Choreography of grayness

My mind is dancing a choreography of grayness.
Repeating history.
Twisting it.
Scattering the pieces of fantasy on the cradle.
Disturbing the usual.
Playing with pain I've always felt.
Is this some kind of control?
Reality is a burden I wouldn't let in.
Of my mind blindness I wouldn't bind
With string of daily life pacing on it.
My mind is not bathing in the blood of feelings,
I can't smell the alcohol made of consequences.
I don't have an urge to leave this darkness,
It makes some kind of pleasure.
But what if I'm just someone's puppet?
And someone's controlling me instead of me controlling myself this way?
I don't believe so.
I'm sucking the poison from my own veins,
Creating my own and letting it flow again.
I can barely remember the pain.
It's still here, just in a different way.
It's all in your mind,
You just have to learn how to use it.
Feeling like a goddess.
Breaking the chains of past.
Creating the unreal.