Paranoia

Losing control but it's my own fault,
How could I allow my emotional blockades to dissolve?
A perilous weather has doomed on my soul,
The madness inside me has began to unfold,

Inquisitive questions are met with deceit,
Sick, senseless strangers are exiled to my street,
The paranoia is welling, they don't care at all,
They're just waiting for the performance of insanity to parade and fall,

The crusades of negativity battle in the deep,
The opposing personalities brutally defeat,
The increasing fear and apathy have dominated control,
I'm clinging onto the weak, last feeble strands of hope,

As all this pain and suffering escapes from inside,
Applause and cries of laughter are heard amplified,
Dismissive ignorance illustrated by no meaning,
A way of escaping, no need to upheave it,

Entwined in the beauty and the lunacy of it all,
I find it hard to concentrate, to establish my own throne,
Is my imagination simply warped or stone dead?
Or is this really happening and it's not just in my head?

The platoons of creativity are surrending at their peek,
The feeling of content happiness is on a retreat,
The decreasing motivated sanity has omitted its role,
I'm clinging onto the weak, last feeble strands of hope,

For any man can flail his arms and admit indefensible defeat,
A self-righetous decision for a human to believe,
For if no-one can understand the true darkness of my soul,
Then all that's really left is to completely lose control.

All feeling of morality is utterly extinguished,
I have no values to hold on to and no aspirations to appease with,
A broken shell of hopelessness is what I have become,
A mirage of broken promises is all that's left to lunge,

A stark, merciless battlefield full of mutilated feelings,
A distorted sense of consciousness, no meaning to believe in,
As hope remians intact behind its withering defence,
An attack of fear and hatred begins to commence,

As the crusades of negativity destroy the platoons of creativity,
Hope begins to realise the unavoidable captivity,
Fueled by the incentive of unimaginable fear,
Hope puts a gun firmly to its ear,

A noble deed or an act of desperation?
Hope denied it's source from further respiration.