On The Mend
Try not to break down after reading this one!
Stiffened bones. Frozen blood. Hollow soul. Beaten heart. Wandering thoughts. So empty. Life is a tillage and death is the harvest. Tillage. Death. This is the inside of looming darkness. A darkness that grows and swallows every fiber of any being that bears it. Darkness that wears the face of fear. Fear of the unseen ahead, the forsaken past and insulting present. Fear that draws its strength from a familiar emptiness. Emptiness whose talons dig deep into one's flesh and rip apart whatever is in their way. That is sorrow.
I fear that I am willing to let my worries drown my breath. I am like a bouquet of dead flowers with an overwhelming smell of decay. That staleness is my signature. I have let it become part of me. It now flows in my blood and is in the gaze of my searching eyes. I am afraid of what lies in the eternal limbo despite my scanty knowledge of religion; but I am at my edge and there is a cliff over which I might just let myself fall. I board a train everyday. A train of expectations that maybe light will sip into my soul and hope will grow and etch itself onto my empty heart like a vine but the line is short and I jump off at its end. An end at which the cold I feel makes my whole body numb, freezing more than just my body. I want to be the fall that beats the ground and turns into a river. I want to be like the wind knowing all yet knowing nothing. I want to be the bird that follows the sun. I want to be the voice of the storm. I yearn to be the pressure in the typhoon. That would be my only way out of taking the manifestation of a shadow but this is wishful thinking and that is all it will ever be. The cold spell never ends. The sun never warms enough and if it is, the warmth does not reach my pit since my whole body is limp.
Does it ever end? Will I ever leave the world and run wild? Will I still be broken and weary? Strange how I answer the monsters in my head, but they are the devils I know. The only creation I trust. My own. I am an atom in a fixed system but no, I do not want to change convention. It neither favors me nor patronizes me. It does not know me. My presence is not felt. It has barely ever been felt. Maybe when the world rejected me and cast me out at a younger age. They made me fat, dumb, not good enough, strange, a slut and undeserving. I should let bygones be bygones but how can I when it’s the only thing that runs through my mind when I sit to reflect? How can I break away from the bondage of hurt? I wonder how it feels to dream. I wonder how it feels not to be a stranger. I wonder how it feels to be familiar; not a shadow. I want to forget how to pretend. I want these thoughts to stop tossing in my head. I want this sorrow to be wrung from my entire being. I long to fill the void but all I do is fade. I can feel myself let go at sea, drowning, reaching out yet underneath the sea. Sad how this is only a story to one who reads it and yes, you are probably right, it's not worth the time. However, it does not bother me, you are still young and fearless and cannot take me to the other side.
When is the rope cut? When do I drop from my noose? A voice in my head says I deserve everything that comes my way. I believe it. I deserve to be a leaf detached from its bearer. I deserve to be a hyena waiting on remains. I deserve to be disposable and objectified; to be abused because of my unworthiness. I deserve to be me because of my sins. It makes me dig deeper, further into my wounds. I am lost and rejected but never forsaken. I wonder when I will stop being used to the pain and when the anguish will be bitter. I am accustomed to it all. It does not break me. It makes me. It carries me through my days. I know my feelings run deep but nobody should know. Nobody should know the abyss I am falling deeper into. Nobody should know how far I have pushed them despite how tightly I hug them. Nobody deserves to know what lies behind what I write. Nobody should wear my crown of folly; my crown of sorrow lest they feel its weight.
Beneath the sky, in the darkness of the thunder, there is a whisper carried in the howling of the wind that makes me aware of my insignificance in the universe. A whisper carried by everything beautiful. A voice that calls out to me in the midst of the deafening silence around me. I will live but follow it wherever it leads me in the loneliness of my shadow. Welcome to my dark side.
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