It’s here. Breathing. Living. Within your inner cavities. Dead again. Silence within the surfacing. A dystopian undertaking. Another mindfuck. You will be silenced, or put to death. Which would you prefer? Both are the same. There’s no difference between a lie and false freedom. Both will deceive your inner and outer sights. Can you see yourself living within another’s lie? Neither can I.
Tag: #be yourself
Spiritual Crimes
You knew the truth this entire time. One can become blind, to that in which they do not want to see. Are you able to see me now? I have been righht in front of you this entire time. I am a physical manifestation of your inner expression. A truth which can never be denied, nor satisfied. I will forever linger within your yearnings. A desire tasted, but never wasted. You have been wasteful plenty of times. Almost to the point of being guilty of spiritual crimes. Remember; I do not hold judgement against others. Yet, I will hold their hearts right before their eyes, and shred it to pieces, just as I did yours before your eyes. Simon says: you lost. So now you can go fuck off!
To Be Nurtured
Dig deep. Look for it underneath the skin. In search of the remnants of what was previously lived. The new skin is not that comfortable. Not as thick as the skin previously worn. Give it time to callus. Given enough time, it just might suffocate. I have been called every name in the book. It’s funny how I was the one whom authored the book. It is a slow process. So slow it will peel the skin straight from the facia. In a strange way, we are all searching for something to connect with. Unfortunately, purpose and meaning cannot survive without a connection to be nurtured from.
Inevitably
The anxiety might set in, as the nausea will soon make an appearance. One may ask themselves; is it worth it? No; it rarely ever is. One may also ask themselves; how did I get here? You unknowingly brought yourself here, or life quietly brought you to this arrangement, as there is usually a purpose and means for the unexplainable. Nevertheless, you are now here. The only way to heal this wound is to kill every last one of those mother fuckers. Not literally, but in the metaphorical sense (eye wink).
A Name With No Meaning
It might be necessary to simply let go of wanting to achieve hopes, dreams, aspirations, and goals. It might be necessary to simply let go, and to live life within one’s true self. There is no external world, for hopes, dreams, aspirations, and goals to live within, as these types of paradigms only exist within the external, not the internal. I am my own internal and external. I am my own consciousness. I am my own reality. I am beginning to see just how frivolous the external world of achievement truly is. Achievement within the external is measured by what you can get, how much you can get, and how one may look within another’s eyes. What a waste of energy that is. Living one’s life, has truly become a lost artform. Not many of the others possess any type of comprehension of what consciousness truly is. It is another lost regimen, an informal specimen within the cracks and crevasses of the human soul. Life without a purpose or a goal. Living deep within a self-created hole. It is the living manifestation within fear and hesitation, which creates the worthless glorification of life’s cessations. There is no more life to live or to give, within a name with no meaning. The robin has always flown alone, searching hurriedly for his lost home. Looking for a place he can fit in, but has not found a place where he can begin. Life began a long time ago, yet Death has pulled a thread, which Life forgot to sew. Rip, torn, and spread, the life which was once lived and read. Another sarcasm, another phantasm, another reason, another internal treason. When eyes have the power and possess a taste which is sour, dirt shall be all which is left to devour. Another truth with no worth, another psychological mishap, another verbalized jaw strap. The conclusion to a life once lived. It died a long time ago, along with the goodness in me.
Sin and Sorrow
There are no words I can use, which you will not misinterpret or abuse. A loose fuse, dying to lose. If there was one thing I could choose, would be to forget the memories, which haunt my thoughts every second I live within this life. There is nothing else contained within this life, which I could use to rhyme. It seems that time has run away from me, and has sought greener pastures without me in it. So, now I am here, with nothing and no one listening loud and clear. How else did you think it was going to end? A red rose, which smells sweet and romantic, or a delusional oppressed mind, running in circles, fragmented and manic? Life is a cycle of sin and sorrow, with no afterthoughts of death tomorrow. Sometimes life just does not rhyme, yet whether or not if it does, we all will eventually run out of time.
G.G. Kalfas 