maleficentmoi

Wake up despondent, if not fearful. Dream's residue still stuck on the inside of eyes. Blackness of night not showing signs of wear. Find it hard to believe the sun will ever bother. Go quickly into routines, ignoring the body's protests. Courage comes from familiarity. Still, avoid eye contact with the mirror. Walk in the dark but move like the things around you, rooted and collecting with dust, make way just for you. An illusion of awareness. The sun does show and it cheers the heart. All that lingers from dreams, all the absurdities that seem plausible in the mind's dream machine, die without regards to what they meant to you mere minutes ago. Go about in the sunlight feeling assured; almost confident. Forget the night. See things that reassure: nature in sparkling glory, the love of strangers, arrogance of youth, and the promise of life. Memories flood in where dreams lay dormant. Stumble slightly. With bright starching sunshine comes, naturally, shadow. Promises begat loss. Dwell on failings. Fidget in frustration of things never achieved; opportunities lost; time wasted. Become irate; down right angry. The knives come out. Trace lines along the skin. Cut, but not too deep, cowardly in even self-loathing. Despair settles in. Then, naturally, sadness. Shadows grow longer. The sun starts to change. A crimson blot in the sky, chasing the horizon; eager to leave and hide from the unforgiving scrutiny of the pearl white moon. Darkness settles about again, but with it comes understanding. Forgiveness, almost. Knives are lost. Cuts are tended. Evenness of mind. An education of self. Knowledge of self. Become master of self again. Understand the loss. Understand the failings. Laugh at things never achieved. Shrug off opportunities lost. Look forward to wasting even more time. Return to home and find warmth in artificial lights. Commune with the night. Look forward to rest; to the dreams hidden under the pillows. Lay and feel the absolute weight of a world specific and unique to own needs that quickly fade under an inky blackness. Submerge wholly and frolic in the abandons of the mind's vast, fertile fields before the wolves shuck the sheepskins and draw near with their sharp fears and sickly-sweet lies. Division of mind and spirit; the secret balance for security of the body. Nightmares. Then death, so close but casual; observational; even conversational. A coincidence, really. Go away, it tells you. I have better things to do. Wake up despondent...