In Which We Know We Are Alive

Broken.

An endless display of loneliness beckons.

Where tragedy can blanket the too far gone.

The desperation at quieting the disillusioned voices surveying my thoughts.

Here I remain…making the same mistakes again.

I yearn for the ocean.

To traverse the sandy beaches in solidarity.

To burrow my damp hands into the sand.

To excavate the millions of pieces of sand and watch them fall from my grasp.

A perfect exemplification to the failing pieces of my life.

I’ve left many things back there.

Encased in the soil; floating beyond the ocean floor.

A small amount of years has distanced itself between me and the life I thought I knew.

A decade of insoluble memories; with a parade of masks used to conceal the dismay.

Why must I descend into the adversities that only deem to irreparable encumber me?

Lonely.

It has to grow.

Has to overtake the hemorrhage.

It won’t take long.

And it will become the definition that reclaims ever fabric of your reality.

Sand in my eye.

This is what happens when you clasp your hands in turmoil.

A million fragments of all eras come crashing down beyond your irises.

But I deserve this.

I deserve the pain.

Every welt on my face.

Every scratch on my eye.

Every piece of gravel ingrained into my skin.

Every bad word.

Every syllable.

Every thing.

I consume them without a second guess.

And ask for seconds.

I’m too far gone.

This is what I’ve become.

And this is how it has to be.

I’ve been alone for so fucking long.

And I’ve gotten use to the idea of no one caring.

So I break it down and demolish the idea.

I pour the ignition fluid and light the torch to bring an end to these alien endeavors.

It’s so fucking scary you have no idea.

The thoughts in my head beckon me to the fire at close range.

I fear the flame but continue to ease my way into its caustic embrace.

There is no other way.

But I love her.

I’ve just thought of a life without her and my blood ran colder than it normally resides.

I can’t.

She gives me hope.

She gives me a meaning to this life.

She gives me a shot at redemption.

She give me.

She.

Gives.

Me.

ME.

And therein lies the problem.

Burn.

That’s how you are suppose to know you’re alive.

I am a cinder.

And I’ve just imploded throughout your life.

And I’m so fucking sorry.

I am the failure I thought I wasn’t.

I am the letdown she saw.

Why does it have to be this way?

I’m damaged, I’m broken.

Irreparable and consigned to the morgue of the un-enchanted and ill-fated.

You can try to catch a glimpse of me through the moments in between.

But there isn’t anything fast enough to encase me in your heart-shaped box.

The ones with the rusty razors, .38 bullets, and immolation pills.

You couldn’t have envisioned what I am and what I’ve become.

But I warned you.

I did.

And it hurts so bad to think this way.

There will never be a time where I don’t think of you.

As the leaves whirl about my stagnant dreams, I can only breathe in the thoughts of you.

There is no hope nor no help.

A lost cause on a lost highway threaded in between darkness and despair.

I don’t choose to be this way.

It’s just the way it is.

And once broken into a defiled dilapidated desecrated insanity.

I’m holding on for what’s left of my life.

The strife only lingers beyond the lip of the Cocytus and stares into my corroded essence.

Your words placed no action on my fragile existence.

Please believe that.

This world I’ve made for myself is without life.

Without sunshine and happiness.

No optimism, music, or breath to partake in my visions.

Only a place where I can punish myself and deny myself the things I truly desire.

The things I truly care about.

The things I thought I once deserved.

But who can mend something placed through a wood-chipper and then lit afire.

The smoke inhaled and then departing into the clouds where the rain attempts to recycle.

I’ll just stay adrift among the clouds.

Maybe one day I can come down to play along the red tulips.

In hopes of burrowing myself within the petals.

So that I can have a place to perch when watching you live the life you deserve.

That’s the eternal torture I fear.

But then again, how must we truly know we are alive?

 

 

 

– 1985 A.D.

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