Flashes...pieces of forgotten memory have been plaguing me lately. Some of which I'm not even sure are mine. These visions clench my throat like the right hand of a jailer, as if to tell me that my duties of malevolence can never be abandoned.
White linen. A red motorcycle. Green Glass. The number nineteen. All insignificant things that have no meaning to me. At the same time, I know they have some relevance to me, somehow. Like frantically trying to piece together pieces of a ghost, it all just turns to smoke in my hands. And all these distraction just intensifies this feeling of isolation and mourning.
I can see it, the peace and sanity I need thru a glass window, but somehow I can not even beguine to achieve it. I can't feel any sort of peace at all. It's eating away at me slowly.
And I feel like a fucking ignorant child for it all. I am nothing more than the prince of a crumbling, burning city. But I'm happy, I don't need anything else. I'm being torn apart inside for no particular reason. I just wish to end it all, so I can stop feeling so fucking dead inside.
I suppose I'll constantly be mourning something I don't even understand. Shadows of a past that aren't even mine.