I don't know if this one is flowing or not, I think it's just something I have to get out of my head. It is a strange piece of writing, with some truly odd parts that I suppose represent the darker side in us all. Here goes nothing:

---

C'est La Vie

As I woke up in the morning to
A dimly lit prison cell, I
Jumped out of bed and stood
Contemplating this hell that I
Built with my own two hands.

The heights of fortune, the depths of loss,
I've danced with both demons, and in a toss
Would take them both by the neck and
Throw to the ground these fools,
Forever causing happiness and remorse.
And then I would stride through giving no thought
To these phantoms paralyzed on the ground
That are, but are not.

My head is buried in my palms, and as
It rises from the dead again, I look upon
These stars over my door -
The sight of these fleeting lights,
Through tepid days and sleepless nights
Are enough to make me want
To break down on my knees in tears;
But only if
The world cries with me.

I glide out to the streets and I
Watch other people, but I
Cannot look into their eyes, for now
All I see is the dark fire forged in their heart
Yes, every ending must have a start
And as man's final bell tolls, I see
There's no gentle beauty to discover, just
The grotesque shapes of their faces
Moulded into their souls.

They pretend to laugh with you when
You're there, but as you
Leave they laugh at you,
And with a word carefully chosen
They blown down the houses of matchsticks
You spend your whole life creating,
While every moment venerating
Lifeless green faces in whose eyes
I have seen my death.

People bow in fear to me, their angel in the sky
And in simmering seconds I let loose
Their darkest fears.
I see people ask why, but in
Deepest passion, reason has no place.
I gaze into the fires burning, and see
My new face forming from the ashes, and see
The future that lies before me, and see
That the world is mine, and mine alone.
And so, with a single swift move, my earth
Crumbles in my hands.

I return now, having proven my worth, to
Forgotten places that saw my birth, breathe
The air of immortality, drink
The wine of lost souls with a laugh, spit
On those who
Ever offered me help.

On the peak of a mountain, I can stand alone
With my shadow having fled in fear of
That which I am.
And, in a final act, I summon
Every thought, every feeling, every action
Taking each of these brothers in my arms, I
Close my eyes, and before my senses fail me, I
Hear the sounds of the end.
As I awake in the morning, I hear the sounds of
Nothing.
Assured now that there are no stars to mock me,
I pace across the paths man
Never chose to travel,
There may be many a mystery to unravel, but
Now, I will sleep till my own end comes,
And in that time when the crimson hand of death comes knocking,
I shall stand my ground firm and hear it mocking, only to
Take a sip
From my fountain of youth
And watch the monster retreat
Never to visit again.

---

I am terribly embarassed about the poor quality of the structure of some of the lines, as well as some of the rhymes; one of the reasons I started pursuing blank verse was because I found that I had lost the ability to make a meaningful rhyme that didn't sound embarassing a few days later. But I've bitten the bullet here, I don't think I can carry on without rhyming, perhaps my mind just has a natural tendency to rhyme (albeit a tad predictably).

This is a bit more fiery than most of my other writing, I don't know if it's good or bad. It's like a scream versus a thoughtful essay, I think, I suppose both can be used to equally good effect by someone with talent. Anyway, I hope this isn't one of those things I look back on with unbearable embarassment (like Ode to lost hope).