I wake to the laughter of subordinate hyenas tasked with covert excommunication; Hyenas without teeth ground to the gum on flawed psychology and the task at hand, They’re motivated entirely through the bunk linearity of their purposed plan. The creativity in the employment of isolation grows in equal proportion to my awareness, So too does the desperation in the endeavour to persecute, which is just how I planned this. In my heart of hearts I know it is at the moment I am most defenceless you capitalise. One day you’ll draw short, your comedy will subside and you’ll be suddenly presented with a fight that’s no longer about the hopeful destruction of my life, but the irrecoverable stains upon your legacies, which is a shame really, because when bad things come, they do so in three. Mind if it’s me?.. There was a time I suffered sleepless ruminations and procrastination, Countless acts of corruption by you through my windows without reciprocation. I sat out daily to point towards the bald-faced obvious for a little vindication, But vindication is nowhere to be found, as none are so alone as they who experience the world in a prison nobody can see. Profound! So the absence of vindication is what this is really all about. Your profundity has been dwarfed by boredom and predictability, What a tragedy.. A motley crew of social work, policing, vigilantism and ants of humans needing to see others suffer is sewn together like a composite pillow cover; Stained with shit and piss. A bastardised patchwork of lies that Frankenstein once quipped sounded true enough in a testament to the reality of his outsourced eyes, lay amiss. Fuelled by doctored anecdotes and engineered situational outcomes - the recruitment tools of the types of people that picket funerals are out front. Their melody is the catharsis of seeing a minority suffering while in the blind pursuit of buffering their morale fibre with the exploitation of another persons weakness as sleeplessness sets and your regrets are long since bankrupt. Well done. Sentience favours my reasoning faculties for a brief but memorable moment. A fact presents itself with a conviction - highly potent. Suffering most times leads to apathy, and apathy is fertile ground for a cunning response. It is with this knowledge I’ll play along. I won a trophy for sportsmanship when I was younger; At last! I thought, Praise I can sing to myself in song... I forsake a reputation of being honest for the moment when it matters most. We’re getting real close to the prose that names names, times, places and suddenly overthrows your thrones with inescapable light. Ruin you - like you did me? It just might… Good day to you sir! I lie, Good night.
