Secret Society

you figure it out

Secret Society

Strip vanity from the scene,

feeling the flow of chemicals.

The night never seems to end.

Abusing the limit to always live,

pouring another drink as my soul melts away.

Flashing lights drip down our desperate frames,

and our pretty little faces are the epitome of desire.

It is this tangible feeling all around,

that fuels this vessel straight into the abyss.

Rules and confinement cease to confine you to the rules.

Logistics and order redefine to suit disordered theology.

A fractured lie.

Faded,

in the essence of want.

The game I play to drain the bitterness still left beating.

Everything becomes at peace,

and yet the soul drowns from lack of conviction.

Lost definement through shallow pursuit.

To say that every rose has it's thorn,

only appears as cliche as to what I have become.

A dramatic attempt,

to create art through the ties that bind this life.

Ignoring the blind consequence that passions brings,

leaving a hole not only between the truth and lies,

but the pursuit of greater faith.

Age, the fear of my lovers,

a lost thought farther away than our own sense of care,

never seeing past the last night of our lives.

Everyday we are born only to die again.

A spectacle only for the outside,

as the punishment for playing god tears us apart.

The moment only laughs at our illusion of control.

Waking up in the divide,

I can almost hear the laughter.

Splitting of the soul between who we are,

and what we're meant to be.

A story based on fiction.

As real as the life in front of you,

skipping the dialogue for the interesting parts.

Change is an impossibility.

Fading to sleep only to wake up years later,

as the memory loses distinguish of previous days.

Death has no meaning.

Using it's lack of form to manipulate much worse.

Senses dull.

Bright auras have consumed my sight.

Bass has battled my ears.

Beauty has become more distorted than gravity.

Pleasure is derived from others pain.

Every kiss is as numb as the last,

yet the taste whispers of so much more.

We stop to drink in honor of our evolution,

dying the right way.

A way to which pleasure and pain coincide,

so powerfully,

that dysphoria is mistaken as an image to perfection.

The sun will come up to rise,

shadows consuming all that is left behind.

I awake with only a mere reflection of who I am,

covered by the limbs of another.

A corpse next to me only furthers the bitter cold,

the chill of being so utterly alone.

The glimmer of light through the windows,

only helps to bring definition to my horrific imperfection.

Yet to admire such vility,

only adds to my progression.

An attempt to find love,

in everything that will push it away.

-Hollywood