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Nope.
14 years ago
Everything seems meant to be, except when thongs come to me.
I learned to look on the future with spite,
to step aside and not to fight,
until one day a purpose was laid before me.
Nope. This path is not yours. it's meant to be, but not for you. Your work, your plans, your dreams, your heart, your soul, were all an illusion. A pawn to be handled gently. Alone you will take the fall. Alone you will die.
The rim of the crater that you've just climbed, the record of your untimely demise, meaningless, when from the top you see only desolation. You really took you world down with you this time. All the familiar places, all the spaced once haunted, vanished. Such isolation defies words and emotion. It is your penance.
So now, thirsting, emaciated, empty--sitting in limbo. Searching for ruins upon which to rebuild.
And finding nothing. Nothing. Nope. The end, or a new beginning, what does it matter. To suffer slowly is the end result.
The only escape is sleep, where the ghosts of the past rage and torment. A respite in the void? No. Nope.
Just clawing, tearing, ripping, ragged pain. Slow, monotonous, terrifying. In the end only a shell remains.
What of value is left? In the world or inside?
I learned to look on the future with spite,
to step aside and not to fight,
until one day a purpose was laid before me.
Nope. This path is not yours. it's meant to be, but not for you. Your work, your plans, your dreams, your heart, your soul, were all an illusion. A pawn to be handled gently. Alone you will take the fall. Alone you will die.
The rim of the crater that you've just climbed, the record of your untimely demise, meaningless, when from the top you see only desolation. You really took you world down with you this time. All the familiar places, all the spaced once haunted, vanished. Such isolation defies words and emotion. It is your penance.
So now, thirsting, emaciated, empty--sitting in limbo. Searching for ruins upon which to rebuild.
And finding nothing. Nothing. Nope. The end, or a new beginning, what does it matter. To suffer slowly is the end result.
The only escape is sleep, where the ghosts of the past rage and torment. A respite in the void? No. Nope.
Just clawing, tearing, ripping, ragged pain. Slow, monotonous, terrifying. In the end only a shell remains.
What of value is left? In the world or inside?
