There are whispers.
To be heard.
Some that overwhelm giants.
Render firing lines paralyzed.
Even topple societies.
A single word from the right mouth.
Can be the sweetest honey ever tasted.
Or a slow acting posion.
One that can not be spewed from its entry wound.
A Feeling all too real.
That even imagination begins to bleed through.
Every pore.
Every dark pit.
Can not even fathom.
Its origin..
For the dark is where it came.
And so shall forever more.
Remain.

Remedy this.
Believe the wound will close.
Pray the blood will cease its flow.
And when the inevitable happens.
Pray that the shattered remains.
Will find its form one day.
These icy shards feign comfort and warmth.
Contort the mind to reach out.
And paint by numbers.
First encounter.
Second chances.
Third and so on.
Down the list.
Until hands have gone numb and colorless.
A life less than that of which what stood.
Shambles.
And somehow still in motion..
Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.

Potential.
It is always said to be right there...
Hidden behind the disproportionate layers of.
filth.
That had collected over the years.
Incessantly knocking.
******.
As a new layer begins to dry.
Yet the sound reverberates through.
Chipping away at what little security was left.
Taunting
Tainting.
One could grow mad.
With little else to distract the mind.
For with every strike.
Would there be an equal.
Fall.
just as expected.
Demanding a new sacrifice each time.
With blood and sorrow.
Only the well has long since been dry.
And for whatever reason.
The bucket is sent down.
To retrieve more of this.
Nothingness.
For insanity.
Is the only thing in abundance.
Here.

There are so many things one wishes to.
Simply.
Do.
Yet it is that word that destroys mentalities.
Or more so.
A lack in ability.
Leading to such.
Simple.
Ends.
As it always is in the aftermath.
But fall short even then.
For it was not your own hand that tipped the scale.
Or even knew of its presence to begin with.
Even if time has served no other purpose.
But to sharpen reaction time.
Coming about in the most ambiguous of ways.
Then reaching the destination might have just been as simple.
As forgetting the word entirely.

This must be it.
The holy land that was a said to be.
Filled to the brim with people.
Only none of the faces are that of friends.
Just a conundrum of silence and.
Desolate expressions.
Even eye contact is avoided.
For fear of catching some imaginary disease.
Contracted through acknowledgement.
So the wandering begins.
Single file.
Through invisible rope ways  
Giving this limbo some form of organization.
Days and nights pass.
They soon will mean little more than the number next to it.
For keeping count.
Is the only highlight in abundance.

Place your hand.
Swear the oath.
Picture exactly where.
It.
Happened.
Words disintegrate definitions.
As images blur by.
The story unhinges a little more.
With every retelling.
Lost into the pool with the rest of the forgotten.
There are some that hook the mind.
Weighing down the subconscious.
With little effort.
As if these...
Afflictions.
Were sentient themselves.
Cunning is the silent killer.
With every new experience.
Comes an equal wound.
Blood has no meaning here.
Yet the cold wraps around like deaths blanket.
It is only when each function is exhausted.
Every seam undone.
Will we finally unravel.
Revealing.
Irony incarnate.
For this choice was never.
Yours to make.

There are words spoken of weapons.
Armor.
Forging steal.
And pathways.
A multitude of metaphors.
Depicting ignorance in force.
The odds continued to stack higher than my eyes could count.
As I used any and all tools at hand to resist the constant pressure.
Only with each randomly reckless swing.
Did the collateral damage become ever so apparent.
It was only when I let it all fall.
The mountain of mistakes.
And the pointless armor I foolishly wielded.
The very one I had constructed to fend of the darkness.
Blighted my existence.
Fused my already dim soul with its malice.
It's was only when her arms gently wrapped around my monsterous figure.
Did the hatred recide.
Tears of sorrow anointed me anew.
Trembling.
The will to stand and face my demons builds.
But it's her hand on the small my back that rejuvenates me fully.
Her presence which drives me
Surrounds.
And guides me.
I must be forever vigelent.
For the dark whispers beckon all the more.
A war of two worlds.
And so called single mind.
I accept the demon within.