For eight long years I stood
Unable to see beyond base color, and movement
I'd look at the white fuzz ball in the night sky
And wonder what it looked like in detail

It's happened
I got my assigned looking glass and went out
And as the night air kissed my skin
And the sweet dew on the breeze blessed my lungs
I saw you

A clear cut light bulb
Surrounded by a flooding white light
With hints of blues and greens tussling the cloudscape

You wore a crown better than any I've ever had the blessing to see
And gracefully and silently you hovered
Clearing the way for your astronomical war path of silent and peaceful soft light.

I decided to have fun.
That it was going to be a good night
No matter what the cost was
I stitched this vague and improbable idea into a battle flag
And charged into the tar pit riddled with energy of every variety

In doing so
I barged out of my mind
I charged the locked door located in front of my ear
And pryed the lock off with my bare hands

I didnt at first
At first I ran in circles
I ran into walls
I punched indestructible windows and mirrors until my knuckles bleed bone

But there's always new tactics being formed in life
New power and possibilities to explore and devour
And now that I've found the door
I can capture the world
And drag it back to my Temple
Kicking and screaming.

Once my skin tasted warm daylight
I vowed to never let the sun set on me again.
So, barefoot, and frantically shrieking in a panic
I chased behind

I caught up
And past. To enjoy the warm day

But the sun cooked my skin, charring it to black flakes that drifted aimlessly in the breeze
Leaving my bleached and wrinkled flesh showing for the birds hovering overhead
Revealing my humanity to be food for the birds circling above me like a halo
The birds
The birds
The ******* BIRDS.

I fell under the suns spell
I chased it until my bones cracked and shattered
And my skin peeled back from my soul.
I chased it until my parched throat could no longer remember what my voice sounded like
I chased it until my ***** feet bled, and my legs muscles exploded from sheer over use

And its curse melted into my skull
I was fed to those who knew better than to chase such an impossible object
I was fed to those winged rats just as many before me have
I was fed to the sun's own messengers

The ice of winter grew thick
Encasing the world in a slippery custom made glass case
And stopping everything in its tracks
I sent my heart and soul North
Hoping to mitigate the damage to self
Until the ice thawed

But it never did
As time marched forward it became clear by the thickening of the shining hardened plastic suffocating the earth and plants

There would be no thaw
And now, encased in the ice myself
I can only wonder what my wandering and uplifted spirit can do without me

Forced to be an observer from a distance
I sob over my own hollowed out remnants of the future and present
I weep for each laugh and giggle missed by my soul
I shed a tear for every day I miss and every milestone I won't see

If this was the right decision, I desperately wish I could be a selfish version of myself

If this was the right decision why does my bleeding heart scream at me in pure agony

If this was the right decision why does it hurt this much to be right

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