Indeed trying times are at hand. The world is high on the smoke billowing up from the flames of our ... View MoreIndeed trying times are at hand. The world is high on the smoke billowing up from the flames of our sorrows. I searched for an easy path, it doesn’t exist. I feel like an easy path right now. The darkness is growing as a cancer. This ball of dirt from which we were born is terminally ill. Time is not a respecter of persons. Waiting for no one I stand alone, and watch him continue on. He walks a brisk pace. No swagger in his step. He serves one mission: measurement. On the same coin he denies no one credit when it’s due. Of all his existence I’ve wasted I am somewhere behind. One foot after the other I am being left. Stuck in my yesterday. I am glued, can’t let go. I wish I could have learned. No more teaching provided. I have graduated past the free courses. Now I must pay for the knowledge I obtain. The price is high: blood, pain, sweat and toil. I am falling, my own devices await below. Pockets sewn closed. Mouth as well. My trousers are singed with the false witness I dug out of my pockets as casually as the lint lining their carcass. I am as hollow as the wind. We are who we associate with.. sooner or later. Days when the wind was my companion were drawn out. The pencil has dulled and I used the blade from my sharpener to cut all Hope from soul. Meaningless words tossed about like cuisine in a food fight. We are at war with our condition. Continuously pitted against our own well-being. Our dark placement in time and space truly paints the clearest of pictures. Light is there. It is simply spread thin. One must search for it. Invitation necessary. My eye sockets are hollow as well. I’ve lost my marbles and senses. I’m mad. Stark raving mad! I’ve grown disturbingly complacent as the one who roams. My socks have holes in the heels. Blood soaks their soles. I paint two X’s where the windows of my soul once drank in everything. Boards over windows of a condemned house. Blind. Yes. Dead. Yes. Happy? Am I? Dead? Yes. Nomadic. Haunted by regret and restlessness. Tormented by ME! I thought I could give up. My subconscious refuses me my desire. I was wrong. As the flesh of my back rips open I rise from the ashes. Wings push free. I share resemblance with a butterfly. Black and crimson melts from my skin. Light breaks through it’s own absence. The embers that we’re dwindling and fading ignite with a passionate fury. I rub the sleep from my.. from my eyes! I have them back. Oxygen enters my lungs. Light enters my limbs. The numbness dissipates. Here I am. I take flight. Soaring. Hello Father Time. Good day to you. Mother Earth I’ve ignored your beauty for much too long. Please forgive my ignorance. I pick up my paint brush. I throw shades of yellow and green onto my chest. Here I am! Running. My socks are once again vibrant. I remove my pen. It was lodged in m heart. Blood fills the wound and I can feel. I can breath. I can smile.. justaylor (Self proclaimed Adventurer, Philosopher, and Psychonaut. 21st Century Hippie.)
ScooterThePsychonaut
Male.
Lives in United States.
Born on March 24, 1999.
Is in a relationship.
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Indeed trying times are at hand. The world is high on the smoke billowing up from the flames of our ... View More
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I try to find it, I search. I hunt, I relentlessly pursue it. Where is it, why can’t I find it? Relief, do you even hear my pleas? Why do you escape my grasp? WHY? Death says he has the answer. so doe... View More
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