Sarcasm Unmasked and Fading Flowers
I live not a life. My eyes are mine own, seeing as far as I can. But my mind wanders. An act is all life is, as William Shakespear said "All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players. They have their exits, their entrances, and one man in his life may play many parts," An act, a play. But life is a malicious play at that. You use everything for yourself, trying to be the best. A competition with no end. All resources are expendable and you fight for a goal which is never there. A malicious play with no end. Life will play itself out someday, but not in my lifetime, nor my childrens'. It is a fascinatin game with twists and turns that warp the product. Of death and famine, sorrow and despair. Of happiness and joy, love and humor. An act is all. Few will step beyond their own act, few will release the shell that life has forced around you. Constant trials that make up your scrpt. The pen is always writing, always copying down. Your memory is burned with every detail. Some painful and others enjoyable. Life is a game, one that you have to be good at. You can meet people, and know them insaide and out. But will you use them? Manipulate them into seeing you as a different person? Or are you another pawn? I will never be prey, but I will never be a true predator. Predators that mercilissly tear out the hearts of others. Prey that cowers. No, I will be an individual. My acts and cripts new and exotic with turns that no one could ever imagine. The warped and twisted depthes of my mind editing the cript, new casting calls with every move. But this gaem I will win at, I have a lifetime to play.