Dark moons lead to creatures of the night to crawl out into the crevices of my walls. They enter my mind unscathed by majestic hold. Isolation drinks in my fear and overpowers me with a consciousness. I’m lifted by the sands of time to walk down lonely streets with only my shadow to keep me company in the lamplight. I summon courage dwelling in episodes, but it won’t come to my aid.
I can only rely on my fight or flight skills. I chose the latter. Raining down on my soul if a deep grief holding me prisoner to my past. A long ago phantom disguised as someone once familiar. Now a stranger. If only the reality didn’t have to seep in as to what the taste of pain really is. Is this my destiny to walk down lonely roads of sadness?
How can I measure up to the degree I have fallen? For only the true essence coming from heated sand can seep into my dwelling, and set me free to be as I am. However, do I really want to as I am? What is to come next for me? Is this the end of life as I know it?
What will be my next step? How will I survive this degree keeping me in bondage? I don’t know where I can run. I can’t run away from myself. If only there were a measure I didn’t have to live up to. I’m driven by a madness boiling in my blood. It’s howling at the moon.
How come my thunder has diminished the stronger sadness seeps into my heart? How can I ever overcome this imbalance of the heart? My thirst drives me further into darkened roads filled with rivers raging with fire. I jump into these bold waters in the hopes of diminishing my existence. However, can I really erase my existence? No. I only go on existing in another form of reality.
I kneel down by my bedside at night all alone in my bedroom and pray for a better realm of which I may walk in. Perhaps fate will change its mind and give me a better path to walk instead of one filled with heartache and misfortune.
I wonder what is the true means by which demise may be rewritten? There is a hunger burning in the eyes of my tyrant. He can’t see in front of him the true treachery before his eyes. All he knows is what he was lead to believe by the demons dwelling inside his own mind. If only I could override him and his army of demons. Only then can I succeed in my give stride with every step taken.
I wish I could burn the fabric surrounding my eyes like a blindfold. Teetering in the wind is my solace which hangs by a thing line. It could break at any given moment. Is this the end? I hope not. For all which is found in true measure to be the drunken wines overpowering man and his nature must be burned. Allow vapors of my rawness to supersede any emotion. For I don’t need emotion. It only brings me down in the crying rain. If all emotion could be shut down, there would be nothing but emptiness. However, emptiness is better than feeling the raw nature of humankind inflicted upon a tortured soul.
For what more can a tortured soul know other than the pain he walks. He lives and breathes the essence of his torture. It ensures he is still alive, breathing every breath torture feeds him with.
How can my stride continue to feed the moon with its own rapture? For the rapture of life is only caught up in the existence of feeling. Feeling is something I no longer have use for. Actually, I never had use for it. It only breeds more havoc on my entire being.
I believe it’s better to feel nothing at all than to feel and lose. For to lose is only an ending of hope, if there were any to begin with. I’m lost in the dark alone in the rain. I splash the waters of my tears, and feed them to the cracks in the earth’s crust.
Moldy and filled with mildew, my soul withers up and dies. For it had not the strength to continue on a journey filled with peril, torture, and rawness. I have no use for either. There is nothing. Only emptiness binding me to sanity. My sanity faltered long ago when I had to let go of all which made me happy. It’s a luxury I never knew. However, when it was there, I felt a tingle in my hand. I fed on this energy for the short while it was there. However, when it left me alone in the dark, I molded into the rawness now feeding my soul with anguish.
I kneel down at my bedside once more, asking you, my Lord. Please take me away from this treachery eating me whole. If I continue to stay there will be nothing left of my sanity. For I will be driven mad by my own illusion. What is there if nothing but peril? Do I really need it to survive? I think not. What I need is solace. However, I know not where to obtain it. Everywhere I turn, there is nothing but havoc running a muck. It’s a poison which must be destroyed. You must see to its destruction before it sees fully to mine. Are there angry tyrants in the desert who kneel before you in prayer? I think not. Al they do is make mockery of you, my Lord. Yet, you continue to look the other way. I cannot live in such a way where treachery and mockery is overlooked. For there must be a fire to match the fire dwelling in their hearts. Only then can they burn inside their own darkness. If only I could drink the sweetness of victory. However, all I get in return for my misery are bitter herbs to quell my hunger.
For is there nothing better than bitter herbs? I would think so. Where is my zest for life I never had. Why was I born without the zest for life? I’ve always felt like there was something missing. I never knew what it was, and I guess I never will.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016