I know my corner well, where the darkness veils just enough to make it welcoming but not isolated. Yet you have tainted this dreamspace, my abode of late. You came in with your dirty feet and tarnished my minute trappings, ripping my small works of art into shreds, demanding I confess to my wrongdoing. I have done no wrong except in acknowledging you for who you were not. I have known much misery by you, have known sadnesses a thousand feet deep in the blackness of the ocean. My melancholy siphons from one vein to another, flowing through the circuitry of my being, molding what I have become. I wish these sentiments on no one, as none deserves such wretchedness, such tightening of happiness. You are a cruel and dirisive being. May you find chaos in your hubris. There is no love left to share with you, for you have misused me too many times to bear. My heart has run dry, and I wish nothing but turmoil in your shortfalls. Perhaps somewhere at the end of your time you may find the acute and immeasurable pangs of self awareness dawn on every reprehensible fiber of your existence and only then may you go in a silent but fleeting moment of quietus. May your trappings haunt you like a disinterested ghost. You have no home here. Be gone before I set the wolves on you once more.
Shine in your pitfalls,
wander in your love,
give purpose to your confusion,
revel in your whims,
do this all in the confines of your desires only,
fashion yourself after your goddesses,
shape your thoughts to the wisdom of your wisewomen,
take not from the piles of uniform production,
not from the idle clouds of murky uniformity,
never from those who are all veneer and no heart,
remember to stay far from the fields of machina,
that whose coats gleam untarnished under the sun,
they will hinder your journey north,
follow the worn roads and walk beneath the sentinel boughs,
stay the path and move forward always,
you are more than you were yesterday.
I wonder stupidly if you’d still love me after my run around the world and back to you, at the end of the line. If because of my innate selfishness I shied away from sharing myself with you, I backed out and away to work on other things and realized that I liked being alone, that despite my capacity to love, I have a greater capacity to suffer. That no matter how many times you show up I want to give you the universe and yet show nothing for it because I’m the end result of subtle mistreatment, of pervasive dysfunction. I’ve resided there long, I’ve seen the world to know what the reality is and here I am preserving my sanity. You’re the casualty. I don’t want to give you the universe because I want it for myself. I wonder how you could love these heavy bones when there is so much suffering in the world. How could you concentrate on us when there are others. All this noise and nothing but the pain of distance and withdrawal, of slow heartbreak. I wonder of the ease of waiting for the plane to bring me up into the clouds and over the grid and back to this soothing and dark pool of illusion, of my continuing delusion. Somewhere in the distance, you’re waiting for me but if I look back, I’m lost.
These familiar faces surround me, they have returned from places far away, come back home for this festive stretch of time, to half celebrate the end of one year and the start of a new one, the closing of strange chapters, they tell me things I have no desire to heed, they remind me of the role I fulfill in their dark souls, they have made me feel more alone than ever, here at the end of the year.
I think of the water washing up at level with the bank in the cold evenings as I stare at the twinkling lights across the river. My stomach rumbles as I think of the fulfilling prospect of hot food. I am happiest when I follow my friends back toward the restaurant.
I hope to begin anew again soon.
There are these bright moments of abhorring darkness when someone does something so vile that you feel bits of yourself falling away, and the spirit of self-damaging pain takes over like a slithering poison.
These moments are so trivial and yet their effect is astounding. You play and replay scenarios in your head, wondering how much further you could go down the chasm. It’s subtle but overt, quiet but cacophonous.
When they takes stabs with their sharpened words, there is this millisecond of thought that flashes in my mind and soul, and disappears just as quickly.
In that millisecond, I think of the dying.
They will try to make you stay,
steal the peace away from you,
soak your actions in self doubt,
if you don’t live the way they like.