Extractions of retrospection

My heart is conflicted.

I’m severely torn.

That is due to the fact, that I can not hide anymore.

There is a creature at the edge of my bed, one riddled with scars, armoured in thorns and crowned with horns.

I believe it may very well be myself, and I cannot pretend that it is a monstrosity.

For it is me, yes it is I, the one of the depths that floated ever so high.

The one filled with shame, cloaked in pride, donning a mask of whatever emotion seemingly allows one to survive.

Alas, in the end, all was denied and nothing ever thrived.

For what a foolish and grave error it was to believe that controlling the fable could lead to a surprise.

And that is a certainty, uncertainty, when we delve into the unknown and refuse to be bonded to our frail beliefs, those that shatter instantaneously when we analyze their “authority”.

I say this very well, then again, I am merely in the midst of a spell.

One that perpetuates longing for a serum that will cure delirium.

And upon the discovery of a antidote to my own insanity, I fall to the bottom of humanity before rising up into absolute profanity.

Because, you see, I am but a thief.

Stealing the fire from the gods because within this realm it is cold and lonely.

Then, I am also the hero, for I shall return the flames, indeed, give the gift back, if only to be in the presence of that which I lack.

For I am a broken fixed man.

The plans contract and then expand, leading to the disposition of my position once more.

You see, I heard a secret, it was framed in the sense that all the treasure you seek is buried deep within your core.

Alas, I am a poor excavator, and the further I burrow, the more this machine of mine, a fine construct it once was, seems to break.

And so indeed, integration is nessecary, for there are deep and dark parts of me that recall exactly how to repair this mistake.

It would be easy, yes it would be fine, it would fill the hollow and allow one to rewind to a peaceful state of mind.

It would replace this nothingness with an artificial high, it would shame the darkness and forget that I was born to die.

It would allow bliss to take hold if only for a second, for the kiss could very well turn into an object of possession, vacant obsessions.

And no, that is not what should be.

So I turn once more to the edge to accept and at last see, that the entirety of this experience, is an expression of me, if only so that I can learn what it means, to no longer feel so empty.

Sending you Light through Love,

B

Categories creative writing, poetryTags , , ,

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