the scribbles on the wall
nibbles runs across the floor
you were tired of it; shapes
wanted to think, wanted to stop thinking
to close your eyes, but the clock kept ticking
another night passes, no one knows
that you turned back time
and the clock stopped on eight
now i sit here, wishing to see what you did
wishing you hadn’t had so much power
clock faces the wall; i don’t want to see time
eyes shaking; ears occupied
you cannot be forgotten now
you have joined my ghosts
Most have it; more lose it: potential. To become aware of one’s own potential is to put oneself through a trial of sacrifice. If one so wishes to sacrifice themselves, to themselves, one now has experienced the foresight of limitless potential. Although, once this sacrifice is made, and ‘new sight’ has been gained, it must be tended to like a garden; for if left untended – potentiality is lost. Potential is the seed, water, the sacrifice, and growth, the truth.
Suffering and anguish are the sole benefactors to nurturing truth; and later, peace and harmony, as the period of rest. Much like summer and winter, they behave in cycles. Give yourself up to become a host of truth’s potential. Wasted potential is worse than none at all; it is the ultimate death.
Destruction of the individual is encouraged and inescapable. The more detached one becomes from oneself, the more susceptible one is to what will inevitably destroy them. Indulgence is the devil and we devour his evil perennially. Now more than ever, we are vulnerable to the corruption of will brought forth by the plague and filth of these drifter demons. It is rare that you will make a connection with an unsold soul. One must break free from the venomous spell they are enchanted by. The paradise that once flourished in an abiding mind is now scorched rubble waiting to be touched by flesh.
Remove the conviction that you are imprisoned in.
Over the last few months I had thought it in my best interest to attempt to assimilate myself into what is current. I have barely scratched the surface learning about others and their truths, and as I learn more, I find merit within these seemingly toxic ideologies that are against what is known as the standard modernity. I have moments where I believe there is no point in choosing or moments where I wish to simply stop experimenting breaking my limits, but my goal in doing so is so that I can strengthen my beliefs and challenge the truths I have already acquired. Indulging in this kind of thing can be intoxicating, but more so, mind numbing. I have been becoming so consumed within this new way of living that I have been losing insight as well as what I once stood by and believed.
I know what I have to do and who I am, yet I still feel as though I have to behave outside of this in order to comprehend who is around me and experience simple enjoyment. I have been embracing a masquerade that consumes my every passing thought. I can experiment with these connections, but they will never be real, and this is something I must accept.
I wrote the best while at my worst, and I return now to follow up with something new. Is this new thing going to be better than my current best? It will not compare, because I am no longer where I once was, and in order to create something wonderful and with meaning, I would have to take steps backwards and become something I do not desire to become once again. Constantly battling for perspective, one nowhere near the same as the last, but falling empty handed. Long term goals in place, my mind is open for many possibilities even if they may fall short. The difference between then and now is that I decided I will have an attempt at something very few have achieved, and if I then do not achieve, I will lest be a part of it. Every day has been consistent in that it is unchanging and no new thoughts have crossed my conscious.
It could be that I am on medication, or perhaps I am feeding into the brainwashing of today’s entertainment, or perhaps it is both. Regardless, it has taken a whole month to write this, simply because any time I felt to begin, I grew tired, and sleep has taken over my true self. Creativity has washed itself down the drain in the face of normalcy. No longer do I ponder on the things worth wondering about, no longer do I take a moment to try and diversify my thought patterns, or create a new idea. Only am I stuck with the last thing I decided to set forth to do. I can feel myself slowly slipping away from who I am. I am becoming a separate entity than who I once was. I am stationary.
In a world that is not her own, animosity takes to her core. She is the fire surrounded by water; throwing her flame further than she can reach, onset to her destructive path. She is spiteful towards the small world she is confined within, playing the game to win, for that is all she has in her able grasp. Much like her counterpart, Cleopatra, she moves like a seductress and works like a Machiavellian. Due to her loss of control in this reality, she looks to those easily influenced by her charm and intimidation. This world she lives in, where she feels a loss of control, is a world where she cannot manipulate the men around her; she is with women and women alone, thus causing the seductress great failure in her ability to gain control at any means, and can develop into something much worse, and much more destructive, this chaotic and sporadic element of fire itself.
In this small world of women, she is alone, for her very nature is to surpass other women and focus on becoming the dominant female beside the chosen dominant male. When there are no men to be manipulated or to gain control with, she is left with becoming the dominant female among women. She tries not with her femininity to gain control, but her fearsome behaviour, befriending women along the way, using them as ladder steps to the top, stabbing them in the heart when she is through with their usefulness. Although she carefully takes the steps to further herself among these women, fire often forgets just how much she can spread before burning herself in the process.
All directions I am surrounded in. Myself I am unaware. Confusion unsettles me, yet this is a repeating consciousness. In Divinity we are devoid. In darkness we avoid. We repeat to be repeated. A mirror we behave in out of distrust. Structure inescapable but within reach just as any prison we are born into. Nature – can it be broken? How can we think alone? Have an original thought. Consume nothing. Do not be influenced. It is too late. You cannot erase everything. You cannot erase existence. You cannot rewrite an experience. To live, to experience, to alter, to understand all that is disorganized. A need for us to categorize and create systems of understanding – we must, but we cannot. Why can I not think outside of brain chemistry? Can I will myself away from an altering substance if we can so willingly manifest more than reason into existence? Can this be so easily done as it is not with what we accept? How can we accept without questioning? How can we not simply re-explore the explored, not just the unexplored?
We have said something similar – are we not the same? We display differences, but are we so different? We are mimics of a set of footprints. It never ends. We will end but we will also never end. Thoughts travel great distances. Every time I think in my awakened state, something pushes me back. Be compliant. Be docile. Don’t think too hard or you will begin to see our fallacies and our existence to destroy. You may escape.