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 Sadness, pain, and heartache withdrawn, for the former things have gone.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…

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…

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,…

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…

Wicked contingencies propagate themselves through my mind. I struggle to know and walk steadfastly in the truth when the denigration I receive cuts through my being and tortures me to no end. Sabotaged and betrayed on all sides: untrusting, as everyone I care for slips away. Is it possible to be humble without being self-deprecating, and how can I love myself when all I know is sin and self-loathing? Yet evidently if you are to be loved, you must first love yourself. Isn’t that a conundrum? Perhaps that aphorism is the reason for my constant rejection and isolation. A butterfly clothed with…