Visione astratta della paura, dell’ambizione e dell’oscurità interiore

I hate the things I cannot trace, The gaps that put me out of place. Maybe it’s fear of being small, Of not becoming more than all. Stupid, really. Time moves wide. No one truly falls behind. We all arrive where we belong— So why does failure feel so strong? Still unsatisfied. Still awake. How much more do I have to take? What shape must I cut myself through To stand above the endless few? Not enough to simply rise. I want the height that swallows skies. To be the best. To stand alone. To make the highest place my own. And yes—I know what power does. I know exactly what I was. Give me enough, and something dark Would use the world like kindling spark. Sometimes murder crosses through— Quick and sharp, then gone from view. Not desire. Not intent. Just madness passing through the vent. I don’t know where those visions start. But pretending helps no part. They’re there. That’s true. Cold and plain. Like fingerprints inside the brain. So maybe I should cage myself, Lock ambition on a shelf. Set limiters. Stay tired. Stay small. Make my own life hurt enough to stall. Or weaken myself on purpose first, Invite the teeth. Become the worst. Let people cut me down to size Before I grow beyond disguise. Damn. How cruel must someone be To fear their own capability? Not scared of chains. Not scared of pain. Scared that freedom likes the taste of reign.

monochrome