Tick.....

Day by day the hours slide from waking to what we call real. Days crawl too quickly towards deadlines. Each moment starts to carry with it greater value, an implication and measure for not only who you are but what you are to become. Meals become missions, a quest to keep you alive. Soon the mirror becomes an enemy, so much undone is written on the face. Dreams, desires and the sense of self bend beneath the passing tides. I would tell you more of this story but my watch is screaming at me with every passing second. Maybe we may speak again

What do I call you?

I am running low on pretty words. They tell as much as they hide. We give them to the reader hoping they will find a semblance of relatable truth in them, when in fact it is our heart that lies bare before them. Scribe what we will; the illness of humanity maintains the unknowable nature of the self, even within our own gaze. So sharpen your claws, your wit and bards. Adjust your line of sight until the crosshair fades into the target. I have cloaked many an emotion in ciphers so cynical and detached that upon reflection I find no true feeling in them. Every aching moment of my hearts spasmodic journey has been heralded in prose. Shame, loss and many shades of hate were chronicled, categorised and kept. Alas, now a stranger to these lands is standing, gloriously shivering, by my gates. I know it to be a part of me, for its very presence tells me so. Though never before have I, the collector of chaos and grotesque carnage, been so afraid to describe such a thing as this. In a whimper I call out to, requesting its name. Grandiosely it declares, “I am Joy”

Contractors

So what a taste i have acquired for the passing of time unknown. Alas the strength i have used up to this moment will not be enough to grant me the future i desire. I suppose the moment has come to sacrifice my selfish altruism for a life more dedicated to personal strength. My resolve willing, i will be able to manifest an identity that does not sustain itself for any other reason than personal grow. I hope to surprise myself, or more correctly i hope to let myself be surprised. But alas I know this to be folly. Where I to embark on any expedition of self that were anything less honest and open, I would simply be repainting a breaking wall, in the hopes that no one sees the ever growing cracks. No, it is time to repair the foundations.

Once we were Faries

I hope that this is true. That this face so known, with heart so torn and a memory so worn, would still wish the moment was worth the words that held them in place far too many moons ago. The weight of such things often leads us away from desire and into the grips of defeat and lack of meaning. I do not know if I should be thankfully for my romance, as it prevents me from fully surrendering to my logic and sense. The subtle spark that lies behind the early dew still calls to me with wonder. The shades and shadow’s still seem alive beneath the winds fine caress. Even if I know it not to be so I dare not refuse the dreaming of it. I still wish for my life to remain in so partial way, beautiful.