Archetype

Looking on the world with more boredom, frustration, then awe, able to interject the self into to the fabric of the cosmos, the petty strands I pull at all times have no bearing on the whole, Ariadne can do nothing but laugh as she watches my debasement, cursing the fates, demanding from them inspiration in their nine fold mask of the muse, they reply with a cackle more devious then Mephistopheles, ( One sweeps by on a broomstick and lingers for awhile, the other traveling in shadow stays in the walls, in the air ) 

A soul on lease agreement that I have with causality,  angel face and razor tongue whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

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