the world is done with me.
it is self sufficient, and me , redundant.
it has left me, well the most of it.
now i find my solitude more comforting , more welcoming then
stupid cocktail parties' and phoeny aristocrats.
the world is sufficient.
no man is an island.
i am no man.
i am a soldier.
i am a fighter.
i must fight on..
regain my honour.
brak my bones my master.
smash me to smitterines my master .
force me to fit in to the world if you may for i am yours' to command...
force me against my will..
allow me to blend in with the growing grey void of empty souls and fragile hearts..
and as i speak my ashley intertwined, skipping around dryly on a plain canvas.
who is she ? i ask.
that fine red suit daler.
on our nylon tips we spar .
dancing on this plain white canvas..
spreading our colours to this grey dull world..
then she turns to complete the sentence..
.. not so dull , this town is any more?
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