Ruin in Color

I am the meekest and sickest cynic
Defective, bleak shadows tower monolithic
Nothing is real in living to die
Stagnant choke to which all turn a blind eye
Fashioned misfortune, cognitive contortion
Purpose succumb to the harshest distortion
In my reflection, the eyes are aghast
The adjacent me, my own iconoclast

I am at the mercy of a force unknown
Abhorring what I am, what I am is alone
Void of esteem and any notion of control
Nostalgic for nothingness, ejecting the soul

The change within me could never be traced
A minute of color, then ruin is embraced
How could I trust in such instability?
As I pine away over the adjacent me
I'm face to face with my futility
Reaching to reclaim a fragment of sanity
Something amiss in going it alone
Something awry where nothing is my own

Void of esteem and any notion of control
Severing from sanity and severing from soul
Living in my ruin but dreaming in the skies
Escaping its color by closing my eyes