Vanity Fades but NEVER Dies

This isn't at all what I expected life to be, at the sweet age of my so called vanity. I wanted glam, I wanted fame, recognition of my glory untamed & defined by no definition. I sit in some deep dark hole night and day, nothing to keep me but a bottle full of alcoholic dreams. I've been wanting to break out, wanting the freedom to roam. To conquer the world as if it belongs to me and me alone. I've been busting at the seams, my mouth an explosion of outbursts for love and hate. A conclusion of lies and truth combined into a fiery pit of fucked up delusions. A lit cigarette emitting death, and dangerous words on the tip of my tongue begin to fall and run. Merging into some unidentifiable object of a society's disgust and misunderstandings. & nothing to keep me sane, but the idea of fucking and being on the run. Living to see the dead mans eyes staring down at me from a lovers embrace of total solitude and loneliness because it's killing the basis in which we as a people have been living on for years. At the young age you realize that the prime of life is only here because you can do and say anything and getaway with it. It's like a realization that you are what you say you are, an immortal force that never grows out of touch with the world and the boredom in which we feel and we call it life. With skin wrapped taught across our faces and bosoms that sit high upon our chest, dicks and balls still being able to function without the help of these medical creations and devices, we do indeed feel like the invincible force that has the world bowing to our feet, and in this basking of our beauty, we don't listen to the words of our parents or forefathers because we have become the narc's of our day. Their words fly blindly in and out our ears. "Listen children of my last and final act of pleasure, you vanity shall kill you in every measure. When you see that your skin begins to sag, and your body works no more, you realize that you wasted your very human core. Your vanity is what killed you, your lust for life was the companion, the ride or die champion, your vanity will never die, but your body and soul shall fade and perish." & when we grow older we realize what a fucked up way that it is to which we die. You were born an ugly worm covered in your mother, and then you grew to be a child in your own right who did nothing but cry and whale of your domination plight, and you continued to grow like a tree in the forest who fights for the light that the sun continually gives, and you become this beautiful and untainted being that others yearn to be in the presence of, but at this moment, everything goes down hill and you grow older and more brittle and the shit just becomes inevitable that you're going to die and have to have the shit wiped from your backside, like a baby in transformation, your vanity made you ignore the oncoming. The vanity that you were born with was not only your lifetime friend, but it was your betrayal and predecessor. It died when you hit the grave, but even in death you still dress up, you still go on as if you were the ultimate fuck. In a suit that was only worn by the mannequin in the window to the 8,000 dollar casket that's only buried 6 feet under. You went out with a bang, you sick mothafucker.