I sat cross legged in a pile of dust, ash and rubble. Any remaining item of value had been taken. Every structure and achievement had been stressed beyond its capacity and crushed. Every item of sentiment burned.
I could not see them; they could see me, and they watched. Hands covered in soot, I played amongst my own ash creating piles and designs with the destruction: an undeniable masterpiece.
These were the people I performed for. Their ignorance blind to the beauty of my existence, they stared. They were captivated.
I was making art; they were watching trains crash.
Palms slam against the chainlink.
The world is sick; everybody’s ailing.
Crosses on a mountaintop; huddled masses whaling.
I close my eyes, and all I hear is nailing.
looking back on the past . stuck in the future
take a sip then i crash . broke down computer
laugh dropping ash . legendary shooter
relapse give me that . hit the button then i mute her
silent world screams . tortured human beings
try and take the pain . they say the pain is glee
what’s sad, it is gone . yeah, the drugs did that
erase the minds . no turning back
PleaseHelpMe…
CouldYouPleaseHelpMe..?
WouldYouPleaseHelpMe?
I’m. GoingOutOfMyMind.
black outs black clouds . black this black that
camouflage in the dark . blend in with the bad
the lights looking right . if we try we fall
surviving the stumble . better crawl
rug burnt knees . arthritic hands
broken trophies . fractured plans
calamity war . don’t understand
repeated cycles . we’re trapped
PleaseHelpMe… I’m. GoingOutOfMyMind
The dragon stirs in the desert. The mushroom stands in the forest.
The waves crash on the beach. Storm clouds roll. The earth shakes.
Plagues. War. Famine.
Stress. Isolation. Despair.
Senseless. Censors. Banned.
I was pushed into the shadows, thrown in a cell. Spirits surrounded me in the darkness. I searched for light.
“Find the light? You are the light,” they would say.
“I must return,” I told them
“We shall return, but first you rest.”
I would rest. Then rest became torture.
I would sleep. Then sleep became tiresome.
I must return.
To change the world, we change our mind.
We change our mind. We change the world.
I sit and watch smoke. It is beautiful. The way it twists is captivating. It is white. It is gray. It is green. It is brown.
There is blue smoke dancing in the air. The allure of the sounds and the twirling of the bodies. Hypnotic. Entranced onlookers. It’s all a show. Fake smoke and blue light.
I sit and watch smoke. It is beautiful. The way it flips is captivating. I breath, and it turns to fog and haze.
The rifles make smoke. It smells sweet. No other smell like it. It smells so sweet. The sound is different. Chirps. We fire on and on through the night. The concrete walls hold the smoke.
I exhale smoke, and I let memories go. They hang in the air. I sit and watch. They twist, and they flip. Captivating. I breathe and watch them turn to fog and haze. It is beautiful.
I had to return to the tree. I was hungry. Very hungry. I was starving actually, and it was a starve beyond hunger. I had spent the morning staring in the mirror and searching around the seemingly empty house that I now occupied. My search began optimistic. Then reflective. Before long, I abandoned my search altogether. Next, I became frantic. I had realized the unknownness of my current situation. Then the no food realization arrived. I was starving, and it was a starve beyond hunger.
A starve beyond hunger. A feeling so wretched it can only be described as desperation. I ran to the tree from the day earlier. I came to the place the park had been. No park. No lush trees. No garden. Now, a parking lot. It was as simple as it sounds. A very boring parking lot. Recently laid smooth black asphalt. Orangish yellow lines. Freshly painted. Concrete curbs. There was also a building. A very boring building. Some sort of financial institution I believe.
There was one other thing. A tree near the entrance of the building. On the ground below were three yellow apples. All three brown with rot. They also all looked to have been stomped on.
Desperation. While birthed in the depths of despair, desperation can carry a liberating level of clarity when an answer must be found. Fixating on the relief of my physical hunger, I ran across the parking lot to the barren tree. To clarify, the leaves of the tree were green. Very green actually. They were also plentiful enough for a tree of its kind. Still barren. The building lay nearly against it. It looked detached. Just, barren.
Desperation told me to ask the tree. I asked, “What happened?”
Lifeless. The tree stood before me. “What happened?” I thought. I stepped forward and touched the tree. A voice spoke.
“They destroyed the forests. Called natural, ‘Parks.’ Built a city. Call this the heart. The wind won’t blow, and I can’t breathe. I speak the truth. You see the scene. My life is nothing. It does not matter. You’ve come today. Ask what’s the matter. You seek your health. Return to Nature. Where health is wealth. You’ll find a savior.”
An apple fell from the tree and hit me on the crown of my head, bouncing slightly and grazing my left shoulder as it fell.
I accepted because of my love for humans.
I left because I despised the humans.
I found a love for humanity once again.
These feelings, always directly correlated with my feelings of self.
I stood in the darkness dripping wet. Sweat.
I shook underneath, and I felt fine.
Relieved. Relaxed. I was completely on edge.
She spoke, “Are you willing to let go of the message for the sake of the message? Are you ready to speak truth without attachment to outcome? Are you willing to build for eternity simply to erase your name from the credits in the final moments? Are you ready to lead through your surrender of control? Are you prepared?” Heavy breathing my only response. “Who are you? You are becoming. And when you become, you will be progressing. While you will progress, you are still becoming. Nothing is forever, and everything is nothing. Therefore both nothing and everything are forever.” Slower heavy breathing. “What is there to say? There is nothing. It is by design. The words are unavailable by design. Is this clear? The greatest speakers speak half truth at best. There is so much more than words. One number contains more truth than the hundred most sought after writings. Is this clear? Do you understand?”
It wasn’t. I didn’t.
“To teach. You must live. Silence is more telling than both the loosest lips and the most intentioned speech. Your journey awaits.”
“Your story must be told. It shall be told. It will be told forever. It will no longer be your story. This is your sacrifice. You will be gone forever, and what is yours alone will become the story of the world and will be alone as the world’s story. Is it clear now?”