Belief in a new world order, something I thought harmless and dismissed as fleeting, but it’s reoccurring into plans, needed but not required, still, they raise the questions, is this me, do I belong, where were you when I screamed your name, in the bottom of a bottle, that’s where I found salvation, swallowed whole my redemption into the pit of man, into sin and begging for a second chance, just another line on the mirror, and those eyes that stare back are calm, collected, and hollow from the pain of sense, of touch and feel, sight and sound, a smile as empty as any and as twisted as the body of a raven fallen to the earth, stiff and rigid, buried among the smut and feelings of insecurity that rages on into the night, failing to glance the hardships that fall on others, mine is a faithless existence, occupied with thoughts of mortality, of debauchery and silenced by the quiet realization that I too am nothing more than flesh on bone, one to be considered doomed in all my glory, I am destined to rot, from the inside out, even before I reach the grave.

 My bed is my coffin, cursing me to lie awake yet unaware of my surroundings, four walls that encase me and play on my thoughts, long nights of questions, who am I, what is it I deserve from this life, I am truly an animal of god, primal yet refined, a piece of glass that was once sand, my edges are still sharp, I am still nothing more than a splintered shard cutting into the very essence of life’s queries, struggling to find myself a place to die, quiet and alone.

Everything dies alone, we never die together, there is truth in that for a reason, to pass the suffering along, recycled bullets in a metaphorical chamber, and when it’s you turn to pull the trigger you’ll play the patsy and do as your told, but it’s not your fault, you are nothing more than a creature of the night, a child of daylight, a phantom of expression, there is art in your submission, surreal, begging to be undone, clogging your arteries, and corroding you moral fibers, like guitar strings strung too tightly, they rust and snap, and you are just as easily replaced.

Your memories beg to be forgotten, locked away, still they surface here and there, like tearing fabric and seeing to the core, I stitch them up, only to finger the thread and still remember, like an orange freshly peeled, I appear ripe, but there are things under the surface you’ve never seen before, things that make you shudder, things that bring you back to youth and call your name from underneath the bed, you with your head under the covers never ventured further than your fairytales, you left the light on and the door cracked, but you still felt them waiting for you, and you never quite get over that, of course you’d steal a look while discretely looking busy, did you see me, there, inside the shadows?

But I promise, this will be over as quickly as it started, all you have to do is ask and I’ll send you to whichever god it is you pray to.

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