I know there is more you wish you could do, but haven’t you already done enough? There is so much you have tainted within me, just from wanting to help. I know you think you can help, but if you could; would I be dying right now? Right now, the best thing for you to do, is to let the dying die. Allow nature to take its course; allow the death to become a rebirth. Too many people try to inflict their control over the uncontrollable, as this is probably why they participate in such ridiculous activities. Too much control has already been inflicted, as this is why the rebirth must be initiated. A simple trade: a death for a life. A simple trade worth living and dying through.
Tag: dead
A Dead Swan’s Song
Life is as real as you want it to be…
It is in those tiny pieces of time; those tiny pieces in between each long and dragged out second, those long and tedious seconds, which create the moments within living through a lie. They are just as painful, as they are life consuming. Too much of life has been consumed by these tiny pieces of time, which have dragged life out for far too long. It was not supposed to end this way, but it seems to be the only way I have known. It was never supposed to end this way; it was never supposed to end on me. There is a fist within me; clenching my insides tightly. I have been within the grip of this clenching fist for all of my existence; it seems to have been born within me, when I was birthed into this vibration. This clenching has been with me for so long I forget it is there, hiding within me; holding, tugging, gripping, tearing, molding me into what I have become. There is a special kind of safety, I have found within this special type of torture; a commonality, a familiarity, a deadening, a simple way of existing. I would not necessarily call it a way of living, as much as I would call it an emotional and mental mummification of the spirit. This clenching has not allowed me to evolve beyond a certain point within my life; holding me back, pulling me down to the point of submersion. I drown within my inner thoughts, my speech, and my life within this deep, unbearable clenching submersion. I have learned over and over again to breathe without breathing. This is a life consuming task, which I have grown accustomed to dealing with. It will move on me, more and more each day, as this is how I have learned to overcome the clenching’s hold over me. Over the course of my lifetime, I have learned how to master the submersion. This is the true difference between you and I; the true difference between life and death. This is the life of the internal, as this is the death of the external. I have now mastered both life and death. I have now mastered the illusory material, and the non-cognitive external. I no longer allow the clenching to defeat me within my life, as I now swim within the black waters of its clenching darkness. Now, I am the clenching’s master; I own her darkness.
The Sweet Sad Notes of Your Voice
It is as delicate and solitary, as the night is dark and indulgent. My mind. You have prodded at it enough. Callused membrane. Futility exists, when trying to comprehend its contents. There is no use to indulge yourself within the realms of honesty and purity. There are no thoughts for you to reflect upon, or to bathe within. The sweet sad notes of your voice; lingering and tingling within the shards of broken glass you swallowed. There is no future here for you to dwell within. There only exists the past of consecrated misfortunes and prior devastations, which will only know your broken words and thoughts, for your consideration. The tingling of shattered nerves, seem to scratch and itch within themselves. Ready to ignite the soulmates and the soul’s fates. You were speaking empty words, with a native tongue, within the singularity of tempting the masses. Your people. Sweating and wetting upon your unguarded fleshy mind. A doormat for strangers to walk over. Welcome. Come on in. Make yourself at home. The song within your beaten heart, will never be sung nor heard. The stinging within your words, will forever linger upon your dripping tongue. Another shattered and lathered bedtime story. Waiting for me to tuck you in; tucking you back into your coma. Time flies when you are unconscious, as this is the best way to travel. Dead weight as carry-on luggage. Dead weight for others to carry-on. An inconsideration you will always consider. I can hear your necrotic whispers in my ears. You thought they would sound sexy in my ears. My ears have heard it all.
Breath is Completely Overrated
The transition of an internal demolition. Killing the insides, just so you can grasp fragments of the air around you in order to breathe. Breath is completely overrated. Tell that to a drowning victim. In a way, we are all victims; of our decisions, choices, and personal attitudes. When life is suffocating you, and you do not have the internal capacity to breathe, it can be somewhat challenging to see straight. This is especially true if your lenses are dirty, and you need a new prescription. It’s nothing new to me: old hat. These cycles run themselves around my mind, and through my soul. Soul-crushing. A transition’s grin. The depths of insanity. The reality of uncertainty. I still look for that supposed silver lining. It’s covered in the blood and wreckage of my past. Another endeavor I could not spiritually afford. An affirmation. A devastation. The circumference of a broken heart. The radiance of a glowing death. Tears and fears in arrears. The only way to pay for life’s decisions and choices when under duress. How else did you think it was going to turn out? There is no fairytale to hold on to. There are no remembrances, which do not make me cringe. Some would say, “Just hang in there, it’ll work out if you just give it some time.” I feel as though time has run out. Time ran away from me crying and screaming. I truly wish I knew better, But at this point in my life, what the fuck is the point to any of it? The love I had within me died the day I was born.
One Death at a Time
Craving isolation within the heart and mind. Not the global inducing type, but that of the intrinsic type. There is much to be missed from not experiencing solitude. Solitude lacks the violent noises of the others thoughts. Within this solitude, you can actually hear your mind speak to you. Listening is easy when your boundaries are not constantly being violated by the others. Survival mode. Kill mode. Take them out. Take them all out. If you and I don’t take them out, the mind-numbing sitcoms they hypnotize themselves with eventually will. I enjoy watching them slowly die. Slowly. They enjoy watching their mind-numbing sitcoms, little do these sheeple know, they are my personal sitcom. A trade: a global death for a global death. One death at a time. It is so slow; creeping on them without their understanding. The bliss of ignorance is a common goal for the commoners. One death at a time.
As They Softly Cry
Another expectation unfulfilled
Murdered by the hands of disappointment
A swift steady killing
The let down of an unfulfilled expectation can be deafening
A loud inner scream no one will ever hear
The moment of tearing as the expectation is being unfulfilled
A constant reminder of how life can have a sense of humor
Can you hear the gods laughing aloud
As they softly cry within themselves
The shattered mirror is the unfulfilled expectation
The deathly denial of a false realization
Self-actualization is the true process of confirmation
A communion within an expectation
A slow steady dwelling within yourself
Now you know all of my secrets
Now you can hear all of my thoughts
Now you understand what my name means
Now you know me
G.G. Kalfas 