Distance: Path 3

Path 3: The Collapse

Color is restored slowly. The trees become calm things again that only wish to steal nutrients from the earth as they worship the sky. Begin to notice the air become very damp and cold though. The sky is a bleak gray now, and I look down to see my feet leave a soggy trail through a dirt road.

Start to wonder where I am headed, this is a winding path that cuts through a very cold bog, all of it looks the same, and it all smells putrid. For whatever reason, my eyes are darting around with much curiosity, looking at wildlife sift through the trees casually, caring nothing for my presence here.

I suppose there is a beauty to it, but it is one that I do not care for. The road that exists here is poorly maintained and shows how clumsy people are when they try to carve their way through such an environment. Nothing in me shouts that I should find anything here. This is just another part of the trail I must traverse.

It is very cold here.

The air feels stagnant and old, this area, despite being so alive, seems amazingly decrepit. My steps grow heavy, and my march through the dirt now takes far longer than I would like.

The tall things that used to surround me were buildings. Their shadows were oppressive and sterile, but I found them quite comfortable. The trees here all seem on the verge of collapse. Nothing but willows and oaks strewn about that block the sky and lean uncomfortably over the road, draped in moss like an attic is draped in dust.

An oddity soon presents itself to me. The dirt road splits off into two directions. There is a path that splits off to my left, and the continuing trail straight ahead of me. I am very curious as to why it has taken so much time for something like this to confront me, but I consider the implications for only a brief instant. My feet take me straight down the path I have already spent a great deal of time wandering down, and I leave the splintering trail behind me.

Perhaps that was a bad choice though.

My memories of buildings and the compactness of city life surround me as I try not to think of the awful swamp I walk through. Makes me think of a warmer climate, and friendly faces, lets me avoid the isolation that currently envelops me.

A time where I had no reason to complain, but I was entirely restless. Juggling three very different groups of friends, sleeping on a couch while I begged for food and drink, wandering the streets of the island was my way of seeing the world for what it was. At this particular time, it was empty. The coming storm scared everyone away. The dark skies and violent winds of a hurricane were always a dear friend to me, though. Likely just because of what they did to the city. Everyone was gone, the weather was cool, the sun hidden from view. The weather and environment was perfect for me to wander around in. I spent hours that one day meandering about the major roadways, listening to music in a newly acquired device that had become my salvation. Calm piano melodies in sharp contrast to an empty city and violent weather. I derived a very odd sense of serenity from it.

My mind needed much of that at the time. My thoughts were often more turbulent than the weather.

Everything in the whole damn world, crumbling down, while everyone stands around like jackasses and laugh at the decay.

It’s all a dead end. What they’re spitting, what they crave, and also this part of the trail.

With no thought of irony that my mind and body have come to a halt, instead I gaze out at a body of water that stretches before me. There are giant piles of earth that extended fairly high around the water. It seems all of this clearing was done by man. A large pond made for reasons I can’t guess, and giant stretches of torn trees and dirt acting as a buffer between the woods and this spot. A mist hovers over the still water, and it’s quite hard to tell where it stops or how deep it is, as once the water clears the open area it floods into the surrounding bog.

I sit on the shore, resting on the trunk of a felled tree, and I cast a stone or two into the still water, shattering the surface and the mist for brief moments.

From early on I was surrounded by water… born near it, and of it. The tide is far more interesting and comforting than a stagnant pond, though. I look out at this cold swamp, and all it does is remind me that I don’t like this place. There are better areas that will welcome me with open arms. Places that allow me to hide away in obscurity.

I am pursuing a goal with violent haste, but failing in obtaining that goal should not entail sorrow on my part. I should expect to fall. I’ve done it so often. I am nothing but a book of mistakes with a dull ending.

I shift and stand, watching the mist clear from the pond, and I see a craft come across the water slowly towards the shore. Standing patiently, I see that it’s a very small boat of some kind. Something lying inside of it is what catches my eye.

The boat touches upon the shore, and I discover that it is many items that rest within it. The boat is filled with a pile of old shit I used to own. I dig through it with eager and delighted hands. A favorite jacket of mine helps greatly to fend off the cold. A necklace with a cross and a ring upon it grace my neck once again. Then I find my first portable digital music player, the name “Ten-Song” is still scratched onto the back of it. I stuff it into my pocket, it’s broken and I don’t have headphones, but for whatever reason I want to carry it anyways.

Likely the most ironic thing is wearing a religious icon I’m not affiliated with a second time. I wore it because of death, but I myself am among the dead now, there’s no reason I should have it strangle me again.

