Pressure over time creates an eternally momentum building black hole of applied condensation of everything that constructs the very warped fibres of a facture ridden collapse of everything we know, have faith in and trust…. when once the release of these primal destructing forces is occurred, hell but beckons as a positive alternative to the reality that crumbles around the distorted windows, those through which every fatally fateful event since further fractures that fragile faith you had in your own ability.
How do you take weakly faltering step in front of potential stumbling step and know that once it was so much more solid before when you strode powerfully through doubts quagmire, little perception of the potentially crumbling reality around distorted windows that now only show the inherently under trodden footsteps of fated failure and despair.
Broken implies a repair to be implemented
Repair implies it is possible to remedy the problem
When considering the lowering tones of a mournful mood that every depressive, doubting and seemingly self-damned soul measures the mournfully lacking success of anything they have accomplished… broken, to brake, holds meaning so much more irreparable.
How does one then fabricate that seemingly easy thing to cognitively conjure when whole; an answer, solution, fix or resolution?
Till that mythical answer has proven worth, so broken will the afflicted remain.
There upon the pinnacle of perfection lies a point of perception so much attuned to what our worlds are within the fractious chasms of flame, that only a singular person may see it within the obsessive focus two fold of what a madman may feel
To take apart with the methodical removal of brick by bloody brick the whole entirety of a person’s world, reason and rhyme a shadow of sanities fading form in the methodical removal of a person’s very foundation in the subversively torturous process required to go through with such a suicidal kill; a process by which all the upheaval achieves is merely to avoid the epically scaled monstrosity of what refuses to be deconstructed at the core of where his troubles began
The prison cell grows no bigger or sizes larger than what the mentality of a life lacking inmate has grown to know; the thankless bounds by which all a horde would enslave never offering the faintest ideal of freedom with each maliciously stinging blow
Endless steps out into the ashen fields with furies pace to evade that particular centre of what draggingly leaches the limping will to breathe, only to push the prison cell this a’ways to the right or left as the central villain of a man’s fate resides where the centre of that seemingly decreasing cell follows; following with as much furies pace as desperation compels him to put foot ahead of foot in endless step
To turn to see the reflective truth of that villains stare as eyes so damningly dark betray every repulsion drenched ideological dagger I hath cast upon my own flesh; all that remains when the very fated fragmented deception falls fatally to the flames and bare only the fractured and hollow form I wear
A wrist a paper thin contract with life
A razor a pen to break the terms of a life sentence
A mesh of loving fibres to sever
Should I ever stop running from the fatal truth
That the lies are less painful than facing the soul of this soulless creature
The soul a twisted representative debt to all the potential I have cast into the cause to stay blissfully numb
So to whence souls sink we sight a jaded keep, all a chorus of screams seduction to what better tempered hath mercilessly bleed to seal what slithers deeper within
Sanities lingering presence hauntingly cackles a fractured melody to take cold to newly icy depths, where within that creature sealed greedily mauls those foolish enough to wish to see thier reflected sins
All sins a flesh of twistedly framed corrupting bed, as into her sheets seethes damnations very most disturbing grin, the corners so turned of that hell reflecting smile as to say ‘come in’
A man’s remorseful yelp at the painfully consuming sting of a tail so insidiously severing his heart filled joy and happy will
Love now done with a discarding ruthless kick of coldly bone cracking heels into a shattered form of flesh, the hopeless scream of that mortal wetch a seductive siren, so subsinctly pitched as to draw in those foolish enough to wish to see reflected in her emotionless pits thier dreamily conjured notions of what tempts lesser men
As all who crawl away broken desperately warn others not to sample the dark arts of love
“A person’s posture can sell an entire library of insight into their character, chapters so subtly implied in the slightest of actions”
I lean, not slouch, slump or support myself against but lean on surfaces. When I’m leaning it’s a sign that I’m safe in an environment and at work it’s a sign of control, the ability to control a room from one key location with a singular tone of authority. The action also implies a safety about my mood, an inherit security for those surrounding me as the trigger finger is resting idle at the side of my readily unfriendly temper.
The very activity of letting every muscle falter into relaxation is a thing to spread the warming calmness through my body; an equally important activity is how I resume upright motion. Too quick and assertive and I could be on the verge of a volatile reaction, slower motion an indication of mellowed resistance and a composed disposition.
The best photo of me that I can recall is me leaning against a pillar, unaware there are even cameras slyly pointing lenses in my vicinity!
So what about you:
Do you hunch in a repressed posture of stress or frustration?
Do you spring from one arena of action to another in energetic pose?
Do you shape yourself into those dark corners of the room in shaded insecurity?
However your body naturally accustoms itself, I say make it yours and do it right
From the first timid time I dared to lift my eye lids from over the two cold orbs I use to see, all demonic potential of a world heavy loaded with meticulously detailed pain extended as far as my cursed sight doth see
All a storm has passed this way, a merry hell to rain down in callous hail upon all this civilly constructed shell so fragile by every timid crack that screamingly outlines every faulted thing huddling within
No shelter stays whole or defence remains in ways to be even loosely defined as a working thing, when all fire rages wildly with wilfully consuming chaos through my besieged fragment of nothingness value labelled only as my calm
Eyes see apparitions of future pain through the poison lens of a crimson stain as the path before disintegrates so purposely slowly, as if a cruelly picking god were to be laughingly knocking each stone down in corrupted joy before the eyes of tortured souls
Blades meet flesh and suffering marks it in reddened streaks lashed across the skin, no angels here to heal a demon’s ills with enlightened tones of forgiveness prayer, only thanklessly begging mercy calling for their pitted existences to be saved
So fate creepingly crawls with derisorily drawn out cries to defect to places where I dare not tread, steps heavy laden with a past’s regret do doggedly claw to bring me back to whence sorrow’s crop have chokingly seized every fibre of hope
And all such horrific visions of misspent awfulness instilled in those seven eternities of twenty four hours of waking hell, sleep as damned as when I wake to see a freshly laid burden to pitilessly whip my only fractured fragment of brightness to have made it out, traumatised and broke
So from the first time the night with cruelty sluggishly draws the curtain on that fair day of all a dystopian nightmare would weep to feel, I must hope not the dwelling memories of what misery I write will persist to remind me that I await it all with the dawn sentence of fresh light
How to tell if you are socially compatible with the environment around you:
- Is everyone screaming, banging their heads against hard objects or rocking gently in the corner in a stunned silence?
- Have you said something so off piece/borderline offensive without realising it that even the super feminist dressed in a Hitler outfit is silent?
- There is no one in the room and the guests are figments of your imagination and even they are displaying traits highlighted in the first two points listed
- The women you have started talking to is now leaping off the nearest high object to avoid further conversation with you
- Your family is saying that you are ‘some guy they invited because they thought he was someone else’ and keeping a ten metre distance at all times
If any of these seem to be familiar occurrences then good luck making friends with the wall or other inanimate objects of suitable structural integrity to endure your presence. We recommend a corrective process of making sure that you never required to converse with, go near, be within ten miles of or actually consider making contact with another human being, for the sake of their health.
If you are with someone who brings out these behaviours in others and are not reacting you are either friend, family or their respective other half, in which case we are sorry for the loss of your social life. In case of anything other than ‘family’ connecting you with that person we recommend you run, very fast away from that blight on the face of humanity, if you are ‘family’ we are sad to inform you that you are immortally screwed.