Success beckons like a flippant ****** offering pure triumph the nectar of glory flows in her. Attempting to approach I find I cannot move. stagnant hands emerge from the depths grabbing my ankles looking down I see they're my hands holding my craven climbers in place I look back at my arms to see my hands missing who needs Kurt Angle when I can put myself in an ankle lock?
I've got a hold of me and I won't let go escape attempts are thwarted by preemptive remorse plunging me deeper into the depths. The knobs on my arms can't undo the harm of the disconnected hands of the ****** that paralytically punish tools supposed to help me give me a belting while the lady in red leaves disappointed.
Tired of struggling against myself my third rate fate accepted I'm learning to love the view from where my hands plant me no view of outside at least I can see a window. A siren's song echoes in the wilderness distance beautiful serenades are muffled by walls muted singing is enjoyed in solitude.
My dismembered hands dig into my brain until things are rearranged there's a paradigm shift a paradox gift beauty becomes ugly so no one is above me I can look in the mirror in the eyes of my peers and see myself standing alongside them when they're beauty makes them uglier than me.
They don't know pain they couldn't understand plutonium thoughts decay vision replacing it with radioactive judgment. I surmise negativity is just part of my personality I surmise success is a ***** who picks the undeserving more life goes unexamined while wondering why insanity swirls.
Nagging depression firmly scratches the back of my brain all that was avoided punches from the past an explanation of my condition is given to my mistakes like a father excusing their son's bad behavior words fall on deaf ears once deeds have been done
failure doesn't care about my excuses excuses completing a self-fulfilling prophecy by hands from the depths burying me stationary.