With these three things in my care again, I kick the boat back to wherever it came from. Obviously what I previously considered a diversion of the trail was where I needed to be headed, so I begin to backtrack so that I may find that split in the road again.

I pull the music player out of my pocket for awhile as I take my time returning to the split in the road. I first carved the name on it as some sort of crude reminder of its limited capacity. I took that in stride though, and began to see it as a wonderful quality of the tiny thing after some time. It was a great thing for me to have at that moment in time. Something to help me silence the world as I traveled through it, deaf to whatever cares and worries were thrown my way.

I was so willing to kill the world away, to remain vacant while everyone else would search for more tangible things. Can still remember the day the whole world just fell out from under me.

Likely I should have been super pissed or depressed. Nothing came from me. I had already lost so much at that point, the idea of having nothing wasn’t some omnipresent fear in the back of my thoughts, it was a tangible reality. Spite was all I could muster. Damn the world, and damn everyone in it… my self included.

To sleep but have no home, to eat without food, to entertain with an empty mind, to wander with no goals… my mind and body became hollow and empty things.

Destitute and begging for scraps, wandering the city became an escape. I would stroll around the mall often, angry at how everyone strode about in bliss as they consumed extraneous bullshit they never needed, parading their consumerism around like it was something to boast about. My fascination in watching the inner workings of the city spin about carelessly I suppose also made me a curiosity as well. I was a child with no home, no family, and no one to depend on, part of me needed to latch onto something.

This led to many mistakes.

Standing at the corner of the two major roadways, with honestly no idea as to which direction I was going to go or why, the music was blasting in my ears. I was trying not to cry, trying not to scream. I was trying to understand why I was walking the earth in such a broken state.

I hurt quite a few people… my carelessness, my discovery of a part of my mind that shouldn’t exist. I hurt people I once called friends, I hurt women, and I hurt myself.

Suppose I should have been grateful I even had a place to sleep, but that was very little comfort. I had a few beds that I could rest in. Only one of them was isolated. I needed to be alone. All I could do was use up whatever was in front of me.

I became the place where the ends could never justify the means. I became the place where two wrongs could make a right. I was an awful creature.

My brain was screaming, and I had no means to make it stop.

At a complete dead end, there was nothing left to help me cope. All of the dumb little things I would whisper to myself, they meant nothing. Lost in the woods…

Feelings I had repressed for a great deal of time came kicking and screaming to the surface, breaking every facet of stability my mind had put into place. I had dealt with my sorrow for so long, inventing so many stupid things to occupy my brain, to ignore it. No more.

When my world went completely to shit, so did I, finally.

The worst thoughts I had ever let come into my brain consumed me. Every day when I would wander the world, I was awash in my nightmares, looking at the world now not to observe and critique it, but as an outsider looking in, desperately wishing I could be part of the things I claimed I hated. Needed something to bring me down, to calm me… the only thing that did arrive, I wanted out of my life.

I had no options when push came to shove… so I packed up two small boxes that represented everything I owned, and I came… here.

I’m here again…

Was it consequence? No, of course not! I had no choices to make, and I thought the few ones I did make were good enough. I got away from her, I got away from poverty, I thought I had finally escaped from my problems.

Fat chance.

Everything seems more decrepit than I remember.

The splinter of the trail led to nothing but the long driveway that comes to this home, deep in the middle of nothing. The garden, the fields, the porch I helped build…

Part of me wants to be hateful, to run to the house and set it on fire. This is where I lost everything.

This is also where I rebuilt myself.

Almost everything was falling down around me. My mind was shouting things I did not think, the words that came out of my mouth were things I did not want to say. I was frequently having sex with a woman I did not love, and I was hanging around a group of people that were not my friends.

I needed to be me again. My options were limited. Likely I could have stayed in my home town, could have gone to many places looking for some place to sleep. I didn’t want to just live as some homeless bum sleeping on whatever couch a friend would offer up though. A year and a half of that was already very tiresome.

So I came here. Into the middle of a swamp far from everything I ever knew. It was cold the first two months. I was all alone as well, everyone else wasn’t ready for the move yet, so I was the only occupant for a long stretch of time.

Many weeks on end passed where I would sit around in the cold, with nothing to occupy my time.

When I am idle, my mind wanders…

The intention of this move was to escape from all the mistakes I had made. Here though, they thrived in the idleness of the house, and they emerged as flickering shadows that ran over the walls.

