worthy of my sanity.

For me to break all ties, in fear of putting my soul in uncertainty. I crave freedom of thoughts without warnings or drawn into the so-called sacred bonds determined by blood ever since birth. I am an individual that owes nothing but my life to my own self.

In your companion should I receive warmth, love, and happiness. In your absence should I feel anxious, scared, and lonely. I am out of words to picture the stage, the lights are too bright I don’t know if you can see me for who I truly am.

For happiness and all the good things in life, or the very selected parts you broadcasted in this vast society. Lure me in, even if I’m pulling myself out.

For you are a nobody watching the final act, and I am the phantom of the opera.