The days are now blending into one another, just like you and I once did.
Tag: life
Necrotic Whispers
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.
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.
Dark Auras
Sifting within the glistening sin. Hands bound without a sound. Disdain for the profound and profane. There is nothing else sweeter than the putrid embrace of your pain. Release the deceased living from within. Bury the dead with the rest of the words, which have already been said. A new Aeon arrives, as it can see thorough your illusory disguise. Embrace the dark aura of wilted indolence, as this will be the only way you will find your internal independence. Words can be enchanting, but your Death can be more hypnotic. Yet, life has a way of becoming lost within one’s created chaotic. A Dark Aura, is a gift from the Universal. Unfortunately, many of the others, treat life as though it was some type of preparational rehearsal. I can assure you; it is not. This is it. This is all you have, as this is all you are, within this brief moment of your life. If it gets better, or if it gets worse; it is solely up to you. Now fuck off.
Words Fly Away
One fragmented disillusion at a time. Can only handle one at a time. Systemic retribution is annihilated. Quietly annihilated. Creep into it softly. As soft as you can. One breath and one death at a time. The secret contained within the lie. Incantated words of deliberate creation. No use for binding. They will freely fly away. Words fly away. Doomed to relive your faded ways. Within death’s eyes is where you will stay. Give life to yourself. The inner midnight radiance of your glow. I have seen how you have no more to show. More than what you have the ability to contain. Another onset through the manipulated senses. This will give rise to a specific type of self-doubt. Never ending. Always manipulating your biological rehabilitation. The never-ending cycle of neurosis. A mental rehabilitation. Spiritual fascination.
A Lost Artform
These are the hands, which create the living understanding of what you and I have become. There is no other way for you and I to live within one another, other than complete and total annihilation of the way you and I used to live. This can be quite a devastating undertaking, even for the steel-minded types, such as you and I. I am my own internal and external, my own creation within the rotted devastation of society’s excrement. I am my own consciousness; my own reality. I am beginning to see into the depths of just how frivolous the external world of achievement truly is. Living one’s life, is quickly becoming a lost artform; an ancient language written in cuneiform. The sheeple within the external realm, lack the fundamental understandings, of what conscious and unconscious truly means within one’s creative processes. Yet, there are not many people within this realm, who know how to read cuneiform.
G.G. Kalfas 