A blazing inferno lights the never-ending night
Each item burns slowly enough to watch it suffer
But not enough to hope for it to survive
First the shelves start crumbling to the ground
Once filled with duplicate journals
Divulged into pervasive memories
Now replaced by eternal hellfire
Then the carpet catches flames
Burning through the soft yet opulent texture
Erasing past footsteps that once existed
The desk meets the fiery blaze
Hours of work melting away into budget plastic
Leaving no indication of the modest
Only the charred
Finally the bed starts searing
As the occupant still dormant
Scalds away any last memories
And dismantles the memorable dreams
As neighbors peep through the window
And laugh with uncontrollable disdain
While the room burns to the ground
The next morning when the occupant wakes
In the middle of his charred home
He walks outside and greets his neighbors
But nobody can tell whether he is almost dead
Or almost alive
Just scarred enough to seem as both

I speak the language of the ambiguous man
Two false tunnels leading to the paradise once existent
Suffocating in the soul the heart pumps mysterious labyrinths
Intricate twists, lively turns, dead ends, corrupt memories
All leading to the same two doors
Handles made from cherry blossom to conceal ****** wrists
Misleading as barren rock behind the sodden waterfall
And deceitful as the smiles of killers pending demise

I like to fool the world with my duplicitous decisons
Peeping through one door just to go through the other
There lay two paths divided in a somber world
The ambiguity of man prevails
Only when a single door leads to the innocent simplicity
But the truth about lies prevail
When the man not knows what he does
And navigates through his own mindful solitude

I intrude in a broken world filled with people most pernicious
Some call them deceivers while some call them philosophers
Depends on how they see the truth of ambiguity
Two parallel bridges to cross a sea most demoniac
While only one bridge armed with the truthful support
But the world feels much too simple without rails to grasp
As there is nothing to hinder the peaceful descent
Smoothly into that paradise once existent

I'd fairly not speak about the truthful man
But rather the lying hero
For he has more knowledge with the concept of ambiguity
But whom does the stray bullet in the revolver take?
The truthful man or the lying hero?
If the truthful man chooses not the rails out of pride
And the lying hero slashes his wrists out of regret
At first I settle with those who favor the liar
But if I had two bullets
I would see that the pride would also suffice
As the ambiguous man shall die twice
For ambiguity is anything but simplicity