I live a life that is not my own. i love a heart that is not my own.
I hate a fate that bears down on my soul, telling it to be wry of its existence. It cares not for the illusions of my world. It lusts after itself. Its lust strives for destruction, disloyalties, annihilation of the spirit that crowns our consciousness. The Being that defends, faulters at every whim as if it obeys Fate. How else will we persist? Will there come a champion to carry the day?

I live a life that is not my own. I love a heart that is not my own.
The days grow longer still. The night, short and sweet, no rest, no avail. I slumber in burnt sedentary elements, carressed by stars, enveloped by the clouds, surrounded by the sweet sounds of nothingness. It is there where Fate waits. It is there where it hides, waiting, concealed by the darkness that envelops it...and me.

I live a life that is not my own. I love a heart that is not my own.
Betrayed by the stars. Betrayed by the whispers on the softly flowing winds. The breeze that called out, calls out to it. Disobedient as it is, it obeys IT. I whither behind the stockade, behind the walls that never perish, never disappear. I fumble in solitude, I fumble in disunion. I fumble where the heart resides because the love for a heart that is not my own, leads the life that is not my own.