It is not the grief of the past
that weighs me down
but the pain of the present.
It is not sorrow at the loss
of what once was
but the fear
of where I am headed
They say self destruction
is an artform.
I disagree.
I have boiled, cured, and distilled it
concentrated into a
raw
pure
cold
methodical science
Mental masochism
bears no outward scars
like my daily penance of scalding.
The searing pain of
boiling water washing over flesh
outweighs the agony within
and I am free
in brevity
and it ends.
The soul-borne agony consumes me
and manifests herself in physical form
deafening
crushing
paralyzing
I know of escapes
optional, alternate paths
but they are locked away
behind the bonds
of words I have spoken.
Surely, if I break one
I will break them all.
When my word loses meaning
I am nothing.
Instead I carefully craft a facade.
The shirts are a lie.
If my mind were on my sleeves
they could only be black
likewise my bruised and withered heart.
I look to the birds of the sky
in envy.
As also the beasts of the field.
A birds world is not without worry
but they are free.
The beasts - the bovine and oxen -
too stupid
to know their guaranteed fate
live for clover and grain
and grow merry and fat of body
while I wither away in soul.
Twice I have looked death
upon the face
and seen his eyes
glowing like embers in the night
and twice I have said
"Not today."
Now I see him lurking
following in my shadow
grinning wickedly
and tapping his watch.
He is patient and cunning
and I am growing weary.
How long will I keep the will
to outlast?
But my demise will not be
drastic, irrevocable action.
It will be one of carefree pacifism
and careless existence
without action or deed.
It will be like a blossom of summer
that withers in the fall
and fails to awaken come spring.
I find myself praying daily
to a god I no longer trust
in hopes that he has not given up on me.
I find myself at nothing
a void
consumed by null manifest
in the dark.
I want to be free.
I want to live.
I want to love
as I have before.
My cup need not run over
but simply be cleansed
of the dirt and lies
that fill it now.
that weighs me down
but the pain of the present.
It is not sorrow at the loss
of what once was
but the fear
of where I am headed
They say self destruction
is an artform.
I disagree.
I have boiled, cured, and distilled it
concentrated into a
raw
pure
cold
methodical science
Mental masochism
bears no outward scars
like my daily penance of scalding.
The searing pain of
boiling water washing over flesh
outweighs the agony within
and I am free
in brevity
and it ends.
The soul-borne agony consumes me
and manifests herself in physical form
deafening
crushing
paralyzing
I know of escapes
optional, alternate paths
but they are locked away
behind the bonds
of words I have spoken.
Surely, if I break one
I will break them all.
When my word loses meaning
I am nothing.
Instead I carefully craft a facade.
The shirts are a lie.
If my mind were on my sleeves
they could only be black
likewise my bruised and withered heart.
I look to the birds of the sky
in envy.
As also the beasts of the field.
A birds world is not without worry
but they are free.
The beasts - the bovine and oxen -
too stupid
to know their guaranteed fate
live for clover and grain
and grow merry and fat of body
while I wither away in soul.
Twice I have looked death
upon the face
and seen his eyes
glowing like embers in the night
and twice I have said
"Not today."
Now I see him lurking
following in my shadow
grinning wickedly
and tapping his watch.
He is patient and cunning
and I am growing weary.
How long will I keep the will
to outlast?
But my demise will not be
drastic, irrevocable action.
It will be one of carefree pacifism
and careless existence
without action or deed.
It will be like a blossom of summer
that withers in the fall
and fails to awaken come spring.
I find myself praying daily
to a god I no longer trust
in hopes that he has not given up on me.
I find myself at nothing
a void
consumed by null manifest
in the dark.
I want to be free.
I want to live.
I want to love
as I have before.
My cup need not run over
but simply be cleansed
of the dirt and lies
that fill it now.
robotsatemyhair:
This is beautiful.