A Cynical Me

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These violent delights have violent ends…

Why, I couldn’t remember that,

Before I gave away my heart,

In just a fancy little fantasy?

 

But now I know, it’s all the same.

What I’ve become, I don’t wanna know.

It’s only me now, the only one,

Who can surprise me in my ire.

And nothing else.

 

No more fire. No more violence.

Just stretches of grey foggy dreariness everywhere,

Hard as rock, the hall of stones stand,

Like walls of doom over me.

 

Like a volcano too cools down one day.

Then rocks do not react to water or a touch.

That’s where violent fantasies end,

And worldly delights begin…

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