NO TITLE IV

I once thought I was still in love with you.

But it's become evident that i was only infatuated with what we used to be.

That I became blinded to what we have actually become.

More distant than second cousins living at the different ends of the globe.

It's funny that i focused on this rather
the other... stagnant lights of strobe.

So what action would lead me to comfort and inner peace.

Do i take an oath of celibacy... head to Rome and live like the Pope?

Or do i end this all quickly, have my neck swing from side to side... aided by a firmly tied rope.

So for this soap-opera ... i do wonder how many episodes?

In what scene exactly do i crush the past under my sole.

Raise my feet and take to my heels.

And defy the gravitational force, that has seen me always fall for you.

From the top floor, down a million storeys.

This is no folklore, neither is it one of the moonlight stories.

I wonder then if it's a shame to be caught up in the past.

Should i then be furious, or should i let the emotions pass fast.

What's even more messed up is my priorities list is all f*cked up, what should come first... which should reside last.

Hence my mind's never really gonn' be made up, even with a touch of brown powder.

Only i can silence the screams in my head, no matter how the voices get louder.
A decision with its consequence.

Like a king only i can pass the sentence.

But then how long would be my rule?

Would i stand a metre from what my heart yearns for or a metre to where it ought to be?

It's a paradox that puts me in the paws
of schrodinger's cat.

'coz even with the knowledge, it's all still dark like the undertakers' entrance... Yes it's me donning the black hat.