I am a sea of apparitions
Of intelligence, thoughts, and matter
Of love, pain, and horror
Things to see and things to dread.

I am imperfection in its truest form
Screaming and shouting all the way home
For something exciting and playful to do
And many a times do I find that one thing.

Wishes and thoughts feel my mind
cloaked in a shadow of writhing vines
soaked in a bath of convulsing faces
churning in a rampage of spasmodic seizures.

I watch these vibrant horrors
in awe atop a mountain
made completely of foreign textures
wishing to paint all across the impatient world.

But whenever I try this method of fear
Subject of debilitating images
Matter of saddening objects
I am afraid of all to come.

The esoteric old race
The daunting ghosts of faces I knew
They shall overlook my subsistence in reality
They shall ignore my howls for awareness.

The absurd men will take me to neither hell nor heaven
But to Purgatory in intentions of my emotionless damnation
And shall keep from ever marking their state of mind
To and fro their destinations.

Their weapons are fear and taunt
Bullying and torture through words
And I believe it to the climax of my tear-struck eyes
Even though I have not a fragment of proof they shall come.