Path Drifting From View

The path drifting from view,

Receding into the distance.
Tears welling up,
The memories, people, events and times.

All gone,
All in the past,
Left without a foothold,

No path forward or back,
Merely falling, drifting,
And navigating some form of landing.

Manipulating a descent,
One with other people, events, memories to be made.

The branching of many opportunities,
The uncertainty that comes with living,
The uncertainty of being, of existence.

All that is known,
Receding from view,
Leaving an emptiness,
A surviving,
The moving on with the days ahead.

Like eating without taste,
Happiness without feeling,
Thinking when never knowing.

As the path recedes from view, on I go,

To forge another. To burn the bad bridges behind me. To enshrine the golden monuments that have built me, kept me and protected me.

Severing The Mind

Severing the mind,
Ending the feeling,

Erasing my appraisal,
Leaving hollow comprehension.

Emptying the hurt and angst with rage,
To then let go of it all.

To be an observant shell,
A seeing actor,
An empty being.
A barely being.

From sight of site to moving on.
To the next place,
The lonely figure, to travel and understand.

The path,
Only gained by empty sight,
Through unending emptiness,
A path gathered with the emptying of the mind.
The severing of ties,
The hollowing out of feeling.
Cannibalising my mind of feeling.

Leaving it empty and bare,
Understanding left to reign supreme.

A sense of control given this choice,
Not blocked by feeling.
Not hindered by pressure.
Only the choice given and the choice made.

The freedom for change.

The severing of the mind.

Into The Howling Storm

Into the howling of the storm,
The echoes of a dark past,
The breaking of day,

The blood-warm memories,
The icy wind piercing at your side,

The becoming, the drain.
The movement, into the howling storm.

With control, with content, the slipping into darkness,
Into oblivion and existential angst.

The price of knowing, of knowledge,
The refusal not to see.

The reality others ignore,
The way it goes,
The meaningless words,
Fruitless promises.

My only,
Trusted possession.
My promise,
My goal, and determination.

To keep me company,
As I walk, laughing, into the howling storm.

Old Wounds

Old wounds,
The scars continue,
The phantom pain,

The wounds unhealing, discoloured and broken inside.
The wounds holding back healing.
The storm in the wound,

A reminder of the pain, the hurt.
The lost part of you.
Broken inside.

Unable to heal, even as you try.

The ongoing reminder,
Of  an old wound gone past,
The remnants remain.

The chains to the memory.
Association of pain, even after it faded.

Hating the chains to the wound.
The crime committed against me.

The wounds on me,
The wounds inside,
The wounds of me.

Those that run so deep,
Internalised into my being;

A toxin,
Poisoning me from the inside,
The heavy blood through my veins

Heavy thoughts, breathing and heart.
Running, within my mind.
Spinning around my thoughts.
Wanting a fix, wanting to repair,
The broken mind.

To escape the reminders,
The immobility,
The paralysis of my broken wound.

Taking tentative steps,
Reluctant,
Collapsing at the weight of my mind.

The wounds that drag me down,
Chain me to the floor,

The abyss of my tartarus.

 

These old wounds.
Tearing at the chains that hold me, confine me.

Roaring in rage.
Into the dying light.
Through the pain, memories and chains.

My voice heard,
An echo in darkness.
Broken, beaten and belligerent.

Battering the prison,
Ripping free of my wounds.

Laughing as I wrestle freedom…

Wrestle myself…

Wrestle my world…

From these old wounds.

 

 

Just been thinking about old wounds, how to feel, how I may fall again. How to avoid it. But worst of all. How old wounds make me reluctant for anything that may produce new wounds. Fills me with rage and confusion. Will go on. Continue to distract myself, until I can find an answer, work out a solution. This is the song I was listening to on repeat when writing this.

Numbing The Pain

Numbing the pain,

Feeling empty,

Dark and cold, all around, to the touch.

Mindless monster, dead being.

Trudging on, unfeeling, numb.

A wreck of the past.

A wound on the world.

A chasm of despair.

The state of being, pain at losing life’s treasures held close.

Ripped from the arms,

Followed by the dark storm, the empty silence and coldness.

Piercing and digging like razors, sharp tendrils into by abdomen. Into my heart and core.

But…

But.

I feel nothing, numbness to pain that comes from its constancy.

Numbing my pain.

Bringing it in. Bringing it close.

Fully reckoning it.

Feeling it.

Until that is all I am.

A numbed pain. Constant. A broken thing. A wound of existence. A storm of calm rage. Outside Alice, while dead inside.

