🎭 Cosplay of Misery 🪞by ZAYAZ

Описание: ███████╗░█████╗░██╗░░░██╗░█████╗░███████╗
╚════██║██╔══██╗╚██╗░██╔╝██╔══██╗╚════██║
░░███╔═╝███████║░╚████╔╝░███████║░░███╔═╝
██╔══╝░░██╔══██║░░╚██╔╝░░██╔══██║██╔══╝░░
███████╗██║░░██║░░░██║░░░██║░░██║███████╗
╚══════╝╚═╝░░╚═╝░░░╚═╝░░░╚═╝░░╚═╝╚══════╝

This musical work, including but not limited to the composition, lyrics, melody, arrangement, sound design, and overall concept, is the exclusive intellectual property of the rights holder.
The author and rights holder retains full ownership and legal rights to this work by virtue of holding the corresponding license. Any reproduction, distribution, public performance, broadcasting, synchronization, adaptation, sampling, or use of this work, in whole or in part, without prior written authorization from the rights holder is strictly prohibited.
Unauthorized use may result in civil and/or criminal liability under applicable intellectual property and copyright laws.
© 2026. All rights reserved.
---------------------------------


⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡴⣚⢊⣟⢾⡳⡿⠭⣯⣷⢿⣶⣯⢶⡽⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀
⢠⡗⡝⣮⢽⣥⢾⡻⣽⢷⡸⣏⢿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀
⢸⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀
⣾⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⠷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀
⣿⣿⣟⡳⢶⢶⣤⣀⣠⡟⣍⡷⣻⣿⣿⣇⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡀
⣿⣞⡾⣽⣣⢇⡥⠧⣏⣭⣯⡋⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡅
⣿⣿⣽⣿⣻⣮⢿⣿⣥⣿⡻⣗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣞⡷⢫⡟⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠸⣿⣿⣯⣿⣷⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀
⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀
⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢛⣛⠛⠛⠛⣛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀




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…