Forsaken

"For a while I thought I fell asleep
Lying motionless inside a dream.
Then rising suddenly I felt a chilling breath upon me."
Dream Theater

~

They fail to realize that the universally desired constancy of happiness is but ignorant stagnation, and that unending joy lies at the peak of despair.

And you, you fail to notice the pain,  those miniature supernovas hiding beneath the shadows of your extremities, as their fading light lies waiting to engulf you. Yet all pain wants is an embrace, a hug that pulls you back to you, to the divine realm you keep avoiding.

But the show does go on, and the music surely plays on. And our dreams, they die in restless ripples, silently whispering words of forgiveness to our oblivious souls. And I know I always ask you the same question though I try not to, but it just demands to be let go. So, again, I ask you, what do you see? What do you see?

"On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?"

This symphony of waves is breaking the ocean's heart. It's sending chills into your eyes, slowly, steadily, down your spine, composing that stuttering poetic paralysis, imploring you to transform pointless motion into the multidimensional insight that can auto-tune these submerged instruments. So do what you need to do. Do what you need to do so we can play our music as we drown. And if we do, take some time to listen, then look at the forsaken waves we saved and tell me what you see. Tell me if I'm there. And when you don't find me, pretend this was our goodbye song.

"Outside the dawn is breaking, but inside in the dark I'm aching to be free."

The show was a no-show. I was never here. And neither were you. The water was breathless make-believe. And these dreams were children of delusion. And all the dreamers we know are dead inside. Still, no one can see you. No one can feel you. And yet, you keep going, still. Why? Because I'm practicing to perfect my art, tugging and twisting these cursed heartstrings until art becomes the explosion my tremors foretell - because everyone loves fireworks, because maybe then, someone will show up.

"I'll face it with a grin. I'm never givin' in. On with the show."

Blessed be the patient and the brave. And damned be the hearts that took and never gave.

"The show must go on."

~

"She softly whispered in my ear,
Forsaken."
Dream Theater

Fight

"Empty spaces - what are we living for?"
Queen

~

What can you say? What can't you say?

I can say that false ideas can be the right and necessary steps to reach correct conclusions. I can say that no one likes a broken toy that keeps repeating the same half-sentence no matter how hard you push its button. I can say that I don't know whether I'm more afraid of what I want or of what I might find out. I can say that it all falls back into the distance between love and fear though I know that there's a lot more to it - to this. I can say that I hide my face behind metaphors because I can't stand the sight of the truth. I can say that my imagination fixes the brokenness of this world though it feels like it's other way around. I can say whatever I want to say because freedom shapes both biology and the bed-covers that hide it. I can say whatever I want to say and you can interpret things in whichever way pleases you and I can say that this phenomenon indirectly, and in some unnamed half-lit perspective, accounts for both heaven and hell. I can say things in my head in a combination of talk-back and play-back and broken-back modes just to exhale the recycled shit I have bottled up. I can say whatever you want to hear but I'd have to truly know who you are and I don't because no one really knows anyone and no one knows what's really going on. I can say that I know myself but I'd simply be lying to someone I don't know. I can say anything but it will always be closer to nothing than to some thing. And I can say that the show must go on, no matter what.

I can't say that I didn't want to mix the 'cans' and the 'can'ts'. I can't say that this isn't compensation for my lack of organization. I can't say what love is. I can't say that this isn't getting boring. I can't say that the word 'fraud' doesn't always come to mind. I can't say that coincidences exist. I can't say that I'm honestly doing well. I can't say why I'm doing this can/can't thing even though it's not making me feel well. I can't say what I really want to say but that's fine because I like it when the words come out spontaneously - and they are. I can't say that I don't admire how everything, even hardship, is so well-designed. I can't say what self-love is because I don't yet fully know how the process works. I can't say how I really feel for multiple reasons. I can't say what these reasons are. I can't say that I like order more than chaos. I can't say that I'm not disappointed by the lack of coherence here. I can't say that I can't say things anymore. And I can't see it, and I'm not sure I want to.

But why? Why do different questions always lead back to answers that sound and smell the same and yet taste like different kinds of pain? Why do words initially appear so unique and then commonly feel like torn papery skin that smells of old carpets? Why does knowledge ache more to be forgotten than to be known? Why do I crave forgottenness rather than oblivion? And why am I asking all these questions anyway?

This is empty and sad. And I claim to be currently neutral and devoid of feeling. So either this isn't a faithful reflection or, maybe, I'm just being as self-deceiving as ever. This is boring and disappointing. And on a scale of one infinite void to dull refurbished introspection, this is paradoxically both and neither and utter nothingness.

When the words fail, one has to wonder what is left floating in the shipwreck. When the words fail, the welcome mat on the door of your imagination spells embarrassment with a single 'r' to tell you how unwelcome you are - here. And here is all you have. And here is nowhere suspended in brokenhearted ill-shaped half-breaths spat-out into vomit-inspiring stains on the portrait of someone that looks like someone you thought was you. So go on and write and read this terrible attempt at not being terrible at a life you wake up everyday to deserve. And live on though you can't re-write what you repeatedly failed to read in that smoke of these burnt-out candles of those dark wishes you whispered to the endlessly suffocating night you couldn't save. And now exhale incomprehensible light into this sin-eating darkness, while the night's neck-snap still echoes in your trembling hands. When the words fail, as you can't see, this happens and you don't.

What do you want to say?

I want to say that I can't take it anymore.
I can't take it anymore.
There, I said it.

Is that your final answer?

No. The show must go on, no matter what.

~

"Outside the dawn is breaking."
Queen