Detail strikes imaginary,
In which no consciousness exists;
Is the sole continuum
Of our shared existence.
Because you do not engage,
Standing idly at the precipice
Of this monolith we have chiseled,
The grace of this effect
Has taken possession of me alone.
Far removed from the sanctity
You exalt me with,
I use the strength of position
To squeeze the air from your lungs,
Taking pleasure in your writhing;
Manipulation has become my weapon,
And as dexterous with its shaft as one could be,
I use its blade to contort your visage,
Crafting the image I yearn to see.
Earnestly, there is no reason
For this extracurricular,
Except that in a life
In which the color has been robbed from me,
This is the singular vibrancy,
Even if it is horrific and mutilated,
And a desperate spirit
Takes what it can get.