Depression is an awful thing to battle, but I had never let it conquer me. I had thought that I would never be the type to drift into pure madness… that was until this house came into my life.

My depression, and my current run of bad luck, all I could do with my days was sit alone in that cold empty house and reflect on those things. I had nowhere to go, no one to talk to. It was just me and the house.

The entire world suddenly sunk into my head, as tiny little creations of my own, all going to war with one another, falling in love, growing old and watching everything take its proper place. I lived in illusion because to think of other fictitious lives, meant that I was not aware of how awful my own was.

Fiction began to inspire reality though, much as reality inspires fiction. My reflection suddenly seemed like it belonged to someone else. I would wander around and begin to do things I normally wouldn’t. Sometimes I would just scream, because I knew nothing could hear me, and I needed to vent. The names of all the people that I thought wronged me… looking back I think I was actually the person in the wrong.

Spinning fake tales in my head of what would happen to the world. I began to look for anything around me to cope, and nothing was working.

One day I woke up, and I was convinced the walls were conspiring to kill me. Not as though they were speaking and all in congress speaking ill of me when I wasn’t watching. Rather, it just seemed as though whenever my attention would falter, the entire house would just fall down on me and kill me. Like somehow, this old gutted piece of shit home was waiting for just the right moment to fall apart.

As night fell upon the world that day, the claustrophobia began to choke me. I ran screaming into the pitch black night, and I fell to the earth muttering nonsense.

I remember grasping the frosted dead grass in my hands, the sharp pain of the cold reminding me that I was still alive. For whatever reason, I wished that wasn’t the case. It was the first time such a thought had entered my mind.

I looked back at the dim lights of the house, the only illuminated thing for miles, and I understood that I had to return to that. My body revolted against me, I couldn’t fathom that I had to go back into the house. Death would have been a far more preferable alternative.

It was a brief flirtation with the thought, but as I did return to the house, with the sinking feeling that falling asleep would mean the walls would fall on me, it was not the last time such a thought entered my brain.

Simply because plotting own my own death seemed like something I would want to be an elaborate affair, the thought kept returning to me as more days passed. So many odd aspects that should have come to mind did not though… I think that’s ultimately what helped calm my soul.

Most of my thoughts were crazed and pointless for the span of about a week and a half, and as odd as it was, I welcomed the return to my normal state of depression. Never told anyone what happened… just wrote it off as a “nervous breakdown.” Didn’t dare give it any further thought, I put it behind me and that was that.

What’s funny is I can almost look back on how horrible that house was as a good thing. Every horrible aspect about my self, it brought to the surface, and then some.

My sense of normality I suppose would be considered “old fashion.” There was no town or city to speak of, and my daily activities in farming forced me into a life that was completely alien to me. Hard days tilling soil and gardening and chopping wood gave me much time to think.

Suppose such a thing was my enemy though. My body was in pain, and so was my mind. To deal with this new life, and to juggle the weight of my sins, every day blurred into a mess that extended forever.

I had a few escapes though, and I clung to them desperately. Every part of me yearned for the style of life I had left behind. Maybe not the style, come to think of it, but the setting.

I am standing in the same spot where I fled to many years ago in madness. It was not the only time this particular spot in an otherwise unremarkable stretch of land held meaning for me though.

One of the few legitimate boons to being so far removed from the world is being able to look up at night at a sky swimming with starlight. The night sky fascinated me. Many times I would wander from my room at night, just to find a quiet spot where I could look out at the stars.

Places so far away, remote and unexplored. I wanted to humble myself, thinking of why my troubles were so significant in the face of what I looked up at. It was serene…

Eventually I felt disconnected from the life I left behind though. When I would visit with old friends and family, it was suddenly like I had come from a different time and place. So much had changed in my mind so rapidly.

Could blame it just on the transition from my teen years to becoming an adult, but that is more a matter of temperance finally burying petulance. Whatever transformation I was undergoing was far more brutal, and I did not like the person that was emerging on the other side of it.

Most it just seemed like my reactions to everything became increasingly hostile or introverted. If I did not tear everything that was in front of me down, then I would simply avoid it.

Wished I was stronger, wish I made better decisions with my youth, wish I could have blinded myself to the pain I was about to face. Hindsight is funny like that. Realize the faces I thought were my worst enemies were likely people I should befriend, and that many that I held close in my heart would only ever let me down. Wait for everyone to go, and sit on the porch and look out at the tasks I had at hand.

I was in control, but I was out of control. I was keeping my sanity in check by lashing out madly. I had seen everything there was to be seen by nature of having my world shrink into nothing.

