Hit Play

Its as simple as a hum that take our souls and send them for tail spins, disrupting the flights they take crossing misanthropic chasms.

Too bold to understand that what had occurred was reality in its purest form, having let the chute rip as molecules fall to grace perpetually scattered, and always misplaced.

Let it go uttered the music of that tone, clutching existence at its very core as it armored up preparing to be let fall hard as the times before.

The way of the world, too simple, too chic, form fitted for a reality not forged but forced to exist, through unknowing falsehoods based on hope.

Wishing upon a star, thinking too soon the fall had come to relieve this multitude of stigma the wicked visions would give out.

Whispers crawling in the aural caverns of the void, carved through countless repetition and malignant growths too subtle to notice, growing as coral do.

Sometimes the urge to reveal the empty naked husk of a being holds strong, the cool not needed to mask the truth of trying to stay clean and sober in the eyes of God.

Beseech the darkness to explain why it loves that which cannot be, love that will not change, love required by higher moral fortitude.

Query on the lost, the weary and the defeated, they will all return the same date, never alone never mismatched shit was hard sure but never lose light.

Everything hurts everything bleeds, yet time moves forward unable to heal the wounds that refuse to play as the same game repeats itself, sometimes on the wrong plain.

Fear me, I’ve killed hundreds, seeking nothing more than patience without the grace, obviously falling where i should not have, but in this place Love is ever more.

The simple hum that guides to this place of cats and existential irrelevance, who is to tell you more.

Sticking words next to one another to attempt to make the mystery and more languid, to understand the game.

Never enough, the clues burn bright to remind of a time when they weren’t needed, weren’t coveted, no more illumination, its my mystery to figure out and lay to rest.

These cloths will not wash themselves, these visages of what once was, was perceived as good as they can possibly be.

Remind me, where I am, what I have done to get here, to throw caution to the wind and allow the almighty air to consume my insides, still not uplifted.

Speeding into the division, no past but ideal future, or past with a future tied to nothing more than a path too narrow to be derailed, where to run anymore, how does it make sense with these bloody eyes, seeing red.

Reality sets in as the flames flame out as the ash fall hazy amongst carrion, picking from the corpses of those who might one day do good.

Eventually the time will come where the past no longer governs how hurt we are by it, the scars though still tender are but reminders of roads once traveled, where we tripped over fallen leaves, as we watched them change paths.

Fill the void of the ones who finally made the void bearable, with the numbing silence of apathy and genetic predispositions to give up, singing as the mail men chant “everything will change”

Low frequency oscillations perpetuating the zero sum of feeding the beast of what never truly was, by attempting to will it into its own existence as if that will give it the meaning it so dearly seeks.

All this to say the words that filled with enough fear of being used again, of being let down, as the trust was so easy to give out to them.

The words they have no meaning, they sit on the tip of my tongue, sitting at the razors edge bleeding, wanted to just be uttered slowly because maybe, just maybe reality didn’t have to be broken down into chunks.

Maybe just maybe, I could finally say it without worrying that they’d be flung back at me, as little as they mean anymore, because words are just the tools of the cynical to convey the “truth”

That borrowing from cliche might be too much, but, but it means enough to warrant the hum to give us permission to speak again.

Permission to remember that maybe, maybe we aren’t all built the same.

Permission to forgive yourself, when life reminds you that you weren’t to blame.

Permission to say the things we promised ourselves we didn’t think we could say.

Permission to smile at the darkness and remember that it would be okay.

Permission to write, regardless of whether or not there was too much to portray.

I love you, forever, even after I couldn’t help but hit play.

A tree put through some hi-tech un-solicited filters.

A tree put through some hi-tech un-solicited filters.

 

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