# Atramentum

Владимир Сергеевич Коншин

Climbing towers made of golden lies,

Crowned in shadows, under neon skies.

Diamonds glisten, like silent tears,

Whispers of victories drowned in fears.


Iron thrones and paper kings,

Hollow laughter the wealth it brings.

I"m the lord of this painted land,

The world"s at my feet, cold as sand.


They all bow, they all cheer,

But silence whispers, crystal clear.

No voices linger when the night is black,

What I seek, I cannot have back.


Mountains of powder, rivers of flame,

Crowds chant a forgotten name.

Emptiness grows with every claim,

Nothing to hold, only the shame.


Gold-tipped fingers trace my scars,

Drunken stumbles beneath silver stars.

Faces blurred in a fleeting dance,

Hands that touch, but none that grasp.


The throne"s an iceberg, the crown"s a noose,

Power"s grip, too tight to loose.

The more I take, the less I feel,

The broken mirror, the silent reel.


They all bow, they all cheer,

But silence whispers, crystal clear.

No voices linger when the night is black,

What I seek, I cannot have back.


Mountains of powder, rivers of flame,

Crowds chant a forgotten name.

Emptiness grows with every claim,

Nothing to hold, only the shame.


A fortress built on fleeting trust,

Every gain turned into dust.

Strangers smile with hollow eyes,

Their promises thin as the morning lies.


Knives behind the warmest grin,

Betrayal cuts deeper than sin.

Allies vanish, hearts grow cold,

The story"s old, the truth retold.


They all bow, they all cheer,

But silence whispers, crystal clear.

No voices linger when the night is black,

What I seek, I cannot have back.


Mountains of powder, rivers of flame,

Crowds chant a forgotten name.

Emptiness grows with every claim,

Nothing to hold, only the shame.