"If life was a deck of cards then I would be your joker.
The excuse or the exception?
The fool in Tarot Nouveau
still mastered the lute."

I inscribed this into my desk with a dagger
before i killed the atmospheric tension

it was the **** amber surrounding the lamp
dimming the room with its comforting embrace
it was the smoke that suffocated me with its imagery
perfectly juxtaposed in front of the light fossilized in the lamp shade
resulting in a perfect minimal pair
made my lungs feel as empty and hollow as
the imagery burned into my eyes

such a beautiful meaningless apathy
thoughts to you do not belong
still singing the same sad song

"I might as well be trapped between ink and paper
this undying thought that I betray to savor
(I can convince you love, of many- a flavor;
beauty's never been kind to my human nature)"

I then walked over to the indirect cause of my pain
crushed the bulb in my hand...
and cold on the floor i lay
glass in my red hands stay
blood as thick as the ink in my veins

so to you a wild card i'll remain
but dont fret my dear audience i'm to blame
see its a beautiful broken i cant explain
a white room syndrome
you cannot tame.

you see, the joker never gets played in the game