hermes no me lo advirtio

Moods fall, they dance on my two feet... and without realizing it, Diogenes possesses my skin.
I see this ravine society falling, I speak to my mirror and it doesn't even see me in the eyes.
My appearance is not terrible, I control my actions, I surround myself with so much barbarity that I feel as if alone.
Behind an anonymous screen I see myself, a doctrine without a soul, without a transparent voice to believe.
I go through life as if it were a postmodern Frankenstein, I became this "victor", driven crazy by this winter. I think Mary Shelley romanticized my story a lot, but I didn't notice something and my ending remained incomplete.