Note To Self

Spit it out.
Words you've swallowed so many times but can't produce at will. Using sentences as stilts to stand tall above all the others but never really growing up. You watch others fall without offering a hand and reach out for someone, anyone as you're going down. Embrace won't appear without a tie that binds. You flake and peel like an aging adhesive which can't hold on to anything at all.
Climbing wallpaper ladders as you lift yourself from slumber, your apathetic yawn paints your morning a dim shade of gray. Fix your posture and stumble from your dwelling, propelled by nothing more than an unmotivated sense of necessity. You must feed the beast which demands accomplishment, be it no more than a stroll under clouds which envelop any light above them.
You are that cloud. You take the light which others cast toward you and put it out. Extinguish it in yourself and in them. You darken each sunny day which friends provide and bring a storm of unforeseen doom. You are gray though you inhale light.
Spit it out.

dm.

Building Blocks

Friend or foe? Can one ever exist as the single selfless archetype which would be required to fulfill the duties of a true friend? Can enough hate exist among those never considered friends to become a true foe? The lines blur and there is no light that can illuminate the essence of a relationship. It exists for itself and nothing else. It cannot be contained nor can it be destroyed. However it is defined it will live on as it was. Without self. Selfless. Free.

dm.

Welcome Home

I rise, I rise; awake but not alive. A day is born after its due date, over-nurtured and underwhelmed. The rattle from the wall unit is monotonous and drowns out the sounds of life which must thrive beyond the tight shut windows. Beyond the shades drawn to keep out the vile sun and maintain artificiality. Not a thing about this place is real.
Why create cold and cover up? Nothing is ever just right. Pitch-perfect is too perfect; death to the auteurs whose vision becomes our own. See for yourself.
The day is young, hopeful, naive. Filled with promise and possibility of completion. The day is young and it can grow into more than yesterday. If the fates choose to waste another arrow from their quiver to send a sign then I will heed its warning. I will let down my guard and relinquish control of the reigns. The dark horses of destiny may gallop toward dreams or death. I will not fight. I do not have it left. The cacophony of sirens singing my song will sound harmonious even as I am pulled, lifeless to the inferno. Good morning.

dm

Chasing Dusk

Inhaling the sun with each pounding step, I follow the dirt path to my destination. One by one, drops of sweat join the shimmering lake whose banks I trace. It's a good day to die, but I'm too stubborn for that. I stare into the face of exhaustion and breathe in deep as I continue past.
As trying as the midday sun may be it is no match for the daily struggles I face inside my head. As the singularities become united around me I am cast off alone. The solitude becomes unbearable at times. Though I am often surrounded by acquaintances it is rare that I am at ease with myself. The group can hardly live up to the standards which I have set.
As the night approaches I feel myself growing one day older. There is no distraction from the brutal toll of time and its lawless encroachment on our lives. My only hope is to escape into the evening, riding the shadows to a place where time asks no questions. It is only here that I can find respite for a handful of hours before returning to a vapid and fleeting existence. Cheers.

dm.