Immortality is a chore,
Living forevermore.
Scraping by through the unimaginable,
Snapped bones and a shattered skull.
Dissolved by corrosive acid,
Impaled upon a skewer of plastic.
Cliff diving without a parachute,
Strangled by the tie of your suit.
Beheaded,
Shredded.
Beaten,
Eaten.
There is no end,
To this regeneration trend.
Is there a point of trying,
When you are incapable of dying?
Why show your true face,
When no one will last long enough to look past their distaste?
There is no thrill in flying,
Or in crying.
There is no excitement in fighting,
Or in writing.
Life is monotonous,
Devoid of bliss.
I was once a soldier,
Once far bolder.
I was a man of might,
Who fought for his ideals of wrong and right.
My beloved passed,
While all the while I last.
So why be honest,
With no looming fear of Death's kiss?
I have no need for friends,
They fade into blurs and blends.
I laugh to hide my disdain,
Grate on others to hide my pain.
Act spoilt to push them away,
I don't need them to stay.
Scream my fallacies,
Hiding my abilities.
I march out of step,
With a bit too much pep.
Cower from my fellow Arcobalenos,
Step on their toes.
Luce surely knows,
I can't let the others close.
They are shooting stars,
Bright and a farce.
I am the purple moon,
Eternally a loon.
I am a constant inconsistency,
Showing my whole face with hesitancy.
I know death,
Yet I still draw breath.
I smile without true mirth,
Cannot remember the day of my birth.
I cry without true sorrow,
Inside I am hollow.
I cannot bear the effort,
Of showing the face hiding behind Skull De Mort.
