Post by The King on Dec 13, 2023 19:59:39 GMT -5
How does one process solitary? A feeling of seclusion to rot the brain. Do they succumb to its madness? Allow their thoughts to become the only response. Two ears becoming just the one. Only nothing is ever heard. Nothing is ever felt.
Confinement is cruel in its nature, but with that cruelty it serves a moral purpose. Can it then be justified in the containment of sinners? Does it’s moral purpose serve a more justified cause than it’s reasoning. Does any of this actually make sense?
Mind. Body. Control.
Forbade from a weak-hearted spirit.
Life has always been a story; with you the author. No ink is thicker than your blood. It is always the decisions you make that ultimately forge the path your life desires. Is anyone then, truly justified in the stripping of all lively desires; when in enforcing solitary you take the pen from another writer’s hand.
Control. Mind. Body.
Life imprisonment. For the murders of many. A sinner of the squared circle itself.
A King.
Beholden to his decisions. A writer stripped of his art. How does one fall so far from what started out so little. A youthful performer, driven to excel. A hot prospect, forged to be iconic.
A King, succumbed to his own power.
The days are short, but just how short is eternity? For time doesn’t exist when life is the sentence; with that, the King remains sane. He remembers that the day he was locked up he still wore his crown. He remembers when they arrested a King, and for the sake of his sanity, in this timeless abandon, he has and always will be the one who wore the crown.
Gone are the days of the maverick. Gone are the days of black. What remains now is what he always wanted for. He. Himself. His pride.
His mind.
Fixed are the echos of a broken past; the insanity purified in the chambers of his mind. The solitary has forged his sanity; now he wakens with a new purpose.
A new pen to write with.
A government official bribed. A judge threatened. An end to his eternity.
But the King had still chosen to wait in confinement all these years; for he had decided a long time ago through shattered thoughts, that his abandon would lead to the ultimate creation.
The pure, untapped power of one’s own mind.
The King awoke with a new purpose that day.
A chance to redeem the career he never quite had.
Confinement is cruel in its nature, but with that cruelty it serves a moral purpose. Can it then be justified in the containment of sinners? Does it’s moral purpose serve a more justified cause than it’s reasoning. Does any of this actually make sense?
Mind. Body. Control.
Forbade from a weak-hearted spirit.
Life has always been a story; with you the author. No ink is thicker than your blood. It is always the decisions you make that ultimately forge the path your life desires. Is anyone then, truly justified in the stripping of all lively desires; when in enforcing solitary you take the pen from another writer’s hand.
Control. Mind. Body.
Life imprisonment. For the murders of many. A sinner of the squared circle itself.
A King.
Beholden to his decisions. A writer stripped of his art. How does one fall so far from what started out so little. A youthful performer, driven to excel. A hot prospect, forged to be iconic.
A King, succumbed to his own power.
The days are short, but just how short is eternity? For time doesn’t exist when life is the sentence; with that, the King remains sane. He remembers that the day he was locked up he still wore his crown. He remembers when they arrested a King, and for the sake of his sanity, in this timeless abandon, he has and always will be the one who wore the crown.
Gone are the days of the maverick. Gone are the days of black. What remains now is what he always wanted for. He. Himself. His pride.
His mind.
Fixed are the echos of a broken past; the insanity purified in the chambers of his mind. The solitary has forged his sanity; now he wakens with a new purpose.
A new pen to write with.
A government official bribed. A judge threatened. An end to his eternity.
But the King had still chosen to wait in confinement all these years; for he had decided a long time ago through shattered thoughts, that his abandon would lead to the ultimate creation.
The pure, untapped power of one’s own mind.
The King awoke with a new purpose that day.
A chance to redeem the career he never quite had.