Everything is twisted now.

It's funny when you're looking from outside the window, or maybe up a hill, or from a high tower; and you see everything. And you can judge rightfully. Wouldn't you? Couldn't you?

And to witness everything being rightfully and wrongly treated; I can't say the feelings I have. A cocktail, yet again.

I can laugh because how foolish people can be.

I can pity them, how blind can they be?

I can ignore on how ignorant they can be.

I refuse to see on how they are given poison after giving honey.

I can even feel sick and disgusted.

On how things lurk around your fingers just the way you want them to. They are your slaves, your dolls.

They become what you've made them, spoiled them.

Yet. Who am i? A spectator of your magnificient play? You put up beautiful settings, nice magical curtains, grand chandeliers, polished windows and woven carpet.

And your dolls come in and took our right minds away. Makes me laugh at their silliness. Putting nice and also bitter words in their mouths. A beautiful, nasty storyline.

Or. Am I also a part of it? Feelings that I feel are a part of your play. The audience is in your hands as well?

Smart.

But not wise, mister.

Because you are no Creator.

God is.