I am completely smashed and is awesome. I can't control which accent I use and I'm playing games with my division and we're currently watching movies. Dead Of Winter, Heroes of the Storm BANG!, and StarCraft 2 Risk.
The dead are quiet, as of current.
Aside from my division and a handful of Valucreans, I don't like the living.
Though one has fallen, it was not me
And I would be damned to find death so close.
Though one has fallen, twas the base of the tree
And I have yet to feel morose.
Yet in my heart I feel a hollow,
A victory won yet not yet paid.
And in my body I feel a sickness,
Aebt upon which my wishes are made.
So further from this dream I drift
And wonder if
Perhaps a Myth
Or legend synth
might seek my company.
If only to share in my misery.
For what is misery without company?
A singing hollow victory.
Upon the winds,
Heart planting sins
And leaving the fruit to rot.
I smell the air, just standing there.
Foreign footsteps upon my soil, they trot.
"What do you see? What have you made?"
A tempting question with an answer never bade,
But since there is no crop for which I'm especially proud -- if you ask I would have to say out loud
"The ones I've sewn are for my Mistress. They wither and wilt as they please,
But if you'd wait a while to taste the fruit you'd see they're not as diseased
as you once imagined."
But still you deny the work I supply so I settle quietly back into my earth, irked.
And the voices return with evil ideas that "perhaps it's better community be shirked."
But am I NO BETTER THAN THAT WHICH HAS FALLEN?
A capital-lettered cry continually crackles casting common confusion to those it's not baffled.
I mean, frivolous flirting found footing in fasting from emotional rasping so I rose without fear
But impractically impassioned with fervent love rationed beyond what the past me could reasonably bear,
I had youthfully fashioned an emotional assassin to bludgeon the sanctity of sanity: impair.
And here heralds the half-life of love-life lost lasting without even an asking of mutual care.
Then the Bells of Solitude ring,
though won -- won not fair.
And I gaze upon shadows and ledges and blades.
But soon too
I'll be there.