I find myself in the beginning,
Where all things were birthed into the light,
And haunting truths are evidenced false
By those born in the dead of night.
I find myself in the shadows,
Where the corners have drawn too close,
And the framework of my mind
Splinters into shards of chaos.
I find myself in the periphery,
Where only the brave and true surrender
When overtaken by the great iron horse
That bears down without the confines of rails.
I find myself at the altar of delusion,
Where comforts are conspicuously absent,
And the seas of coping are treacherously rough
Churned and scorched by the fiery fallacy of life.
I find myself in the lair of despair,
Where dreams become unrecognizable,
And even the dawn comes in mourning clothes
Having wasted love on a fickle sun.
I find myself under flat, white sails,
Where the sky has forgotten the wind
And the albatross circles over head
Mocking the cursed cries of foregone fate.
I find myself in the decline,
Where the heart thirsts for what once was.
My whole kingdom for but a taste
Of even the most bitter vintage.
I find myself in the end,
Where all stories go to die,
And the echoes fall silent
When the tales are already told.
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