The Worst Great Mind, pt. 4

Blood runs on these hands.

Blood dries on these imperfect hands.

Blood stains this shadow of a man forced to pretend.


Contrite laughs by a grave revelation

have bound a soul to disguise himself out of desperation.

I am the character on stage armed with theatrics,

allowing white coats to cloak a thinning veneer.


A glass construct shudders at its base.

Piece it together with your arms as a fortress.

Struggling in a cityscape unphased by its lurking trauma,

piece me together as my machinery decomposes.


My constant companion, unaware as you are,

carrying the weight of a collapsing structure,

instilling confidence forgotten in the next travel backwards,

yet never absent from my mind,

cursed to remember every scene of every outcome.


Caressing now amidst a concluding drama,

is it fair now to say we’ve won?

Observing the repercussions of undoing foolish consequences,

desire flatlines in favor of a once undesirable status quo,

where a microwave meant nothing more than the sum of its parts.

The cords have been untangled.

A smile regains its shape.


But a snag—

a gear caught in transition—

a jarring realization—

innocence flickers out of focus,

a glitch in convoluted reality.

An explosion seemingly years past resonates in the now.

The now is nowhere near safe.


A line is caught on an error of existence;

a flaw of life when its destination had been decided—

a glitch in convoluted reality.


Of all futures,

one is a victory only Pyrrhus would accept.

One is certain defeat;

the utter destruction of me in every outcome.

The now is nowhere near safe.


Makise Kurisu must die.

I do not own this image

( ❤ Mitch)

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