7/2/22
The script has finally been written!
But after these grueling, finger-bitten
minutes that have left me fear-stricken,
my confidence is still that of chicken.
My delusions persists through this hell
as I, the cast and crew,
perform these "plays" oh so well,
delusions of a world I barely knew.
There is no limit on the plays I will perform,
and the copies of you all will conform,
watching as my mentality begins to deform.
This hell to me is more like a haven,
a nest that of a black raven.
Perhaps this raven which flies
in my theater with no disguise
forecasts my imminent demise
from my failed tries to stop my useless lies,
and to finally realize that I am reaching a limit.
The theater will close soon,
a time that will leave me panicked,
unable to speak to your real versions,
unable to carry out the scripts I have written and unable to maintain the act I have mastered so well in his delusional world as I wander around aimlessly in the real world, hoping for another scriptwriter to write my story for me.
Yet eventually, I will be back,
ready to unleash my next attack
against the force behind my lack
of confidence, trying to stay on track
with the delusional theater I cannot pack.
