The Pretender

Flailing my hands to reach out to a darkness-
of frights and fights solemnly wrapped in wrath,-
And my strength struggles to bounce back,
and my weakness seems a matter of ignorance.

Lost in a myriad of thoughts to ruminate-
in a regime of silent pathos..
with colors fading away baring a region-
too obtrusively pale to soothe your vision..

My vision, gasping in my Air of Purity,
My vision, blazing in my aureole of austerity..

Today, she heaves a sigh of feigning relief..
since the door,slightly ajar to my daring decadence.

Today, I feel, I'm no bloody insane..
neither a loser and,-
neither the me in myself..
I'm just a fake,-
A clone of the lone vying for the pie of life,
and savoring the straw liquor of putrid intellect.

I keep muttering words of impotent importance.
And with a purple blotch right onto my chest,-
Instincts retaliate to anger and vengeance!