Lasting is the haunting lament in the wind.
Gripping the muscles in spasms.
And hate.
The tourniquet is holding the viscous demon at bay.
Only the rabid nature beckons all the more.
This smile is one of pain.
Casting a redundant image into the film reel.
Called perception.
Just as the mirage fades.
Does walking in circles make sense.
Only to find the room is so much smaller now.
Stripped of valor.
Can one sense what always seemed to lurk right behind the eyes.
And just as the ringing attains piercing volumes.
Splintering the very ground.
Shattering the existence that was said to be so precious.
Ironically the only one dancing is my shadow.
A jester in the fading mist of memory.

These words that I write.
And the pain that I feel.
Remain stained upon this page.
But just as this page will deteriorate.
In time.
So will this anguish.
There may be times.
When the ink in the pen is not enough.
We must demonstrate our anger and hate upon the world.
But we realize.
That our actions scream louder than lungs capacity.
And even our bodies cannot hold the strain and punishment that we put it through.
So now we come back to the white paper.
And the ink in the pen.
To blacken our thoughts over again.

My hands have become raw.
The constant digging has made me complacent.
The tools have been scattered.
Just as the thoughts I sift through.
Glory to those that have found the treasure.
Trinkets of blight and misfortune is all that is left.
Do I cherish what remains..
Consume those that are truly nameless.
Faceless.
The definition is lost on me.
Yet I find solitude in the despair it brings.
A constant that always keeps its promise.
The lighting strike has found its mark.
For just as fast as it has come.
Lighting up my eyes.
I am left with only the afterimage.
A burn that is slowly fading.
And soon.
It to will be that of my imagination.
Hinting at a past with static charge.
Will this Phoenix rise.
Or has the fire finally been extinguished.

A wanderer I have become.
Traversing all forms of thought.
I am not the first.
Nor anywhere close to being the last.
at what point does the this hurdle.
Evolve into an obsticle.
Am I doomed to hit the plated steel at full sprint.
Or find solace in the knowledge that nothing can hinder this momentum.
Is this the peace that is sought after so viciously.
The acceptance of all that was bounded over to lead to this point.
Or is it just a lie to manipulate my mind from another truth.
Drawing figures in the sand as the other contestants rush by.
Who was I to assume praise would come.
And as I laugh at myself and all the foolish ploys I have created.
Does the simple.
Irrelevant.
Illusion come forth.
Winning was never an option.
One must eradicate any notion of the sort.
I must learn to fail.
Review and revise it's delicate tools.
For I have never thought that I would ever fail.
At failing..

It was so much different then imagined.
It was looked upon from a great distance.
It was admired as such.
Now it has been obtained.
Now it doesn't seem so shiny.
Now here comes the hard part.
That image.
Is still far off.
The battle has just begun.
Casualties were great.
On both sides.
These waves of bitter sweet reality has left a pungent after taste.
Yet we are found wanting.
Intrigued by the simple fact that once tasted.
There can be no substitute.
No replacement of this joyful agony.
The windows are open.
And although the breeze is chilling.
Seeping down beneath the thick layers of trust issues.
Only to find that there is still warmth left to thaw.
Actions must be taken to cater to this glimmer.
For one cannot merely wish for what they want.
It must be earned.
In laughs and tears.
It's truly a wonder.
Just how ignorant one can be..

My compass can’t decide on a point.
And neither can my mind.
The list goes on as far back as the paces remain in the sand.
There was a time I would let the wind take me anywhere.
But these chains are ever so cumbersome.
Reality seems to want me right here.
There is no forcing the paradigm this time.
No amount of meditation can cleanse this sin.
For one can only ask for forgiveness so many times.
And now.
The tattoo remains.
Coiling about.
Ushering those dormant thoughts and urges.
Right to the very surface.
Only the seal.
Was lost some time ago.
Or rather thrown away.
But semantics will get us nowhere.
And neither will indifference.
Choice.
Follow the white rabbit.
Or believe.
That we forge our own luck.
Only there isn’t a single master about.
For all we truly do.
Is fumble with the tools.
And expect.
A masterpiece.

At long last.
The cement has dried.
Casting a laughable hue on this decrepit hill.
Has the air always been this thick.
Gravity seems to want more than I can stand.
I wish not to instill this image in my mind.
Yet as I gaze upon the casted hand.
There is no real explanation.
For this miniscule action to have even..
Come to be.
But thus it has.
Formulated in the very consciousness that guided these dreaded feet forth.
A relic of old it is.
Glory.
And now simply a need to be remembered.
As i search my desolate suroundings.
Does one begin to truly understand.
Meaning to such action.
Loses its definition.
With every lingering moment that eternity allows.
What a distorted rendition this constant reel has made.
Yet this came from nowhere also.
Right?
Loathing the next pace.
Yet comforted in knowing.
That imprint will one day fade.
Ghastly remnants of failure.
Remodeled bone.
The sight from these very eyes.
What comes of the endless.
endurance of fame.
A life in search of the meaning it never had.
Detest.
Expectation.
Inhibition.
The compass supposedly zeroed at due society.
Let the rise and fall of this chest be testement.
A moment.
Is just a moment.
There is only one key.
Choose.
What may.
Enter.