Fallen Wings

It is within those fragile moments. Those fragile moments when you land face first into the dirt. You can taste the impacted dirt in your mouth. Trapped in between your teeth. The grainy taste of failure; protruding itself from the tip of your tongue. To taste and to speak words; this is the only use a tongue provides. The wings which were used to fly over your obstacles seemed to have failed you. But did they? Perhaps you were meant to face this obstacle head on, as you have avoided facing it your entire life. Another mirror, only this time you can taste the failure contained within its reflection. Wings can fly you to the greatest heights, just as they can sink you below the depths of Hades. Wings also provide protection from one’s own chains; breaking the bondage of one’s own silence from within their heart.

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.

Contaminated

This is where you and I depart. You portrayed yourself to be something and someone you are not. Another illusion within your childish confusion. Maturity, depth, and substance, are character traits you are incapable of possessing. What you do not know, and will probably never know. Me. You simply never took the time to peer beyond the hair. The jacket. The personality. The soul. I do not blame you, as it is not your fault. You were groomed to live this kind of life. Your parents, social media, and the propaganda of “Toxic Masculinity” has brainwashed you, along with 95% of the other sheeple within this global society. You cannot seem to find the term in the dictionary. Depth and consideration were never strong character traits within you. A selfish disposition is your body armor. The new normal. The new way of living your life. One. Day. At. A. Time. One childish fantasy at a time. Another death from childhood, which keeps your ideologies fresh and clean. You have been contaminated by everything you have thought was healthy for you. That type of death will slowly and steadily seep into every part of your being. This is why you will never know the depths contained within me.

Conditioned.

At this very moment. You are being conditioned. In thought. In word. In deed. They are not your own, as these are circumstances “brought to you by (buy)” the Control Machine. Your new best friend. Your new God. Your new parental advocacy committee. Your New Normal. You are living a lifestyle/lifetime, that has been carefully molded and mandated for the consumption and convenience of your consciousness. That gritty taste upon your tongue, and in between your teeth; that’s the taste of dirt in your mouth. What else would you be tasting lying six feet under, trapped in a casket?

Life Crushed It.

The sweet moans of life being birthed. The confusion settles in, as the sweet moans are not so sweet. The moans are the crying screams of thoughts, goals, and aspirations being crushed; one at a time. Life has a curious way of encroaching itself upon you, and upon your very consciousness. Life has a sense of humor only it understands. Ha fucking ha. Cyclical. The silent laughter of pain, torment, and rage. I have gone deaf from the silence.

A Funerial Heart

The cold warmth of a funerial heart. These are the times I can feel the disease within me; the disease within my mind. A diseased mind is a cure for life. A diseased mind and the living death, are truly the only cure for living within one’s life. How does one live in a world, where one is not recognized by it, yet they do not recognize the world? There is no day within the eternal night. The cessation within one’s own lifespan. Soft reverberations within one’s own rotting hand. The solitary warmth of one’s isolation, is the disease of ease. Too many attention seekers are seeking me. You must witness the nocturnal massacre, as you deeply breathe in their annoyances. Try not to choke on them.

There is a slight distinction within the hue, as neither you or I possess perfect eye sight. There is no vision, other than the type of vision one will allow to be bestowed upon them. Do you really think there is another type? No, there is not, as it was all a scam to begin with. I thought you knew all of this by now; I guess not.