Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to imagine things than to actually live them. Since your imagination can run wild and conjure up things that your life can’t. I guess I didn’t mean for that to sound so dark, but I’m truly curious, you know?
Your true color is dark gray, muddy, half devoid of substance as if it couldn’t be enough. Your halo is gray and tilted to one side and I saw cracks in your demeanor. For a while I looked at myself and saw some of you reflected as I slowly turned light gray from a pure white. Your color is dark gray, beautiful, but grimy and it brings me down and I wonder what it must feel like to carry that weight with you of pouring out uncontrollably as you hold on to fragments from when you fell to the floor and shattered. I am an act of self-love, in constant motion, and ever so willing to give the little pieces of light that I hold in my hands, but I can’t share that light if all you’ll do is obscure my path.
Disclaimer: This one gets a little dark.
So jaded and hated as you break down into all the junk of life creating excess trash and depression with a road paved with bad intentions. Nothing you do is enough for anything and that’s because you’re less than a person in society’s eyes. The worst is what belongs to you for that is all that you are given in this putrid and debasing world. Who knew you could become so dark in a matter of seconds, but hey, no one is enough anymore so it makes sense that you decompose into fragments of dust littering the walls, surfaces, and polluting the water. You are now less than human in a world that bred you for consumption. As for me, I hope they enjoy their meal, for the secret ingredient is to DIE for.
Finally satiated with the sweet wine of your vineyards, I sleep well tonight for yesterday I was vividly aware of the walls around me and the flesh on my bones. Today I just needed to escape the cage that is my body into an oblivion of desire.
May the wind hold me for I am feeling quite tired. Perhaps it will carry me home into the grove filled with flowers and lay me down to sleep for a while. I have opened my chest and have let its contents spill out with sharp red rubies hoping that only good will come about.
May the sun come and dry away the cool rains that have woken me up from this charade.
Time is hot and moving constantly towards an infinite sum of moments that you can hold in your hands and pour into a soul. Time is the hope that do-overs can be granted now that you have gained the secrets of those fleeting moments upon ticking hands. Like clockwork we are made to start again what we once completed and with wistfulness we make our new attempts dreaming of a better tomorrow.
An abstract thought of circular and staggered indicators,
A clock ticking away moments in space,
We are led in symbols of infinity with looped pathways,
Everything moves at the correct pace.