I awoke to find them already dissipated...
For you,
I declare the memory of us,
Once faded,
Now truly,
Gone.
At least, in the conscious sense.
Inner thoughts generate frequencies and some, still say,
Assuming the worst is just anxiety.
Being too certain of what has always been unknown,
Still seems too difficult to uphold.
For some days the sun brings me joy,
And others,
It simply won't.
All I can be certain of is who I am,
In this moment,
In order to create intention for tomorrow.
Begin the cycle of rejuvenation,
Restore power in places stolen by utter fear.
I still contemplate,
If an individual constantly takes all actions personally,
Negatively,
Does that mean they operate by a sheer thirst for vengeance,
Without yield,
For their pain knows no bounds.
Their mind,
A hive of wounds justified,
Poorly mended selfish pride...
And that is why when you gaze upon their face,
It is as though they've been walking on a sheet of ice for decades.
But make no mistake,
Such familiarity summoned when it all traced back within...
Until I begged for my own sanity back.
Only in the aftermath of monumental suffering, could I realize what I had done.
No more.
No more misunderstanding of self worth.
No more denouncing of accountability.
No more quarrels at the sight of our unique wonder,
Bound to mistakes as bound to mother.
Living like I ran out of time.
This is my ultimate meditation.
I was not meant to harbor hatred,
Since it simply,
Never lasted...
In the aftermath of reflection is truth.
A truth I could never arrive to under the curse of repeated self-infliction.
My intention,
My purpose.
Therefore, it must be free of hasty assumptions,
From the inside and out,
In order to thrive,
Fruitful affection for self.
This is the kind of dance I wish to carry out
For the rest of my time here.
Salvaging,
And savoring the last breath,
Before each night's end.
Holding close,
Loving spells cast,
Collected and reimagined by the rest.
Bound by star kisses.
I must still devote my existence,
To the method of catharsis,
Channeling rage into leviation,
For it is the only hint of a savior's existence.
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| Oscar Wilde's Play Salome Illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley |
