A Broken Revelation
Finding it in myself to keep going; seems like it gets harder and harder as every moment, every repented second goes by. It’s hard not break down and cry sometimes… times when I try to hide it the most, times where I shouldn’t be so full of loss and bewilderment, “what am I doing, where am I going with myself?” At these moments spent surrounded by happiness and friendship, I lead my own parade of masquerade. I try not to burden myself unto others, yet a lot of the time I fail miserably. I’ve not the greatest poker face in the game. This game of life, I am completely aware that not everyone spins the wheel without flaw… I just feel that I am the weakest; it’s too intricate to bare it all on my wretched back.
At the age of eleven, I lost something, and until these past few years, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to live without it. I lost the joy of being alive, lost everything I ever believed was righteous. The day my grandmother Eygabroat passed away… it was the day I realized that life wasn’t forever; love isn’t forever, at least not for me. Every time I’ve ever loved, every ounce of happiness was ripped out from beneath me. Like the half empty glass atop a dining room table’s linen, I remain standing… alone, but still in place. We all die alone. I remain in the eyes of all who’ve ever given me the light of day, forever caught in this terrible void. So indecisive… so jealous over the smallest of things… I’m not utterly alone, if I was, I believe I would no longer have an excuse to remain making the poorest attempts at life. I keep crawling through this… evil, corrupt, greed filled filth we call existence for one reason, perhaps not the best; I stopped living for myself years ago. I couldn’t, and won’t ever be able to find it in myself to hurt those dearest to me. It’s hard enough to face them day to day, wearing the mask of a humored man. For what lies beneath is still that of a lost boy.
I cherish my imagination, my ability to make almost anything achievable out of nothing. Without being able to write or render… capture or create, everything would just continue crushing my already worn apart soul. With sorrow, anger, apathy, fear and sometimes love to choose from; without ability to express myself, I doubt I could have put up with myself without falling apart. I wish everyone could express themselves in such a way, not of violence - and certainly not of suicide. I undeniably realize I’m not the only one with these feelings, I just wish there was a better way to look at it than that. We cannot continue to live our lives in despair; we can’t put up our hands at the sake of questioning or answering… nor can we put them down to respond or listen… it’s in our nature. Through the lies of our many religions and governments, blinded by TV and most childhood education, we’re failing to progress, falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of greed and betrayal. If I had eyes that could see afar, I would tell you that I see not one day, beyond this one, where all of us settle in peace. Not one moment without war or unnecessary death. There is really nothing left but to sever yourself from all of it and be at peace with yourself. I’ve already began trying, I just hope that others will soon follow.
At the age of eleven, I lost something, and until these past few years, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to live without it. I lost the joy of being alive, lost everything I ever believed was righteous. The day my grandmother Eygabroat passed away… it was the day I realized that life wasn’t forever; love isn’t forever, at least not for me. Every time I’ve ever loved, every ounce of happiness was ripped out from beneath me. Like the half empty glass atop a dining room table’s linen, I remain standing… alone, but still in place. We all die alone. I remain in the eyes of all who’ve ever given me the light of day, forever caught in this terrible void. So indecisive… so jealous over the smallest of things… I’m not utterly alone, if I was, I believe I would no longer have an excuse to remain making the poorest attempts at life. I keep crawling through this… evil, corrupt, greed filled filth we call existence for one reason, perhaps not the best; I stopped living for myself years ago. I couldn’t, and won’t ever be able to find it in myself to hurt those dearest to me. It’s hard enough to face them day to day, wearing the mask of a humored man. For what lies beneath is still that of a lost boy.
I cherish my imagination, my ability to make almost anything achievable out of nothing. Without being able to write or render… capture or create, everything would just continue crushing my already worn apart soul. With sorrow, anger, apathy, fear and sometimes love to choose from; without ability to express myself, I doubt I could have put up with myself without falling apart. I wish everyone could express themselves in such a way, not of violence - and certainly not of suicide. I undeniably realize I’m not the only one with these feelings, I just wish there was a better way to look at it than that. We cannot continue to live our lives in despair; we can’t put up our hands at the sake of questioning or answering… nor can we put them down to respond or listen… it’s in our nature. Through the lies of our many religions and governments, blinded by TV and most childhood education, we’re failing to progress, falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of greed and betrayal. If I had eyes that could see afar, I would tell you that I see not one day, beyond this one, where all of us settle in peace. Not one moment without war or unnecessary death. There is really nothing left but to sever yourself from all of it and be at peace with yourself. I’ve already began trying, I just hope that others will soon follow.