Try to relate to the world, but I felt like I didn’t belong in it, like I was visiting from some far off planet, looking for something here that I couldn’t find elsewhere.

Sitting in that same spot now, looking at the gray sky and the rotted expanse, all I can really do is laugh. Goodness, I was such an asshole. Don’t think I should try and repent for that, however justified I was, however pointlessly angry I was… none of that matters very much.

Holidays and birthdays and vacations to escape, polite words spoken to people I don’t often see telling them all to give or to take, to stay or to leave. Hello and goodbye, I’ll be here so watch over everything since I’m gone.

No enemies, no hatred… just me.

My hand shakes and reaches for the necklace I’m wearing. Grasping it and fumbling over its edges and the ring attached to it, I stand and leave the porch, and begin to walk into the yard once more.

A few times too many and not enough chances to greet them all and now it all falls down like dominos. Each one toppled a name, each one standing a blank face.

It was near Christmas time, and I was on the other end of the phone, my heart in my throat as I listened. Everyone else was happy as could be. Who would want such a thing to happen?

Was only a matter of time. Not a lot of time, either.

Crowds gather, faces that don’t care much for what is transpiring, petty squabbles bubbling forth at a time of crisis. I blinded myself to all of them, punched all of my emotions to the back of my heart, but I failed in that as well.

I had my chance to speak to him alone, and I doubt he could hear me. That part really didn’t matter. I used what little time he had left to damn him, to demand penance from him for all of his failures. I watched his rotting form breathe in and out, and I somehow wanted him to get up, to fight me, to counter my horrible examples of failure and say that I have done no better.

I asked him if this was really how he wanted things to end. I couldn’t accept that he wanted to die of his own will. I refused to accept that we really were that alike.

I spent most of my life thinking I had no real father, and as I watched him lying there helplessly, I realized that I was actually exactly like him… in every way that frightened me to my core.

Never harbored much resentment towards him, I learned early on not to expect much from either parent. There was always a border between both of us, as though we wanted to cross it, but were both too stubborn and prideful to admit that we were wrong. I let him live in the consequences of his bad decisions, while I set off to make plenty of mistakes on my own.

I couldn’t save him, and I could have. I never offered help, I never revealed my own problems, and I never broke ground to relate to him. We just ignored one another, and in slow motion I watched him take his own life.

So many pig headed jackasses standing around me as I come to grips with a terrible revelation. I welcomed the end of the proceedings. I wasn’t offered time to grieve, so the isolation of this house actually sounded wonderful suddenly.

No one around me wanted to understand, but truth be told, I didn’t want them to know. What in the fuck was there to offer me? I didn’t need a shoulder to cry on. I didn’t know what I needed.

Used to often stray out into this part of the yard to think, but most of the time when I asked questions, they were pointless and foolish… the ignorant philosophy of a young man trying to find his place in the world. This time, I felt all of existence expanding and contracting.

I began to wonder what in the world was watching this wonderful yet ugly experiment that was my life. Could there be an amalgamation of all humanity that I could watch? The sum of all our beauty and creation, of all our crimes and killing… was there something inside my self that could see all of it?

Never accepted the beliefs and traditions of the old, but in me, something was screaming for connection. When I looked up into the stars, I felt the weight of every bad choice, the comfort of every knowing glance and gentle kiss, shame, joy, guilt, discovery, terror. Everything erupted from me, and into me, expanding and contracting like the world itself. No matter how alone I was in this spot, I was me… all of me. My memories, my hopes, everything of me, flowing into everything, before washing back into me again.

What I felt that night was as powerful as it was altering. Despite a renewed sense of spirituality, it was not some wonderful warm and fuzzy revelation. I did not feel the sum of my life was in the hands of anyone else, that some force in the universe would wash away all the wrong I had done. I felt connected to something though, and from that, I made a vow to carry the burden of what I had done at all times.

Looking at the necklace as it rests on me now, and I wonder if that was the only reason I vowed to bear it. To be forgotten was his greatest fear… it was my greatest fear. Part of me refused to think that such a thing could ever come to pass.

But why is it across me now? Is there any living soul carrying it? I actually hope that no one would do such a thing. I hated the feeling.

Let all old and tired souls put the objects that carry their spirit up on the shelf, and look at them fondly one last time, before giving them to the world. Our hopes and laughter and dreams, left to be forgotten by the new, as the old become dust.

