I’ve been left alone once more.
The only thing I feel is pain and uncertainty.
Not anchored to what’s real—I’m living liminally.
I’ve been left broken to the core.
Someone save me from this mess.
God, I’m sick of being depressed.

I can’t fall asleep because my mind is racing.
I feel sick and I can’t break out.
I can’t stay asleep because my body’s breaking.
With my head underwater, all I do is drown.

Is this the end?
I can’t see any way out of here.
Can I get away? Can I run away? Can I escape?
Or am I trapped in this hell?
No helping hand can save me from myself.

It’s cold out there, but colder in my heart.
The beauty fails as I fall apart.
Seeing nothing as it is, or how I want it to be.
Choking on my words, it’s too hard to breathe.
There’s no way out! Nowhere to go.
I’m forced inside by the falling snow.
It’s growing and growing as my pain steepens.
My mind is racing as my dependency deepens.

Drink it all down, and make me forget.
I don’t want to think of it; I don’t want to regret.
I want to come clean, but where do I even begin?
There’s no escaping this never-ending pain.

I persist in this tepid purgatory. I see no way out.
There is no glimmer of light shining beneath the surface to guide me to an escape.
Clawing my way around, I wonder if I’m to be relegated to this existence forever.
Is this it? Is there any hope of escape?
This cannot be my penance. Is this a test or a punishment?
An act of love or a curse?

If separation from God is hell then I am there.
How else could one characterize a dearth of feeling?
A lack of hearing? It’s a perpetual emptiness with no sign of hope nor escape.
Be not deceived, this is a hell of sorts.
There is no heaven to be found in the desert; if not salvation there is only needless suffering.
Salvation feels far from me and suffering is as real of a feeling as I can possibly muster.
How can I worship and praise when I cannot see and I cannot feel?
Such a thing feels nigh impossible and certainly unsubstantial.

What can I do and how can I be delivered?
I’ve earned nothing nor am I deserving of any transcendent thing.
Still I have faith in the promises.
I trust and question why they are not being fulfilled in me.
Is there a lesson I need to learn here, or am I just lost forever—drifting in the milky mire that only just keeps me afloat.

Stuck in this sick unending cycle, unable to escape.
I thought I could achieve more but I guess this is my fate.
Struggling to try my best but always falling short.
It’s a pitiful, pathetic existence to be sure.
Always ending up last as history suggests.
Painfully striving to put forth my best.
Unable to experience anything of worth to me, unable to get anything done.
In this twisted life I feel like I’m the only one.
Alone, trapped in a glass box which no one can see.
I’ve done everything I can to try and break free.

Pathetic, sick, weak, coward.
These ideas torture me endlessly.
Devoid of truth, meaning or power.
It eats at me relentlessly.

It feels like I am destined to fail.
I can’t see through the smoke.
I’m living in hell.
I fall and I choke.

I feel so empty and nothing seems real.
Life no longer pushes me and pulls me as it once did.
I lack the enthusiasm and the wondrous hope that I had when I was young.
Instead I’m all alone with my thoughts.
I drift by, divested of the things that make one whole.
I’m nothing but a fragmented man without direction.
This world is truly hard to believe and life is so surreal.
I don’t even have the energy to be angry like I used to, and I kind of miss it. At least then I felt alive.
Now I simply drift by without leaving a shadow behind.
A forgettable person with no legacy and nothing to impart.
Leaving nothing in this world and taking nothing out.
I will fade into the ether as if I never really existed, leaving the few who notice to wonder: was I a phantom?
Perhaps what I am is an apparition, not truly anchored to this plane, riding the wavelengths of the dark matter that floats between the worlds.
I’m an apathetic, irresolute being—a man who is here for a purpose that is yet to be discovered, but relegated to this life of insistent inconsistency.
All fades away in the end, but nothing is left behind. Nothing…except me.

Stab him in the back.
The man, with the help of whom your victory was wrought.
Punish us all with the plagues you brought.
Save for hope, it all escaped from her pot.
Forever to torment humanity until the very end.
Just like your father and grandfather before him.
You betrayed the man like the scum that you are.
A scourge to us humans, the storm-bringer.
Capable of destruction as well as creation.
Too jealous to allow us our gifts without punishment.
He betrayed his family for you, to do what’s right and what’s true.
To have his own blood stare him in his eyes and play aloof to his deafening cries.
As a gargantuan eagle pecks him apart.
He blessed our people from the depths of his heart.

The crescent envelopment of my twisted roots. Ever-consuming, the grey mist lightens into nothing. He stoops down and rips out the encased fossils from the ground. From the glimmer of my aperture I’m watching.

He is the root of the tree. The multitude of ancients follow his lead. Both old and new follow to the edge. By his transcendent power we’re led.

