The past gave reason for the passion. The heavens gave meaning to the lies. From a whisper in a living wind, grows a glimmer in my eyes. And strive I do, through the chambers of my inner self. And claim the prize I do, the key for the door I’ll face after the body falls.
I was built like this, a chameleon in essence, and I naturally become my environments. To that extent, to be or not to be? Wait, let me rephrase. What be the thing I’m bred to be? The two conditions of my humanity, my invisible and my biology, take shape according to my realities, and regrettably, in a world built by shepherd-less egos, half of me hibernates.
Like a Shakespearean tragedy, tragically, I was cast into an artificial realm that practices deliberate deception without the knowledge of what I be, how I be, and my natural information absorbing ability.