I take the necklace off, and set it on the ground. The same spot where I lost everything. The same spot where I thought I found the world again. I break down and weep as my hand graces it, knowing that this isn’t the last time I shall see it, because it’s not here.

However, I kept my promise. There is some joy in these tears. This was one of the very few times that I made good on my word.

I walk down the driveway again, seeing a long road stretch before me out of the cold empty swamp. From trees and desolation and quiet, emerges a busy city again. Had to escape that dingy little hole in the ground, it was killing me inside. The cars, the population, they make it hard to hear myself think, but it is also a reassuring background noise.

If the hands reaching from everything are really so interested in my decisions and my consequences then the control they seek is always out of their control. And I’m the one walking away, ignoring everything they say, empty and idle hands set to motion, and the control comes from giving everything away. The crowds all scream for sacrifice, but they want to see someone else lose it all, they will give nothing. So it seems the people that everyone thinks are controlled are really the ones giving the commands and telling them what to do with their hands, and I just walk forwards and laugh.

I am walking down a road, busy and congested, and I am laughing while the words of every other being just become a static that echoes around me.

The buildings begin to stand on their own, and they demand attention. I give nothing to them. Water to my side, dirt to my side, trees and concrete parking lots, it passes into my vision and out of it so easily.

The buildings rise, and clatter amongst each other like a wind chime, they are confused and angry. Their bones split out and the windows crack and scream before shattering. It rains glass, sharp little things that cut at me as they clatter to the ground, breaking further. The only thing I dare notice from this, is an amusing crunching noise that arises from my steps.

At last, one of the creations seems fed up with my ignoring them. It splits from the rest, and begins to crumble as it falls towards me.

I still ignore it. Even as the land around it is smashed into a cloud of dust, I keep walking.

Right on target.

My head and torso and limbs twist and snap into horrific configurations as I am squished into the rubble, a sound like laughter and singing emerges from the chaos.

What’s left of my face gushes out various fluid and bits of other things. Try to bring focus to my eyes, but they’re separated, and only one works, looking at the other as it looks somewhat like an orange that’s been stepped on. Very few of my fingers respond, and they can’t move either. No pain is felt though. However, there is a degree of annoyance at my sudden feeble state. I become a loose configuration of tiny shards seeping through the cracks. I emerge crawling out of the rubble unscathed. I wipe dust and various bits of debris and blood from my arms and face. No time to be distracted.

Dirt road again, the middle of nowhere, fields extending around me, and just this one crumbled heap in my way. I begin to race down the trail at a sprint, a strong spirit of defiance pushing me onward.

Familiarity stops me once more. I look up at the sky, and fish the music player out of my pocket. It’s completely smashed to shit. Almost forgot that I had brought it along with me. I toss it aside now, trying not to think of all the times it brought me comfort. It won’t do anything for me now.

What made me stop in the first place though, is a garden that reminds me much of times long past. The colors of the roses and other planets seem far more vibrant than they ever did in life. I stray away from most, and focus my attention on a small patch of tulips. Plucking one away, I bring it up to scrutinize. A rich mixture of red and yellow, the petals jumping up like fire in the wind, the rest on the ground held aloft on their stems, like embers stuck in place.

I begin to wonder if the scent from this garden is brought on by pure memory, or if I am conjuring something real in this place. Not the only thing for me to ponder, and I spend enough time thinking it over, that the tulip I have stolen from the earth begins to wither and die. I discard it, and decide that I should just be on my way.

An interesting distraction, as my sense of exhilaration seems stolen from me now. Back to a plodding pace, I see another city creeping over the horizon.

Tall buildings a rare sight, they dot the landscape in a patchwork way, twisting highways that have no idea where they are going snake around the environment. They ferry traffic that is equally confused. The deafening noise of differing tones shouts out from all sides and demand attention.

I am looking far away, and away from my path, there is a great hill overlooking the horizon, I head for that spot.

When I reach the top, I sit down and make myself comfortable. The vast cityscape stands before me, and before staring too deeply into it, I look for areas that remind me of when I first arrived.

Many reminders spring from me, that the worst is always yet to come, reminders that I should not trust so easily, they permeate the air itself. I will not say sorry for anything, not for my blind nature, not for the ruin that came.

Stuck far away from everything, and all that existed around me were reminders that the purity of isolation poisons me. Ironically though, everyone that would come for me, I wasn’t quite fond of their presence, either.

Never took enough time to think things through.

One of the sky scrapers crumbles, it smashes into the raised stretch of highway to the left of it, and I smile.

