I threw myself in deep slumber
pledging not to play the game for others
and exiled myself within me
after the rebellion.
A realized being,
suffers at the hand of a thorn skull,
learns to be silent,
choking on words
across the pages which are blank.
Immeasurable limits
of space and senses
start a hierarchy
which will breed contempt.
There was a memory,
a suffering of absurdism
I am still caged in.
The kingdom collapses
in brilliance of sun,
the man starts another version
of hate.
Acquires the blood of royal vein
and promises to become
a beautiful cadaver.