But they come.
Keep your distance for they live to devour.
Succoring one another and influencing power.
Living and growing, conducting and bestowing such an honor upon each other.
Don’t get too close to touch—judiciousness avowing much.
Keep your cool and keep your distance.
Clandestinely they persist in their dissonant resistance.

He is the root of the tree. The multitude of ancients follow his lead. Both old and new follow to the edge. By his transcendent power we’re led.

We drink and fulfill our lustful thirst.
Pledging ourselves to this earth.
Seeking such power to bear us up.
Leaving no possibility for chance or luck.
Endowed with the radiant permeation of this spirit’s transmutation.
The root of the tree and the devourer of all.
To conquer and create. To rise up and fall.

Drifting through the transcendental abyss, carrying me past my destination.
I marvel at this cessation of time: a divine fascination.
Descrying a figure of altruistic intention, but I feel no need for selfish intervention.
I see afar off and pass on through, approaching the luminescence of something new.
The indices of reality begin to wash away.
I feel a new life take hold of me and pave the way.
Sadness, pain, and heartache withdrawn, for the former things have gone. Behold, all things are become new.

A new life ahead of me awaits.
With strength I push ahead.
I’ve concluded my candid fate.
I feel no sense of dread.
Alone I wander on to the end of the beginning.
Various messages and codes unwinding and unending.
Bending the reality of what I once knew, I let go of all I thought was true.

There is no end, there never was.
Only a pathway to a great beyond.
A glorious marvel of the future.
Never certain, it’s all to be decrypted.
Fascinated by the unknown, I have nothing but time.
Everything is new and the past is far behind.

Old memories have already begun to fade, though I’ve only just arrived.
This is eternity for the rest of inescapable time.
It is unending, it will persist forevermore.
Preeminence envelopes the dimensions of my reality and cloaks my being in its truth.

It would be a waste of life.
But I’m already such a waste of life.
Falling endlessly through the cracks.
I need time to put the pieces back.
A luxury not afforded; my life won’t be sorted.
All I can do is wait for the end and waste my chance.

What is there to do when you don’t feel a thing? Where can I turn when I mean nothing?
I seemingly have no place to go. I’ve never been somewhere I felt at home.
I’m just a ghost floating through this life.
Holding onto anything that helps me feel alive.
Surviving, never thriving. I need to feel. I need to live a life that’s real.

I’m such a waste of life.

Decline!
Soon you will be all mine.
You’re running out of time.
You’re going to be at my side.

The end encroaches, you watch the roaches see you for what you are.
You don’t do your job, you smile at the mob, and I’m glad you got this far.
But it’s not surprising when I gave you this power.
Take the truth apart; rip and devour.

Come on, man!
You take her by the hand.
Pushing your face up to hers, she turns away but you hunt her down. It’s just a kiss, stay still. It’s just a whiff I want and to feel your touch. Clearly uncomfortable, but you’re not saying much.

You’re doing a great job at following my will.
Many follow me through you.
They spit and they mock and they feel.
They hate and they despite what’s true.
Chanting and ranting, devoid of meaning.
Unable to speak, they yell what they’re feeling.

How it burns when he stands up to me.
My enemy is behind him and he is free.
I can’t quite touch him, although I’ve tried.
I’ve done all I can do, I’ve lied and I’ve lied.
But he still stands steadfast, and he’s strong to outlast. I’m having trouble making him an outcast.

But soon you’ll have outlived your usefulness.
I’ll be done with you and then onto the next.
Possessing whatever fool dares to accept me,
I live to deceive and blaspheme.
My time is coming, and I know it’s soon, but I’ve resolved to take every soul under the moon.

I take solace in the catharsis of this bittersweet, aching world.
Hollow, yet substantive: the dichotomy of our existence.
Meaning in all, yet all feels meaningless.
Murky, yet clear, overwhelming, yet strangely calm.
There is beauty in life and fascination in death; I revel in the in-between.
Dwelling between the blessing and the curse, losing apathy and waning interest.
This paradoxical existence of clear meaning is obfuscated by perpetual uncertainty.
Come: we persist.

I am molded by the power, and I fly.
I fly upon the clouds.
I’m carried by my wings and soaring high it all comes crashing down.

Futures pass and future’s past—I pass my future and future passes me by.
There is strength in the past and vigor in the present.
Vague, but exactingly specific. We know it all. We all know it.

Captiously I persist in my superfluous state, positing coherent ramblings of unease and dwindling faith.
The truth is there, just within reach, yet far enough to escape our fingertips.
We carefully reach out with fervent desire as it imparts a morsel of its sustaining being upon us.

I am molded by the power, and I fly.
I fly upon the clouds.
I’m carried by my wings and soaring high it all comes crashing down.
So be it.

So it ends, as all things do.
I self-destruct in a vision of glorious beauty, leaving nothing but a fading wisp of myself behind. Off, I abscond in perfect peace as my eternity awaits.
Hoping I’ll be remembered, yet desiring to be forgotten.

I fly now.
Now I fly.