The Clef

Disconnected the world sliced I see. I am trying to take over, and despite the fact that I have all the winning cards, I keep losing. Even when I win that–indeed nonsense–battle, I sometimes lose myself. 

Threw them off a cliff, threw the outdated past, and gave the world my back. I ended up with a bent back, giving my head to the ground, and wandering thinking that every protagonist goes through the choice of letting go or the choice of jumping off a cliff. 

I never thought I will end up sitting on the edge of the same cliff I once used to feed the seas with the very attacking thoughts I kept in a book I question its existence. Perhaps the scribbles are too much to carry. What a present we live and what a book each one carries on their heads.

Records to destroy, books to rewrite, pictures to repaint, streets to rename, dates to alter, and clefs to replay. At least, that’s how a dystopian puts it. I think looking down is never setting my dystopia to a closure. Welcome to the ghosting present. Welcome to the fooling clef.