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Trapped in the wake of a dream. Things cease to be real and unreal. The black and white of this world fuse together, making a nuetral sight that will make you walk towards the gallows with a purpose. You are no longer alive, you tell yourself. Nothing is changing except making what was once a theory, concrete. You will have nothing left, and leave nothing behind, making you nothing more than a waif of this world, a peice of the universe that will do no more. You fade to sand blowing in the dry desert of earth. Fade into nothing, fade forever.
Completing the surgey on yourself, sewing, chopping, cutting, and pasting emotions. A homemade lobotomy with a kitchen knife.Accepting reality is only half of the equation, the other half is what you do wih the knolwedge. You are life's prisioner in a reality that doesn't exsist. The world that you taste, touch, and feel is something that is meant to misguide you away from the truth. The world is your surgeon, and you are the child, willingly complying with the rules, "Don't worry, my beloved patient, you will feel better." He'll pry into your skull, cut away what makes you alive, cut away what makes you human, and he'll cut away your ability to think for yourself. And after this world performs the operation, you lie in your bed, your face disfigured with a questioning blankness. Reduced to a state of turgid, generalized mediocrity by the doctor's pills and sweet words. You'll go on with your life, and drift into oblivion.
Realizing the truth is like waking from a long, dreamless sleep. Yes, Sleeping was comforting, numb, and easy to comprehend. But when you wake, you long for the coma. There is no hope for you, if you refuse the truth, if you beleive the doctors and their pills, if you let them anywhere near you with that goddamn knife, then you're done for. A broken body and a broken spirit are both the same, and they will take you out of this world as easily as they put you into it.
 Stiches17 · Thu Feb 24, 2005 @ 04:41pm · 0 Comments |
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