Content In Solitude

Content in my solitude,

Alone in the world,

Among the darkness of night.

The long paths taken,

The presence found,

The places been.

Content, alone and moving on.

Marking my presence in the dark of night.

Shifting through being,

An empty wound, moving on and around.

Taking the world in.

Leaving my mark,

A dark spectre on life.

Alone and content in this world.

Moving on and through.

Forging my path with darkness.

In the dark flames of my mind.

The confines of the mind, a raging fire.

The flickering images of the past.

The depths of life,

Echoes of all around.

Within and among, life.

Absorbing and making it mine.

Living and making.

Forging my path through darkness,

Forging my path with those dark flames.

Content in my path.

Living a wound.

Lone Figure

Lone figure in the landscape.

Sitting on the dark steps.

Pondering the world gone past.

The icy air flowing past,

Dark trees on the horizon,

Night skies, all to be seen.

Alone in existence.

Sitting among the world.

Untouched in the dark.

A wound in life.

The darkness, the only friend, solo comfort.

The lonely figure with only the dark to call upon.

Strength to be found in the dark.

Strength in solitude,

Content in my solitude.

The lone figure.

In solitude. The figures moves on. Into further darkness.

To greet the darkness of the horizon.

Black Pearl Of Night

The darkness smooth of night,

Patterns in the dark sky,

The silent night.

The emptiness and the dark.

The smoothness formed from irritation.

The blackness imparted on the rest of the world.

A different form from the day,

Small lights peppered across the landscape.

A dark silence echoed,

A world untouched by light.

The dark rolling hills,

The echoes of human steps taken in the human day.

Echoes of people unknown,

Activities of humans once passed.

Left empty and barren,

The dark wastelands.

The ice cold wind.

The scars left from day,

A counterpoint from the silent empty night.

The lonesome night.

The silent dark night..

The echoes left from day.

To the black pearl of night.

The silence.

The emptiness of space,

The solo existence in this emptiness of night.

Alone in the dark,

The only person in existence.

The solitude of my thoughts.

Left to the darkness,

This black pearl of night.

Empty, alone, silent, and solo.

The dark shadow cast upon,

The rest of the world, dark and empty,

Eternal. Empty. A mere echo.

A black pearl,

In its dark beauty.

Its dark radiant shine.

The dark storm encircling inside.

Black and dark like the inside of my mind,

Silent and in solitude, like the confines of my mind.

A barren blackness, a counterpart to life.

This black pearl I’ve found.

The silence I live.

Mine to hold,

Before the black sky.

This black pearl I’ve found.

Left forgotten.

This black pearl I’ve found.

The black pearl of my life.

Broken Echoes

Broken echoes,

Of my past,

The mistakes made and continued.

Trusting those who leave me down.

Those I once thought to trust,

Who continue to forget me,

As people do.

Left, as a broken echo to the world.

Drowning out reality.

Drowning out the song of life, as a broken echo.

A ghost of the now,

Cut off off from the world.

Cut out of existence.

Left with this reminder. The broken echo that follows.

The empty words given,

And retracted from me with a sharp pain.

The deceiving smile, of a friend held dear.

Left with this broken echo.

A dear reminder,

Of the pain following trust,

The hurt following friendship.

The lies given without care,

Left in this broken echo.

The repeating sound,

Through the repeated lies.

The broken echo as my reminder.

The times enthusiastically waiting for,

Not given a simple truth. To solidify the pain,

Yet left with the repeating echo.

To grasp me,

Encapsulate me.

Bring me peace.

Not wanting to bring pain or inconvenience.

But being left waiting.

In this broken echo.

My fault for trusting in a friend,

Caring, yet wondering.

Through this broken echo.

Me, a broken echo.

A path once taken,

Me. The ongoing problem.

Me. The broken echo.

Better left forgotten.

Ticking Of An Overthinking Mind

Ticking over in my mind,

Overthinking and obsessing.

Going on and on.

Ticking and wondering why.

Why the mind won’t leave me in peace.

Why it goes on and on,

As everything stops but my mind continues on,

Down this path of sadness,

Off into the void.

Onwards in thought.

Ever-thinking.

Ever-feeling.

The surroundings quiet,

But disquiet within my mind.

Thinking and wondering.

Wondering why this happens,

Why I do this.

Why this happens.

Why it goes on,

Ever-feeling and ever-thinking.

The path ahead disquiet.

Unable to quiet my mind,

Unable to suppress my thoughts.