Oct 2019
INTO THE ABYSS 49
INTO THE ABYSS 49
Here I sit at the crossroads, everything is still, even the time doesn't move.
Who cares, I have lived ten thousand years, I have lived a hundred lives, you get used to the human vagaries, the lies and pretensions. It is life, it doesn't mean a thing.
We live a lie, and after our death our lies are affirmed in our obituaries and our eulogies by those who knew us little and those who finally found some love that never existed.
A drunk and abusive father is remembered as hard working and loving family man, a drug addicted woman becomes a loving, caring and doting mother. Who cares, truth was never a strong suit of humanity.
What will you be remembered for, it doesn't matter anyway. In some other realm, in another dimension all is forgiven. Only if we could forgive ourselves and make peace with the one we refuse to admit ever existed. Self is too proud. It is not the ghosts that haunt us, it is reflection in the mirror that keeps us awake, it is the "what if", if we have enough intelligence to admit our losses.
From beyond the walls of now, I hear my own cries, my lamentations, I tug at my chains, to escape my hell, what if, what if, what if.
What does it take, to ease this pain, another shot of whiskey, another Xanax, another nameless ****, another transgression against my SELF, to forget myself, to forgive my sins.
What next my friend, are we going into nothingness, or do we try it all over again, until we are perfect, until we are prepared to become one. Hell may not exist, but the time is real, it is the punishment, it is enough punishment just to remember what we could have been.
M. N. R.
08 OCTOBER 2019
INTO THE ABYSS 49
Here I sit at the crossroads, everything is still, even the time doesn't move.
Who cares, I have lived ten thousand years, I have lived a hundred lives, you get used to the human vagaries, the lies and pretensions. It is life, it doesn't mean a thing.
We live a lie, and after our death our lies are affirmed in our obituaries and our eulogies by those who knew us little and those who finally found some love that never existed.
A drunk and abusive father is remembered as hard working and loving family man, a drug addicted woman becomes a loving, caring and doting mother. Who cares, truth was never a strong suit of humanity.
What will you be remembered for, it doesn't matter anyway. In some other realm, in another dimension all is forgiven. Only if we could forgive ourselves and make peace with the one we refuse to admit ever existed. Self is too proud. It is not the ghosts that haunt us, it is reflection in the mirror that keeps us awake, it is the "what if", if we have enough intelligence to admit our losses.
From beyond the walls of now, I hear my own cries, my lamentations, I tug at my chains, to escape my hell, what if, what if, what if.
What does it take, to ease this pain, another shot of whiskey, another Xanax, another nameless ****, another transgression against my SELF, to forget myself, to forgive my sins.
What next my friend, are we going into nothingness, or do we try it all over again, until we are perfect, until we are prepared to become one. Hell may not exist, but the time is real, it is the punishment, it is enough punishment just to remember what we could have been.
M. N. R.
08 OCTOBER 2019
