There is a leakage, in my soul, in my emotional backyard. My thoughts begin to oscillate between the mind and the soul. I register the depth of their vulnerability to make my days a fatal attraction to the darkness. But I refuse. I refuse to give remorse for such illusions, they sting. They're so visible, like the graveyards in our private parks. I can sense. I sense the ominous forces diverging into independent circulating fragments. I need to finish deciphering the immemorial and the forever more, something inside so uninvited and cursed. But I do not believe in things that do not have a second place on earth.
Dangling hope starves my vision into a malevolent state of emptiness. My heart, it has become an open tear. My sensitivity now permeable. Look at me now, tempted and scattered. I remember the way my wonders shapelessly diminished. My wonders are paralysed and drunk. I can taste the insecurity and the uncomfortableness of the lining of my skin. I forgot my motif, my reason for creating a rock inside a castle. All the capillary cracks in my walls remind me of all the things I kept inside; the holes I dug deep. I decayed within my own skin, so freely without consent I saw gold fall from my ceiling, my heart.
Resistance becomes an instrument that ambitions cannot hold. Blaming it on false alarms and psychological liability now seems an excuse too old. The perilous energises of the night restrict moral tendencies, I lick the lips of a manipulative thrill.Not confused, perhaps misunderstood, the ego strength abused and misguided. But, above all, above the drowning solitude...I wanted to take life for a ride... on a jet plane... somewhere far away... with blue skies and a virgin river. I wanted to take myself higher... within distances that abuse the eye... wanted to find a gold mine within. Instead, I was the abused eye which bleed distance as my soul withdrew from the self.