Stuck in a vehicle heading towards nothing, wondering what was to become of me. This is where the worst of it began. The highways had gone through three phases for me. They were once comforting, and when separated from them, they became an intoxicating escape. Now, they were just noise, and everyone going about their business was just noise as well.

It was set up perfectly, my return to my broken and pointless state of being, begging for a place to sleep, wondering how I would feed myself. The support of the only people left I could trust suddenly seemed like pity. The world’s I had tried so hard to keep separate for so long suddenly came together, and everyone could see just how wretched I was. A tragic figure, but far from one worth sympathy.

At first I was surrounded by people, and this only made the contrast of my loneliness even worse. I wanted to hide in my dreams, but I could not sleep.

This is also where the world goes hazy for my thoughts. So I stand up, shouting and smiling, watching as even more buildings collapse. The great cities I fled from, now nothing but rubble, and I’m laughing so hard my eyes water.

When there is only dust, I walk down from the hill, and back to the road I was following. I remember all the fleeting thoughts of sitting in my room alone, wondering where the world went, and why connection was so difficult to establish when I left for it.

I can hear sirens and screaming from far off in the distance, the sounds of people coping with their city being nothing but dust. Now they must face each other, and that all they have built means so little. Much like them, I must remember that the world is merely inside of me, that I do not exist in it, or of it.

I find it odd, that I am so lonely now. When I was alive, I was surrounded by the dead. Friends that had passed, family, they sat around me like I was the one to judge them, but they are not here now. There is only me.

Begin to wonder if I even need to walk down this path. Perhaps I only do so because it comforts me? The trail itself now splinters and fractures as I step down it. The road morphs quickly into dirt, and then back to pavement. Crumbled buildings and their remains turn into trees, and then they appear perfect again, before looking like the ruins that they are once more.

I spent so much time trying to make all of this my home, only to now realize in death, that I was never wanted. When I first left, it felt like exile. Now I think of it as a reprieve. Never had the time to think about it, there was too much chaos in my mind.

Things jut up in front of me, blocking my path… rigid lines with thin faces that spit out smoke and make clicking noises. I’m filled with their sound, and I push through them, feeling them fall apart at my touch, yet for every one that falls, a dozen more arise. Eventually their noise is so deafening, that my hearing fades, until only the pounding of my heart fills my senses. A dull but hectic rhythm that pushes me further, they are biting me with their teeth now, trying to fall apart around me to bury me with their noise.

I scream, and it sounds like the noise they make. They all fall away, and I fall to my knees, vomiting ash. My eyes burn and I franticly feel for my chest, as though something invasive is clutching at my insides.

I look up at nothing again, and when I scream this time, I project all of my will upwards, until some sick and terrible thing rests before me, leaving my throat with a burning feeling. It’s covered in pus and globs of some substance I don’t want to know the origin of, and I feel something sharp and resolute in the center.

Pulling it from the mass, I see that it is the necklace I had forsaken. As soon as the chain leaves the pile, it flies from my hand, and wraps around my neck, choking me.

At first there’s a great panic, but when I remember that you can’t strangle a dead person, I am filed only with annoyance. I fumble at the thin chain, gripping it tightly and trying to rip it off, but it won’t leave. I grab the cross and ring, and yank on them as hard as I can. Finally after much struggling, I rip these two parts away, and as they detach, the chain goes slack, and falls off of me.

Reverence for the dead… why bother? The shapes in my palm are loathsome. I care not for whatever I said to make me bound to them. I toss them to the side once more to be forgotten. I kept my word, and I will suffer it no longer.

I will push past the mess of perception that stands before me. I will force it to become something whole again. I will get away from these places at last.

Something dangerous and new awaits me, the trail fades, and I find it difficult to know where I should go.

There is no reason to stay, so I press on. Why bother with conquest? Look at what it resulted in!

But answers are never that clear. Much like this path, it becomes a haze, what I mean, what I want, mingling with a vast swathe of what could happen, what did happen.

And what was I looking for, a home? Why bother?

I will learn nothing standing still. I will experience nothing surrounding myself in the old. I will stagnate, and sink into emptiness. I will not let this be my fate.

Nothing but rubble in my wake, but I don’t care. I did not make the world fall down. No one did… because everyone just stood around, watching, doing nothing.

–   –   –   –   –

Oh God, was I that man up on a cross
Made of steel stuck on my wall?
Cold and thin, who watched me die
And did not care?

Miles to go before I sleep
Miles to go before I sleep
Miles to go to fall in deep
Is this the way it has to be? Yeah.



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