The Purplish Type

The unmovable objects; Subjects of lust, desire. Hunger.

The anger within builds. Laughter, not like what it used to be, both in quantity and in sublimity.

To tell, say, that the topic of discussion is not up for debate, is basically tying your hands so tightly it winds up around your neck to turn you blue. Blue, as in the colour of death; The purplish type.


What do you know, what I'm going through. Cause I'm putting myself through a lot of trouble, unnecessary, in the eyes of some. The dangers of my life have no boundaries. Yet, I think it is the way I want to live, to a certain extent, of course. I cannot inhibit the ideas in me which are bursting at the seams of my skull. I cannot hide the true thoughts I have in me. Cause these voices, they've always been around. Lurking, in every dark nook and cramped cranny.

The end, is near. A new beginning awaits. A one where, hopefully, isn't the colour of death; The purplish type.