Isitown

Swaying with energy, the winds of discord pass unknown, unseen.
You shudder, then smile as they tickle your pale cheek. You sit, window
standing ajar in your dark room, pondering the melancholies of life. No
other but you has ever studied them so intensely. How to present them?
The normal world has such an issue with vulgarity because they cannot
find the beauty in these vivid descriptions as we can.

Continue your silent reverie, darling, the wakes left by the waves of your thoughts calm
the room.

Could you ever embody the soul of another?! Surely not, my
unique prince. You are such a monument in my mind; your likeness
cast out of pure debauchery and your base out of ignored morals. How
tall you stand, how regal and corrupt. My thoughts, the civilians of this
mental village, gather around your forged form to find inspiration. They
leave you offerings that you never fail to except, and in return, my
inhabitants are nourished. They look to you not only for inspiration, but
for the gift of life itself. It is your image that rattles in the center of this
cerebral town.

In actuality, you remain in your chair; your velvet throne in the
Palace of Creativity. How I long to join you, your highness. The
impenetrable fortress of Time is far too strong. I can only slightly graze
your ghostly hand with my own through one of its windows.
There you have it. You have overtaken my life with the same
sacrilegious hands you used to create the notes which first infiltrated
my sleeping thoughts. Bravo, Monsieur!