Sometimes I wish I had the voice to speak out to the people,
the will to let my actions flow from me,
to let my actions take me to new world,
but I only paradox my thoughts.

To think of the song "Somewhere Over The Rainbow,"
once I become the being some will love,
instead of leaving me behind as an abandoned phantasm,
repressing my feeling of desertification of the creativity,
fooling it to think it is purification,
when in reality I am nothing,
when I sometimes think I can succeed I just fall when things become an obstacle,
a brick wall my mallet can not collapse.

I like to wear the masks,
to hide my failure from everyone else tricking them into,
thinking I am just being foolish as I really make them to show my,
horrendous persona,
the monster you have all repressed for so long I am.

You scrunch your nose at my masks smile compared to the cannibal,
that lives in the alleyway waiting to jump at the prey as he prays,
to be the predator he once was.
My mask can relate to him,
as I watch the "Happy little bluebirds fly, over the rainbow,"
when I am naught.

From always have my story books ever spoke,
urging me to live life with one phrase;
Memento Mori, a simple Latin phrase I had known,
from the beginning of my universe that I posses,
to the society I once slept upon, have I ever known,
that the sky is always sapphire,
the grass is always emerald,
and the blood is ONLY but ruby.

Whereas my storybooks told me, Memento Mori,
I will eventually whither away like the plants I was reluctant to plant,
to watch them die away,
so I could grasp it's corpse, and crush it's ashy substance.
I grin at that notion,
the concept of me having power, to crush,
my homicidal grin, illuminating malicious vibes,
only to feel guilty for I am enjoy their pain.

Although my storybooks, had always said Memento Mori,
they were books of a hero to zero, a man of a demon,
they had always spoken to me, their lustful eyes,
entrancing me from an angel's call, and telling me the phrase;
tu fui ego eris
"As you are, I was; as I am, so you shall also be"
They were right, for I had sinned like the killers in my book,
just like them, and they were just like me,
and we both could not avoid death, just as out gravestones had said.

I had refused to accept Memento Mori,
I refused to acknowledge the emerald that I had stood on, what it was I could never,
the sapphire I had not known, in the heavens only my piping plover knew,
and the ruby, has I always felt, warm, as it was around my feet,
only to be purified, and realize no one else was different.

We all murdered our complexities.