The Suicide of An Aggrandized Poet ACT I A dusty, preposterous shelf lies among the objects of a time now lost, deep within the traces of a heart, pulsating sacrilegiously not to abandon what made it alas, why would it for it's flesh-made, an aberration but to awaken a reminiscence, so begins the tale of the unfathomable, Decimation of souls on a silver plate with a knife of a thousand ache, a fork with tine of a goat's hoof, and a spoon of a blind man's hand, the feast began. On an April day of a gloom rain, yet the rain brought us a wave of life, no? I went down a hill that left a stain to chain a soul of a swain to a wain that would reign the remarks of feigned months that I wore as a mane in sights plain. For a hollow coil, the world at my command, A sycophant, my heart, thrilled once at a bus station on a rainy April day. Days and months, predecessors of a fountain flooded red with passion and drowned of in...
Act 1 | The Dealer "The rules are quite, quite simple. Look at the cards you have been dealt, then use those cards to collect more." We are the mere planewalkers of this realm. A realm so eternal, mythical, and kind that every creation is born with its roles already attuned to his very name, gender, skin, and blood. We are but mere creatures that are destined to serve our roles. And thus, we have our own cards. The man is to build for we are the brutes that protect the weak in our societies. The women, the children, and even the other men, the weak men. This is what is required of us, for it is the norms that have preserved our race. Then, so shall it be. The cards are dealt in the men's favor. We are the protectors, so we have to be strong. What is strong? A brute with a voice that dazzles the very air and makes you shiver. Perhaps, not always. "Look at the man you are", said once you achieve something, because why wouldn't you be the "person you ar...
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