Today, the truth awoke me
like a tambourine smashing into the side of my face,
but my face was numb.
I'd realized this awakening had been anything but rude.
The aching that I felt, the constant displeasure which rang into my ears
like that fucking song that won't stop playing
on every radio station, and every stupid fucking car
insists upon blasting it, since that'd be the only opportunity I'd have to hear it,
since I don't own a car, nor know how to
drive
nor, care for the goddamn brainwashing, monotone, and thoughtless lyrics which resonate
from each dumb radio station,
anyway.
Well, someone finally shut that noise off.
Clear-headed, peaceful, and quiet -
the emptiness poured into each orifice of my
lifeless body.
The silence rained over me soft and heavy like snow.
I mean, it had to be snow,
because my hands and feet were cold enough to turn my tears into ice.
Not that the crying struck me as strange,
I'm fairly certain an emotional outpour and overall loss of control are standard responses to such a
life-changing event.
The sun and moon had vanished and the world appeared void of color.
The streets were somehow empty and the cars were empty too.
Nowhere was there any sign that I had company,
and nobody would want to join me,
anyway.
I'm harsh, freezing, and unpleasant -
but this you already knew.
So, I woke up because the overwhelming silence was too much.
Only in a divine quiet like this can you hear your thoughts thundering ever so loudly,
and I've struggled with my longing,
unbreakable desire,
to escape the noise within my mind.
But, I guess the ultimate task was just to
listen,
and listen,
carefully.
The thoughts echoed, screamed, and even stuttered,
sang, whispered, and grunted,
endlessly, and continuously.
Perhaps they all were the voices of ghosts
who've longed to wake me up from my seemingly never-ending slumber.
Oh, perhaps..
Perhaps, not.
Today, the truth revealed itself,
as honest as can be.
And I found myself trapped and cold,
trapped and cold,
alone.
I wandered through this empty world, cold and wet, to boot!
I wandered wearing nothing more, since I now hated all I owned.
Nothing made much sense anymore, also.
Why would I wear a sock, or a delicate coat of mascara?
When the streets were swarmed with emptiness,
and ghosts inside my head.
Everything was ugly, and I couldn't feel the wind.
There wasn't anyone to speak to, so my empty words
became replaced
with empty stares.
The words I longed to speak, however,
sloshed around my mouth fiercely,
and tickled my tongue,
as if these words were mouthwash,
cleaning the crevices of my teeth and gums.
I walked into the church and I wondered why it remained
the only lit establishment as far as my eye could see.
I sat down and I waited
for days, and months,
but seconds are all that passed.
I thought, but then my thoughts, they screamed
so I decided to shut the fuck up.
The truth atleast would set me free,
but it caged me once again.
I knew that this was not a dream,
and I wasn't asleep inside my bed.
I stepped deeper into the holy floor,
and felt my footprints sink in.
As if the floor were made of clay, or playdoh,
my existence here was real.
The ground was soft and entrapping,
but I did not let it stop me.
If the truth had wanted to meet me,
then the truth would have its way.
In front of me, my eyes they teared, but froze immediately on my skin.
I felt this jolt within my spine, my body was wearing thin.
I persisted moving, slowly, yet firmly,
and licked my sticky cold lips.
I looked, I saw,
I noticed...
this shiny, black, smooth,
casket.
Now my body swayed towards it.
Now I could not turn around.
I wished that I was still dreaming.
I wished for lies again.
The truth was in that casket,
the truth was mocking me.
I peered inside that casket,
the air grew muskier with a bitter fog.
The taste caused my mouth to salivate,
I felt I had to puke.
For, joy had overcome me.
I was finally at one with the truth.
I looked inside that godly casket,
and inside was but a mirror.
The truth was firmly implanted in
the ridges of my brain...
the delicious ridges which I longed to
devour,
piece, by fleshy
peace.
A book once notified me of a woman named Emma Bovary who sought after love and its entire splendor to such a degree that all other aspects of the world were left undefined behind her weary eyes. Written by the immaculate author, Gustave Flaubert, he says: “She was gasping for love like a carp on a kitchen table gasping for water.” Now, this book I had read a while ago, but those words pierced the very inner core of my heart. It was her pure honesty which killed me. She was so determined to find love and passion and so entirely honest about her fantastical ideology that it gave me chills! I was not quite as clear and concrete, I was the disturbing split persona – a gust of confusion clouded my ability to see clearly. Not to mention, I was the lethal combination of two incompatible compounds: the longing for love and the inability to love. Like water and oil, they could not coexist and I couldn’t break free of them since they seeped deep within each pore of my skin. They settled there and refused to depart. For, ages ago I’d felt this trauma; this poorly named fantasy called love and I could only blame myself. My unwillingness to accept the love of another human being without question had resulted in its tragic demise.
The sky is red like blood that drips from a broken heart. The borders of the clouds are squiggly red branches of an eye thats cried one too many tears. Merciless is the dawn that causes so much pain; as the cruel clouds begin to hide the bright and joyful sun - outcasting it like a society raised on hatred and intolerance. Darkness covers the earth like a cold and heavy blanket. Cold and lonely is the night.
