Monday, February 13, 2017

Some Of Us Will Never Sleep Again

I sometimes feel as though I am no longer. My thoughts are so thick, so abundant; constantly a blur clouding what I once preferred to accept as a clear, upfront reality.

The subversive mumblings of higher control - my life itself being nothing more than a means to develop my own end - haunt me. Questioning why my illusionary choice of ignorance continues to pander to me. Wondering, when will my mind revert to the state it once inhabited... yet, unabashedly sure that none of these questions are worth their advertised weight. They are mere ghastly spirits, dragging me down to the depths with their dark intents.

I rise from a figurative dead as did the resurrected man in 80's horror flick Hellraiser. Stitch by stitch, I resew what ought to be, and snip away and the fringe. It is not a mere costume to hide what I have devolved into - it is a naturally given rebirth.

My thoughts are the single exit to the neverending hallway of evolution. An image of a proud, enviable individual; an image I am fully aware is not out of my perception. Focusing my eyes as the literal, truthful cameras that they pair with my mind to become, I will proudly carry on as I once did, soul in tow. Parading toward a future fit only to my desires, waving the dazzling flags of my own concerns, talents and beliefs above my head as crowns.

The mindless world seems to have an intent beyond my understanding. A certain knack for grabbing innocent minds, and warping them to the twisted, gullible, and simply pitiable creatures that form our major society. It is a machine designed to keep the existential gears in some sort of motion; designed not to oil the machine, but instead to corrode it. To chip away at it's inner workings, until the very structure collapses into itself - awakening to the sad realization of what it's done.

However, this is not the machine of us all. This cannot happen to the machine that governs our universe, no matter how brutishly hard it is pushed and tampered with. Many fall to the warm, yet cold grips of fate; sealing their own Earthly beings in a tomb, and surely endangering their eternal selves/

Some of us do not sleep. We never sleep. We hold ourselves with the hardest, strongest fists imaginable; through each element, through each pitfall. Should we fumble, we are caught before we crack. And as we are polished and dusted off, we somehow manage to shine even moreso than before.

As I diverge, I reemerge. And proudly so.

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