The Victim Umbrella

 

The innocence a victim acts should let a murderer suicide. I consider the world beneath disorder, with its sirens night and day, with the clown-y corrupt parliaments and perhaps with its busy businessmen playing protagonists to every accident that was meant to be.

I am sick of getting tired. I am tracing myself, packing my hope with its last drops. I am questioning the facts that let this world go so dark to afford. I am questioning the facts that let this life go so rogue to obey. I am questioning the facts that let me breathe for now, though the mutual hate.

The fall of Icarus was meant to happen as a marketplace for every disposed of, desperate soul but for me, the administration control center is franking-ly falling apart already. Losing control stocks is causing destruction full of disappointment to my infrastructure.

I have always wanted to be a protagonist but young me considered everybody as a common role with a plan-b if you are wondering my old naive perspectives. I never really wanted to believe the lost cause situation that everybody would represent an antagonist to a story I didn't choose to read or perhaps to live.

I would declare my will acting flying but still in the walking dimension. I would like to inform you all that the raven is so likely a mark of a hell-creature but it's all a superstition if you know what I mean.