And then there was liquid gold pouring from my mouth. The cigar fumes mixed gold leaking through my chest from which a wounded hole. Sound deteriorating making vibrant echo like, like everything is far away. The heart feels like it is tightly being squeezed, like ghostly hands choking life out of me, my heart. My brain is leaving my mind, being departed, to be left, to be able to see clear like never before. Infused with so little emotions, I drew blank, like physical disappearance. The piece of me left is, the only peace I have ever had. The sea of debt; my material possessions, has me drowning fighting to keep my head above, above all, what I believe to be invaluable things. The death of my spirit; the separation of things made in the earth that once assured me of who I am. I am most lost, to the cause of being a man, in search for satisfaction for my soul, the food that is un-digestible that halt when my ears cease to function. I turned bare not long after I realized that my conscious left me. Time is my only friend simply because I still live. We ran against each other and then chased one another until I grew beard and child's play we could no longer. The imposition of my legs to walk further in the avenues of man, the streets of debt, the roads of life, the ways that continue to split, and create more choices for one to make. The choices that have stripped me from myself and now less than half of a whole that I once was. Borrow me your pain so that I can once again feel sane in this world where it was once mans mission to be a saint. The world where dying a nobody is what is most feared and simply dying is not death at all. And to those of mine who made it out of my flesh and endured cannibalism, blessed that they should never experience such thing as fear. When an infant fear is not understood but fear, I’ve always known. From the height far to reach, to the pain scars could not leave, fear grew from my stomach to reach my trembling hands...
in my mind
A character in this reality, each of us is a character in each episode. Everyone else is watching in another reality. Who is to say what is known? What if all that is known is just perceived? Everything we know is almost everything that we have been told. If our ancestors figured their own truths, why are we not looking for our own?
-in my mind