I've taken something sacred
Something I probably shouldn't have

Just when the dust settled they came for me
Swarming my room like angry bees

They couldn't find my stolen treasure
So they settled for the next best thing:
My Memory

And now here I remain
Unable to remember where I put my treasures
Or what they were
Or why they were precious in the first place

Here I remain
A wretched creature unable to remember value and worth
Or why these concepts were ever important

Here I remain
A pillar of the temple fallen
Untouched by time
Yet removed from its load bearing status

But alas
The eternally burning flame
I've endured and enshrouded myself in
Keeps my cold heart warm

And as I'm burned to a crisp and reborn by the flames of Olympus
I can't help but to feel an echo of emotion
Or maybe recall the phantom of a memory
Of a time when I was hungry for this very warmth
A time when this eternal fire was all I craved
Why? I can't recall.

Maybe there was once a reason for my treasonous action
Maybe it was even a good one
But none of that matters anymore
I have it now
And no matter how many times this very flame robs me of my memory and experiences
I can at least say that I'll always remember the day that



I've taken something sacred.

I used to write to inspire.
To let other knows what I was feeling by painting scenic views with my words
So that they'd know they weren't alone
So they'd know that no matter what happens,
Someone else is alongside them
Even if it was some stranger way out in the big wide open world

But now I feel alone

Which doesn't make any sense because I have a family that I hand-picked,
And am almost never actually alone

And also doesn't make sense because I still write
Which, one would assume means I've encountered a solution to this issue

But the writing doesn't help
And the cigarettes stopped working
So I'm stuck

And the thing is, I keep reading and rereading my old works
And none of it actually helps

Even when I distance myself from the piece and read it from a new perspective I end up getting the question I can't answer:
Why the **** does it matter if we experience the same or even similar pains?
Who am I, to think my experiences are worthy or even meaningful enough to share and spread like a virus?

So why do I write?

I'm just some guy on the internet
A shitposter trying to squeeze some semblance of a serious tone from the internet
A mind screaming to have some form of deep, meaningful conversation with anyone
When in reality that doesn't matter to anyone
Because life has squeezed sentiment until it became a pebble being kicked on the park sidewalk

So why pick up a pen to write to a world that no longer remembers how to read?

It makes about as much sense as

Well anything really

Maybe that vague understanding of nothing making sense ever is my reason

Maybe I don't really need a reason to express myself

But *******, would it be nice

Sometimes I hear things when I drive
Most of the time it's car horns
Sometimes it's the screeching of tires on asphalt screaming to be stopped
I try not to focus on it because you shouldn't be distracted while driving
So I keep my hands on the controls
And my eyes on the road

Sometimes in the mirrors I see your face
Glowing faintly like some kind of ethereal movie image
Sent by a projector with a bad bulb
Sometimes I wonder if I drive alone or if you're there
But that train of thought sends my misled hands faulty directions
And I drift out of my desired lane

Sometimes I wonder if the voice coming from the speakers is yours
And if its the same voice haunting the air vents
Whispering lies into my vulnerable mind
I try to ignore them but it gets to me after a while
And eventually my glass house of bottled substance abuse and sustenance comes crashing
Leaving my hands to crawl on a broken field of glass and reanimated pains that slept dormantly at peace

So I staple my hands to the wheel
And glue my eyes to the road
And try my hardest not to cry and swerve into the first car or railing or tree I see
And pretend that face in my mirror behind me is just the trick of the light

I still think about the tree you hit
I never told you that we visited it once after you
But only once

I ran my fingers across the twisted and scarred bark
I studied the missing chunk of wood and felt nothing but an ache in the pit of my soul

I'd visit it again sometime if it weren't for the same reason I haven't visited you:
I don't know where to go.

Roads and highways and backwoods remind me of the cemetery you rest in
Each tree, each house, each street light and sign
All of it looks the same
Much like the gravestones creating the labyrinth you stay in

But if one day I do stumble across your grave
Or that tree
I'll bring you a grape soda and a blunt
And a Mickey Mouse for your collection
And we can talk again
Just me and you

Hopefully I get a response

I used to welcome sleep
Sleeping felt like swimming in the void the universe was created in
Like embracing a home you've never known you had
Or a pet you once owned as a child
Sleep was comforting and welcoming as a mother is to her wounded child stumbling home from the war
A broken man

Now you've infected my dreams in an attempt to amputate my mind
You carve the walls and scrape the  ceilings of my skull
And raise the floors to create walls of an endless maze
You hunger for my brain so you may use it as a labyrinth to play in
I won't let you have it

I'd rather die than let you have it
The stakes are too high
The cost of failure too much
And losing is no longer an option

I only wonder
If it ever was
Or if I simply didn't understand the value
Of myself
In the eye
Of me

Live to die, or die to live
Those are the options presented to me by my reflection

**** my beliefs, my pride and upbringing
In exchange for a life I'd be better off with
Or
Continue on,
Pressing forward with the grace and majesty
Of a flaming steam roller heading for an explosive dumpster

I've always believed forward was the way to go
That when all else fails, anger would fuel me to surpass my goal
And I'd continue forward
Destroying all I cherished or opposed me
As such I've become conditioned to stay alert for debris
Never resting
Only forward

But now that isn't a necessity
Suddenly the fuel that's driven me all this way has been questioned on its efficiency

Suddenly, as if I am approaching a cliff,
Forward may not be the course of action anymore

I can stop
I can rest and breathe and cry
I can be angry and grieve
And let the bottles of fuel drop into the sea below
Building my path and next bridge to burn
That may not even be flammable

I worry if I stop moving
That that's it.
Where I fall I sleep forever more,
Never to stir to continue the path.

So do I **** myself to live as a free man,
Connectionless to this place I've become familiar with
Or live to die by my own self destructive nature.

The hand hovers on the knife
I can take it with me to fend off those who may threaten, hurt or offend
Including myself;
Or use it to cut myself from my frame
And live freely

Give in to Win
Or Resist the current
My fate lies in my decision
Of turning the tides.