🎭 Cosplay of Misery 🪞by ZAYAZ

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⣿⣿⣟⡳⢶⢶⣤⣀⣠⡟⣍⡷⣻⣿⣿⣇⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡀
⣿⣞⡾⣽⣣⢇⡥⠧⣏⣭⣯⡋⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡅
⣿⣿⣽⣿⣻⣮⢿⣿⣥⣿⡻⣗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣞⡷⢫⡟⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠸⣿⣿⣯⣿⣷⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀
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I don’t rush…
I watch the crowd rehearse their pain,
black lipstick lies, designer chains.
They dress the wound, they sell the scar,
they buy the dark, forget who they are.

I don’t rush…
I let them speak in borrowed screams,
pre written grief, aesthetic dreams.
They kneel to brands, they call it fate,
a массовка at the gate.

Welcome to the great black show
same dead eyes in different clothes.
Every face wants to be seen,
every soul behind a screen.

Curtains rise, the crowd obeys,
fake decay, expensive pain.
They don’t fall they pose, they smile,
calling emptiness a style.

I don’t rush…
I see the tags still on your skin,
“authentic dark” stitched from within.
You don’t bleed, you don’t break free,
you just cosplay misery.

I don’t rush…
You chant revolt in perfect lines,
marketed doom, scheduled decline.
You scream “I’m lost” in neon light,
just another role tonight.

THIS IS NOT DARKNESS

This is theatre.

The crowd applauds, the lie survives,
nobody dies, but nobody lives.
They want the Crow without the fall,
the shadow not the cost at all.

I don’t rush…
The real dark doesn’t need a name,
no uniform, no price, no fame.
It walks alone, it sheds its skin,
it never asks to fit in.

I don’t rush…
While you rehearse how dark to be,
the night moves on, indifferent, free.

No mask…
No brand…
No crowd…
No hand…

Just silence…
Just truth…
No theatre…

No you…