how is it that the wave must dip when the upward turn begins and all sparkles with clarity as the artery of life the brain is denied? Then the body suffers the mind. Death could be darkness it could be remorse it could be timeless bludgeoning from the fists of a demon. Perhaps it truly ends and there is satisfaction in completion; the end of movement. Do we really know it will get better or is it a motto to pacify the miserable until one takes action to improve or die. Oh the hypocrisy of the uninitiated stabs like needles in my eyes; it punctures and blinds, it attacks the body where it is weakest, it draws blood and shatters vision, but does nothing in the end but hurt me for a moment.
Death and blackness await stillness no desire cold no movement I look forward to it Would you cry for me and mean it I have cried for you and stopped myself from entering the tunnel but my body aches and my mind is slow my lips are heavy and perhaps I have nothing left to offer anyone I will go there it must be better than having a taste and having the food ripped from your mouth
I am dead, I am Simon, am I dead. I am the sickness, my own sickness, and I choose to be no more. I am my own worst nightmare and so I choose to die, to meet that other soul, to go, a place I've never been. But that I could take you along to see the wonders dark and deep that the crush of body, mind and soul creates inside the shell of man. Do words ever relate the power the twisted journey brings to the brave who cease to fear unknown and enter worlds inside. I think not, so you must come with me and perhaps before the journey's end all destinations cease to be perhaps we cease to be again. It is time and my words, huh, my words! They've become excessive and my drug awaits. This, the last day of my being. I choose the exit, I scramble to the safety of the outside, escape the mob, crawling and screaming for identity, a name, a place beyond here. |
It sneaks up from behind and snares you takes tranquillity and laughs; laughs in the face of elation deflates the happy loftiness of carefree time. What is it? What is it? is it an idea or a thing of the night a demon? the color red or perhaps blue: a black squiggle over my head. Nothing but proof of the dark center creeping up to say "Here I am, I control you" we hope to keep it in check sometimes we do, sometimes we don't.
to stop the line, to be the last; the punctuation at the end of a sentence. I will be an ellipses... no matter how I or others wish me to be an exclamation point! I taste the end feel it gnawing at my heels pulling my hair; my tongue is numb and my eyes are glassy soon I will rest. |
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[Cover | Surroundings | Creativity | Darkness | Life | Nature | Love | Peace | Epilogue]
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