AnOde.

"1 - 5 = 1"

An escapade within discontent.
Ambiguity in the black dot among the white.
This smile,
real,
reflects your confusion.

Pretentious and contentious,
this my artistry,
of smooth transitions within a revolution,
of outbreaks,
of breakouts,
the smell of the air below.

I nurse the poison,
deeper into my blood stream.

Broad to narrow,
Machine,
Machiavelli,
Iago,
your will be my moral villiany.

Realist,
to remove the imagination,
from the confinement of the heart.
This is pessimism in optimism.
Of which a revenge is unplanned.

Undermine for its place,
the perfect time breeds,
the mind's chorus in a discord,
in a harmony.
Impeccable is the smell of blood.

This smile,
real,
reflects your demise.