I know that I am here, but why? If there was a real purpose would I have not been shown the way already. Most of all, if I do not find what that purpose is, if a path worth while never reveals itself, what is the point to keep going. Why not stop, or better yet, leave this path for another. Fear, I'm too scared to move, too scared to jump, but the path keeps dragging me, even though I am not moving. This feels wrong. The end of the path looks dark, endless. My feelings are dread, and I trust my intuition. The panic is setting, I feel my breathe. Relax. Calm. You did not want to be here anyway right. My feet are numb, my legs are still, my arms droop, my back arched, forward into dark. I can not see, as I suspected. I can not hear, as I suspected. I suspect there actually is no purpose. So let us go now. At my own time. In my own way. Cold. The dark is cold. I hate the cold, it makes me so irritable. I feel it. My anger is growing. Inner me getting tense. Uncomfortable. Let me out. Hard to breathe. My skin is crawling. Itches without relief. Calm. Relax. I can not. Cold compresses. I feel like the weight. The torso tightens. My lungs are tight. My thoughts are wild. All my senses are failing. Now my words. Shorter now. Short breathe. Breathe. Brrrrr. Grrr. Release! Jump! The dark wind is cold. Why suffer twice. Glide to the bedrock. Warmth? Where? Blind. Not fully numb. Float. Land. Her? Here? "Dreams or Death.".
"Excuse me.". She is right, it could not be more inexcusable.
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Dying Dreamer
PoetryIronically being pushed to the edge and locked in isolation is in fact a paradise for the modern dreamer. The greater the distance, the further the perspective. I can not voice these dreams and visions, so let me write it down and invite you into my...
