worse ramblings
2004-05-19 - 12:38 a.m.

Bearing my soul to my own eyes so I cannot hide from myself.

Verbalizing my own pain and suffering so that I might move through the shadow of my grief to the better life that they all say lies on the other side.

Perhaps I will forever dwell here, wandering the pathless trails trying to find the walls of the canyon when indeed it is an endless plain with no horizon, seeking the edge of the world.

But without hope, to give into the pain and suffering is something beyond me at this point. I move on, stumble forward, because I know what lies behind.

Hopefully I do not stumble and fall

Hopefully I do not step into the pits of doom that litter my path.

Always grasping for some sort of control, solid ground I might lay my feet to, a straight path through. When it is all like the dust in the wind, forever changing, nothing constant, true, stable. The walls of my soul crumbling before the onslaught of constant darkness, the ground crumbling beneath as all trembles and shatters.

I stand in the center, where I move matters not, as I stumble forward, standing in place, seeing the same nothingness around me everywhere my blind eyes gaze. Hearing words of hope fall upon my ears that are without hearing, my tongue blathering on as if the senses of life will be returned to me through my ramblings. I stumble forward through this wasteland of nothingness, laughing as I dissolve into what I walk in. Wisps show themselves at the edge of my vision, lies to lure me, to shatter my hope, turn me away, though where I go I do not know, so it matters not where I turn.

What is it I grasp as I trudge along here? It feels real, but it is another lie, hope of a future, where no hope dwells. Hope for a future that lies six feet under. Hope is grief, no plan survives meeting the enemy, and life is the enemy, life kills life, life causes death to blossom in the soul, the heart, the mind.

The mind sees, the heart hopes, the soul is. The heart, our life, the life we give another, is what will kill our mind, and when we cannot see, we cannot live, death is soon to follow. For what is life but a collection of moments from the past to the future? The ever enduring Moment that lives for only itself, that relies on our mind to guide it safely to its next existence of selfishness. And when our mind is thwarted, denied of its usefulness, shown the futility of its existence in this uncaring land, how can it see the Moment to its next resting place?

Perhaps one day my mind will heal, will recover its sight through forgetfulness, and forget it cannot see, and once again lead the Moment to a place that will kill it, show it the futility of its existence. The heart beats on, spilling its lifeblood along the path, staining my Moment red in the hope of healing, of a scar forming, allowing it to live on past its death.

How can my heart be returned to me when the one holding it lacks the power of speech? How can I give my heart to another?

Yet, that is what I desire, for another to once again hold the source of my lifeblood in their hands as we walk through this horizonless plain together. What is healing but forgetting the wound? What is hoping for forgetting the shattered remains that litter my past? Yet I cannot, yet, the past is still alive, in my mind, hope still resides in death. As much as my mind rails against the blindness that is imposed on it, the heart beats on, feeding the grave, and the mind gazes into itself.

Quite words are spoken in my mind. Quiet words speak peace, peace in nothingness, ignorance, blindness. Quiet words which insist I focus on now, that I move nowhere, abandoning my past, denying my future. Quiet words, the succubus that smiles alluringly from the trap that will trap me forever now, a paradise of death.

Without a future, how can there be life? When you have no future, you have only death. As I sit here, in a dark room, listening to alluring lies, seeing nothing but my own words displayed on this digital screen, I focus on nothingness. Around the circle I go again, struggling through the barriers of my own soul to end up closer to where I was than where I want to be. Forever pressing on, hoping to find something other than my own footsteps.

I speak meaningless words, pretending to be insightful, revealing, while I hide in the spaces in between. I cannot see myself, as I listen to death. Truth lies everywhere but here, contradictions abound in the chasm of my heart.

She was my life. My obsession. My soul fully given to her.

Why did death find her? Why now? Tears come to my eyes, I find no release.

Why did death find her? Why ever? There was so much yet to be done.

Why did death find her? Why her? Why could not I go in her place?

Why did death find her? Why here? My place of joy has turned into a chasm of despair.

Why did death find her? Why me? Tears come to my eyes, as I think of how much more she deserved.

Why did death find her? What do I do?

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