Hanging On This Impertinent Illusion

I've no strength left to keep fighting, motivation has worn off like stealth; voices have no happy sounds, faces are sad, nobody laughs... I'm a ghost wandering among the living; I walk past a cemetery, I smell death! Isn't it awful to hang on this impertinent illusion, keeping away the incoherent threat of intrusion? I spoke sweetly avoiding a harsh voice of villain; I couldn't tarn the image of perfect gentleman! Tragedies happen to give us a warning, who learns from them realizes calamity; who's proud and fearless understands nothing, do the strongest show resistance or fragility? Hanging on this impertinent illusion makes me fallacious in imprudent decision; it's incumbent that I exercise extreme intelligence, not to fall prey to mistakes that bear a consequence! Rebuke me, if I seem too delirious swaying from commonsense, it's not stubbornness but deliberate frustration to make me err; the little hope I held onto has withered and become tremendous fear: they all agree that hanging on this impertinent illusion is my past tense!