Rap – Enigmas of the Night (Part 4/6 of The Lost Star)

Note: this is part four of a series of raps (called 'The Lost Star') that, read together, tell an overarching story. Despite this, it's also readable as a standalone piece.

Night time re-arrives, the only source of light
Is his room and the moon that illuminates the sky,
Look at the star templates, contemplate his life,
The constellations’ so far, but the dead star’s the one alive,
In his face the eclipsed one as he stands in the mirror,
Temptations ripe, repent to be a sinner,
He wishes to be his juxtaposition,
He's fucked in this position, but it's a must to keep on living,
He used to be the one, now he feels like an outcast,
He relieves his last, gives everything that he can,
Lacks the respect ‘cause they know what he still has
Is a shadow of himself, stuck not in the centre but the outlands,
Buried under work, overworked to the limit,
Hurried, fumbled, hurt, another starting star finished,
Shooting for the infinite but his boundaries are limitless,
A six out of ten stressed victim is his definitive,
Fade in the light, awaken at night,
The stars are his suns and the sun’s his nightlight,
Always tired, in a fight to defy sleep whether he
Wants, far from normal ones who strive in the bright,
Like he got a punctured brain ‘cause he can't function in the day,
Struggling to maintain his life outside this cave,
So holed up in his head and aspirations to attain,
Been this way since ‘98, will he ever be the same?
Black always looming, turning windows to funhouse mirrors,
Can't see his reflection back, bloodshot eyes impacting his vision,
Lack of self confidence dooming him to this prism,
Imprisoned by self criticism, pessimism looting his optimism,
Desolation of happiness increasing his isolation,
Can't make eye contact with someone's face without questioning their motivation,
So focused on the future, what kind of present is he making?
When your whole world is fabrication, what is left for the taking?
If only he wasn't scared of them saying "it's a wrap",
He just fights his sadness, almost crying in his lap,
Relaying insecurities, replaying distant memories,
It's inadvertently hurting but everyone's letting him,
He needs to get a grip but all he does is slip,
If he gave in and sipped he could put an end to this,
But as it is it's tragic ‘cause his magic’s gone to shit,
So acquainted with failure he can't remember what it's like to win,
He defies what's defined of life, says “I won't” instead of “I might”,
So down on himself he's uptight, and what's left's the opposite of right,
He writes, trying to ignite the last glimmer of light,
Use dark times to fight the eclipse, flip the mix so it's white,
But when he sees the white light can he claim he lived a good life?
Or did he just get by without a try?
Didn't even, why? It's odd, his mind in a divide,
Devise a solution he can use past the night,
So disconnected from outside of his professions, need a lesson
On professing his relentless headaches, getting his pain detected,
But he's so possessed by stress he just can't confess his depression,
Was so happy five months ago, what the hell has happened?
His lack of confidence has made him confidential,
Fade to black, back to rest, sleeping through his daily schedule,
Morphed sleep into a form of escapism, robbing his potential,
His head being dwarfed, "fuck this, can't let my best go"

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