It feels like I’ve spent eternity

searching for falseness in the melody

that for all its purposes is a remedy

from gluttony that consumed my mind

cursing me to be “the one of a kind”

literally.

The whines from “normals”, cries for help

loneliness are consuming them,

solitude healing. The singular soul’s reeling

bewildered but the ungrateful welp

who hasn’t got a slightest idea …

mutiny.

The sweetest taste of exquisite hell

is impossible to shake from dreams

or to tell how gorgeous the demons are

the scar has been worn, like a precious jewel

and when the mewl slips comes shame

viciously.

Still, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to live

for as long as I can drag myself through dirt

and convert hurt into abnormal pleasure

without boundaries or measure; stuck…

in the state of being human, accepting unique

unity.