The path of self destruction is never beautiful, nor is salvation bittersweet enough to wash out the taste of blood in your mouth. Ultimately it depends on what end result you’re trying for. What you want. What you feel you deserve. What if I tell you that’s part of the curse; is to yearn. For things always just barely out of reach. Searching along the path for years, trying to remember what it was you seek. Never once coming to the conclusion your own emptiness was your own choosing. Or undoing. To bury yourself and what you were to become a ghost of someone that no one deserves. A fragmented creation torn to shreds, by the sanity left over inside your own head. but you’re Mad. Madder than any given poor man who damns the government for taking his last cent. More deranged than the woman locked away in a padded room who sees and hears beyond this dimension, ranting and raving over the end. For in my rationally irrational way of mind, I see both sides and still choose to turn a blind eye to it all. Knowing I already jumped. I’m crazy, all in. So now I got to take the fall. With no certainty there is anything awaiting me at the bottom. Except pain from an impact that should kill me but won’t, because it’s all metaphorical; I hope. Delusions of a poor pitiful ghost of what once was me. Clinging to threads of a tapestry that was burned at the edges leaving no silver lining, just one single thread connecting what is to what could or should be. To now. The end, or beginning of this. New age, two-way street. Crammed with aimless wandering feet, of people who are also trapped in this sea of bodies. Searching for answers they already know, to the questions they can’t even see or keep. Like the herd of sheep we all seem to be, unless we’re at the top of this pyramid scheme. To give away something you’re not You without. A Dream; of what thing’s could have been like now if you just changed one thing, made a different choice. Decided what you wanted sooner, was a loud enough voice to guide you through the darkness to where your heart is. Lost and buried, almost forgotten. With the memories of a past you almost lost, leading to an uncertain future that had a larger cost than what was initially thought.
Published by Amelia aka A.m.z.
Birth given name Maria. Mother to a wonderful son. And to keep it short, I've always had a way with words. But I use rhyming and poetry as a means to express emotions I cannot convey through my other creative endeavors. View all posts by Amelia aka A.m.z.