TK
01-11-2002, 06:13 PM
I just got inspired to write this right now... kinda black, and bad, and stuff. And yeah. Just read it. Or don't. No title.
In the horizon, I can see it again, the accursed place I am accustomed to. It is my pain, my terror, everything I do not want to be part of, and yet my legs begin to move without even a trace of nervousness to their step. My head is lowered to the concrete in front of me, my shoulders slouched similarly; I do not know if it is the burden of this place or my own lack of confidence when I�m here that is bending me towards the earth, but I face it nonetheless, afraid to look up to the sight in front of me. And yet I continue to walk. I walk towards my pain.
My hands lie deep within my pockets, my body shivers with the chill. It is cold within me and outside me, barren, dead; the day is dark, my spirits are darker. One moment I want to fall and vomit, the next I want to scream in rage, and then I want to weep. But I do none of these things. I continue to walk. I walk towards my anguish.
My thoughts are filled with the hatred of humanity, the inherent evil in man�s natural ways, and my own inability to comprehend what lies before me, what lies behind me, what lies above me and what lies below me. My only true knowledge is that I know nothing. On this particular morning, my wall has broken down, my defenses have been crushed like a twig, and I lie exposed as though the dark were a vile sort of light. I want to turn and run, I want to escape from the terrible place I am approaching, but I continue to walk. I walk towards my hatred.
And then the rage comes, the rage at life, at the darkness of everything. I do not understand even myself anymore, my rage is familiarly alien to me, and it melds itself with my pain and my repulsion and the combination creates a storm of useless, nameless emotions that drain my strength and bring me to my knees, dragging me towards my hated destination. Thus I continue to walk. I walk towards my confusion.
The cold is unbearable, and as I enter, I greet the warmth I feel wholeheartedly; even the fires of hell are better than the wasteland between life and death. I am inside the place I loathe, consumed by it, helpless to resist, always struggling, always wanting, but never able to take action for the bonds that cling to me. The people here are strange beasts, I do not understand them and they do not want to understand me, they might as well be pigs, or sheep. I stand inside the place, I cry out within to the only help I know and the only help I have ever known, and He is not there; He is never there. I cry for the lack of a support and I collapse into the void that has consumed me. I am within and without, and I am dead.
In the horizon, I can see it again, the accursed place I am accustomed to. It is my pain, my terror, everything I do not want to be part of, and yet my legs begin to move without even a trace of nervousness to their step. My head is lowered to the concrete in front of me, my shoulders slouched similarly; I do not know if it is the burden of this place or my own lack of confidence when I�m here that is bending me towards the earth, but I face it nonetheless, afraid to look up to the sight in front of me. And yet I continue to walk. I walk towards my pain.
My hands lie deep within my pockets, my body shivers with the chill. It is cold within me and outside me, barren, dead; the day is dark, my spirits are darker. One moment I want to fall and vomit, the next I want to scream in rage, and then I want to weep. But I do none of these things. I continue to walk. I walk towards my anguish.
My thoughts are filled with the hatred of humanity, the inherent evil in man�s natural ways, and my own inability to comprehend what lies before me, what lies behind me, what lies above me and what lies below me. My only true knowledge is that I know nothing. On this particular morning, my wall has broken down, my defenses have been crushed like a twig, and I lie exposed as though the dark were a vile sort of light. I want to turn and run, I want to escape from the terrible place I am approaching, but I continue to walk. I walk towards my hatred.
And then the rage comes, the rage at life, at the darkness of everything. I do not understand even myself anymore, my rage is familiarly alien to me, and it melds itself with my pain and my repulsion and the combination creates a storm of useless, nameless emotions that drain my strength and bring me to my knees, dragging me towards my hated destination. Thus I continue to walk. I walk towards my confusion.
The cold is unbearable, and as I enter, I greet the warmth I feel wholeheartedly; even the fires of hell are better than the wasteland between life and death. I am inside the place I loathe, consumed by it, helpless to resist, always struggling, always wanting, but never able to take action for the bonds that cling to me. The people here are strange beasts, I do not understand them and they do not want to understand me, they might as well be pigs, or sheep. I stand inside the place, I cry out within to the only help I know and the only help I have ever known, and He is not there; He is never there. I cry for the lack of a support and I collapse into the void that has consumed me. I am within and without, and I am dead.