Revisiting the Rage
For a brief moment, the blaze rose higher than the arches; the timber kindled as bright and the foray flamed high. The failed feelings were stuffed inside lost memories, pretending to give a facade of normalcy that we see in that cuddly teddy bear. But a beast was trapped; a little ember was still tucked somewhere in there. And it crawled with drooling jaws, into the blackened sun.
It is so easy to forget the trap when the illusion surrounds you. The blanketing of bitter struggles as the days drag on gets lost when emptiness feels so consuming. Tucked behind too many hours, heavy consumption, and a half-will for life, the good life seems so easy, but just out of reach. What changed here though, was the realization that loneliness is only an affliction of loss; that the endurance and resistance was built not in coddling, but in sheer brutality.
It was an addiction to eat blame, to take failures as faults.
But when I saw the rage, when I felt the perseverance in a small circle of forgotten relics, I remembered those tiny bits that have kept me alive. The swelling of that pure gold that fueled so many stupors started to flow back in again. And I saw the deceit for what it was, an easy lie of another false idol carrying me away to some unknown self. I hungered for the sweet taste of mortality that comes in the face of death.
To say I was throw into a cesspool has some meaning, as I was tossed into the dregs of what I thought was forever. When my forever was finally forgotten, and I was capable of a new false face, I built a new facade of all the empty promises. But it wasn't enough; what was said and what was heard didn't make sense. So I fell down the well, blinding sight in cheap drink.
Now, I feel the legacy rising again. I taste the ash as it rains from city center. I hear the crackle of deception slowly giving way. I see the glory of alters burning as the stewards have left for better masters.
I am no longer a B-rate addition; I will not be an outer-ring appendage. I won't let your gates of supremacy configure the core that pulsates through the veins of a living world. Cheap talk and qualitative filler cannot dissuade from the impending arson. Your towers will burn.
I cannot be swayed into simple survival any more. I will let my knuckles bleed as I beat the broken barricades. I will feel the pleasure of slag sinking into my skin. With deep inhalation, I will purify the poisins that plume in unknown corners. My ears will pour soot and smoke from the roar that is around me. I will let death fester in my organs, ever beckoning to guide me to the void, and I will spit my cancer at every cry.
It is so easy to forget the trap when the illusion surrounds you. The blanketing of bitter struggles as the days drag on gets lost when emptiness feels so consuming. Tucked behind too many hours, heavy consumption, and a half-will for life, the good life seems so easy, but just out of reach. What changed here though, was the realization that loneliness is only an affliction of loss; that the endurance and resistance was built not in coddling, but in sheer brutality.
It was an addiction to eat blame, to take failures as faults.
But when I saw the rage, when I felt the perseverance in a small circle of forgotten relics, I remembered those tiny bits that have kept me alive. The swelling of that pure gold that fueled so many stupors started to flow back in again. And I saw the deceit for what it was, an easy lie of another false idol carrying me away to some unknown self. I hungered for the sweet taste of mortality that comes in the face of death.
To say I was throw into a cesspool has some meaning, as I was tossed into the dregs of what I thought was forever. When my forever was finally forgotten, and I was capable of a new false face, I built a new facade of all the empty promises. But it wasn't enough; what was said and what was heard didn't make sense. So I fell down the well, blinding sight in cheap drink.
Now, I feel the legacy rising again. I taste the ash as it rains from city center. I hear the crackle of deception slowly giving way. I see the glory of alters burning as the stewards have left for better masters.
I am no longer a B-rate addition; I will not be an outer-ring appendage. I won't let your gates of supremacy configure the core that pulsates through the veins of a living world. Cheap talk and qualitative filler cannot dissuade from the impending arson. Your towers will burn.
I cannot be swayed into simple survival any more. I will let my knuckles bleed as I beat the broken barricades. I will feel the pleasure of slag sinking into my skin. With deep inhalation, I will purify the poisins that plume in unknown corners. My ears will pour soot and smoke from the roar that is around me. I will let death fester in my organs, ever beckoning to guide me to the void, and I will spit my cancer at every cry.