Unrealistic transformation, hidden revolver
Bursting bulbs, the lights, the tone will be fine
Cheers or jeers, I don’t care which
Collision into hindrance happens regardless
I look over to the mirror, dim luminescent glow
The colors I wear, dark and dazzling
I see my hair draping down and consider it fine
The rings on my fingers click against the crackling hiss deity
I look at the door, listening, that relentless vociferate
Repetitious existence, hundreds a year, yet still neurotic
Welcome thy dead souls, intrude my horizon
It’s what they expect so I exhale, and cry again
Enervating and worrisome, and loosening my grasp
The phantasmic ritual recovers memory, inception manifestation
I walk to the door and carry my affliction
They will all get to see what they paid for
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