Another morning. Eyes burning. In shock of what they are witnessing. Another morning. Within another lifetime. The differences are repeating themselves. A transition within a self-limiting existence. No threshold. Only a stranglehold of the consciousness. Back breaking endeavor. Split spine. The soul’s wasted time. A deliberation of persistence. Another aggression on repeat. Repeating itself. There is a distinction within the hue. Neither you nor I, knew it at the time. There is no such control, when it comes to the unknowable; other than the type of control one will allow to be bestowed upon them. Do you really think there is another type of control? No, there exists no such thing. It was all a scam. Life. Liberty. The pursuit of nothingness. I already thought you knew all of this by now, or at least you began to figure this out. I guess not.
Tag: deja vu
A Dark Serenade
You cannot take any more from me. The others have taken it all away. They have left me with nothing. Empty. Hollow. Right through to the center of my bones. They even sucked me dry of my marrow. This is all I have left to display for my life’s work. You can try. Nothing is all you will find. I am sure you will even try to take nothing from me as well. Something special for you to hold on to. The sweet blistering screams. A dark serenade; existing within the soundscapes of your living imperfections. How I crave, and love to dream of your painful blackness. This has happened before. Déjà vu. On a different vibration. On a different plane. In a different reality. Your kisses are missing the point. The air is filled with your kisses. The loving pain of their sweet annihilation. You will miss my last kiss underneath the midnight eclipse. There never has been any type of moral or motivational support. I do not know what morals would ever mean to you and I. Painting the feeling. With blood and bone. Dreaming the tearing. With sand and razor blades. Killing the willing. Subservient sacrifice. It is all the same to me now. There are too many questions being asked. Oblivion tastes sweeter than an unconscious confusion. This is what you have created life to be for yourself. Another chaos. Another cesspool. Another floor; feeling the delicate caress of your knees dropping to it. A new path you will follow. Better than the old one. A change of scenery. It is the same path you were on before. Leading to your apocalypse. Only the names and the people change. The paths never do. I saw how it came to this. How you strangled the love right out of yourself. Choking it to death. Asphyxiation fetish. There will always be someone to help you with that. Helping hands. If you do not appreciate the sights you have seen. You will never be able to understand the words painted upon it. Nor the bloodshed, which took place to create it. They broke you in two when you were young. Too young for open eyes. Too young for open thighs. Open thighs within a surprise. These types of surprises will get you killed. One way or another way. One cell at a time. One memory at a time. One lifetime at a time. Another way out, while you were looking for another way back in. Your body survived. Partially. Your psyche was shattered beyond repair. There is no mending for a broken soul. Carnality will preserver within the sub-human conditioning. Perverting your systemically impoverished mental capacity. One insertion after insertion at a time. Though, your mind did not make it. Slowly losing your spirit along the way. Along with your other sacred virtues, you desperately wanted nothing to do with. Your eyes see the same sights. A blinding moonlit night, which you will remember. Full moon rituals within romantic residuals. Slowly killing your shapeshifting ideals away from you. This is how collecting morals would eventually look, as they would be safely protected in your hidden treasure chest. A discerning type of forgetfulness, which simply allows a false pregnancy to be birthed into the world. Devouring and deciding the rest of your life for you. The romantic choices, which have been stripped away from your life. I know you have always been able to see me; denying your insightful spectrums. A life without me in it. Another pain you can embellish upon. Another opportunity to bleed yourself dry in. One last slit wrist. One last painful bliss.
G.G. Kalfas 