My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Contemplating.
Fumbling on sentences and words to interchange into something worthwhile.
Multiple sighs escape as line after line is deleted from the white abyss.
So much time was spent trying to think of what emotion was present at the time.
And so often was there nothing.
Using emotion was like changing a shirt.
Acting and reacting to things.
Colors and auras  blend and clash.
Its haunting.
Knowing when to execute a laugh.
perfectly.
I was more lost than I dare even dream.
And although being fluid led to here.
I cant help but wonder.
Why I acquired them at all.
Like clockwork I am refreshed with the concept.
For truly understanding sorrow.
Pain.
Despair.
Hatred...
Only then can the latter.
Not only be acknowledged.
But understood

It was like the first time feeling that burning heat.
shred my abdomen.
knocking the air.
And reason out of me.
Yet this impact riddled me further.
How had it become so mutilated.
deformed.
What moment exactly did people look upon me with such disgust.
That my very humanity was in question.
So much so that even my appearance betrayed my minds eye.
It is strange in a way.
Asking for anything different..
When these hands know well the path they carved before.
And an artisan I have become.
Only now.
Do they construct destruction.
Even as my back is turned.
I have been negligent for far too long.
Allowed my hands to remain shackled.
All for something I was..
Am.
Not going to let go of.
I shall ask for all the pain I have ever felt in my life.
Before I abandon this gift.
I stand eye level now.
Challenging once more.
Not only for dominance.
But for a peace that I have yet to feel.
I may never see it.
But perhaps I have yet to truly open my eyes.
With this second wind.
I shall show just what it means.
To call upon the storm.
And shatter this meaningless mirage that has polluted the air.
Contorted minds.
Nearly even broken wills.
I did not grow fangs to have them go unused.

its all so mad.
eerie even.
truly knowing what it feels like.
to just.
waste away.
watching as the skin turns white as ash.
hearing bones creak like an old oak ship.
sailing its last league.
All the inner workings clash and mangle about.
seize and burn with every blinkless second.
after all the usefulness is emptied from the tanks.
it is left.
not even taken to a final resting place.
just.
left.
not even forgotten.
and as this ship that once carried many.
formed trust.
never faltered.
is now rotten with decay.
a disease of lasting raw hatred.
transmuting this once renown vessel.
into nothing more.
than a distant memory.

I have always let my direction drift along.
Wafting in any which way.
Weaving by any obstacle presented.
Now within the eye of the storm.
I lay helpless.
Lightning and debris course around me.
Crashing into any that dare obstruct its path.
All I can do is watch.
As everything that I had ever dreamed.
Evaporates.
The rain comes down in droves.
Only there is no redemption.
No everlasting rebirth.
All that is left are scars.
Some so deep.
Not a single soul can fathom.
This hurricane knows well the destruction it wields.
Violently laughing as every wall tumbles to the ground.
How much more must I be dragged along.
A mere witness.
Must I always be the one to tell the tale of those that fell silent.
Or will I too finally be consumed.
Becoming the delirious fool of the next ballad.

The view is sure something.
It can bring happiness.
Hatefulness.
Blasphemous brooding souls.
And in this land that we thought was make believe.
Does standing your ground.
Seem so frivolous.
For nor only does the terrain shift.
In time so does the direction of your feet.
Every memory dropped into a specific mail slot.
Faces it's very own sandstorm.
Deteriorating.
As we try and look back on those ancient feelings.
Yet the TV is set to static.
And the remote lost in the forgotten cotton sea.
Dripping both wisdom and.
Stupidity..
For there is not a single conscious organism.
That will forge and cater the very destruction.
Of its own distorted existence.
Like us.

There are so many different ways to describe.
Things.
Yet there are so many..
That never find them.
Express them.
An abundant ocean of withheld apologies.
Silent screams.
If emotions could ****.
The streets would run black.
Darker than any night the world has yet to see.
And those left to witness this verbal massacre.
Stand as their tombstones.
A shadow of what was.
With little to say.
And not an inch of explanation.
So this tango of tenaciousness ensues.
Flailing about.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Accepting..
How useless.
Meager.
To think that at any given moment.
The answer would come.
So the questions continue thus.
Like any other day.
The only difference.
Is that the disappointment of not knowing the question.
has left.

Aimless.
Can thought run.
To nowhere.
Neither leading or following.
A stalemate has become the  norm.
What is real.
Inspecting that strange figure in the mirror.
Has grown tiresome.
For if there was any resemblance at one time.
What would be the point of validation.
Creating.
Driving.
Movement in general.
Is now a chore.
Does one keep smiling..
Even as these words come out.
Darkening the mind of each new reader.
Muscles move to form the desired action.
Each pair of eyes that look upon.
This mangled form.
Can see.
exactly.
what isn't.
Because of what was.
The stigma was born through the devious means projected.
Branded.
With pain and nostalgia.
Then in an instant.
It all fits grotesquely.
Perfect together.
What need is there for inspiration.
For all that was ever truly needed was imbued into the very soul.
Tempered solid through the years with torment and grief.
Sealed every crack and fracture that would come with anger and self preservation.
Weapons that were kept sharp and ready to use.
And now.
They etch their existence in any corner of the mind available.
Ready to take the next victim.
With.
Or without consent..