Trenches were a refuge (a place to catch my breath)
Trenches were respite (a place to lower my head)
Trenches were silent and calm (a place to hear)
Trenches were hiding depths I couldn't see (a place darker than the shadows)
Trenches have become hill sides, mountain slopes, deep valleys.
Trenches have swallowed me
And I was thinking I was thinking I was thinking
I was thinking why not… live the moment the touch the light in the dark
What end would that bring if it smells like a newly born minute that spreads beneath our hands
And I was thinking thinking remembering closing my eyes
Why not… live while we breath live while we see
Cannot be bad cannot be wrong cannot not be for it is and it is and how
good
that moment
can be
why not let it live a little while longer stronger look
it's
ours
Blame everywhere
I just don't see
Blame, in your eyes
Mine are still open though
Les mots, les mots
Sous mes yeux
Blame
Look, see, read
I'm still looking
Not blind yet
From the blame
Et toi, tu vois?
It's such an odd feeling to not know what life holds for me at this very moment, yet to know that it holds so much more than it did yesterday.
I'm numb, then hurt, then elated, then insecure, then determined.
Mostly, I think, I think this is coming… Freedom.
In thought, in breath, in being. In thought
mostly I think, I think this is coming… Light
Everything is a possibility, never a certainty.
That is beautiful. That is freedom.
The night has fallen.
Suns died.
The knight has fallen.
Sons cried.
All around the smell of standing still for lives that never came.
Only dust the herald of hollow memories.
Mundane certainly. So fucking ordinary it would tank at the box office, that stupid story. That thing. That big wad of gum stuck under my shoe. But in a linear situation, where facts cannot be more usual, lies complexities, astounding.
Simplicity in words. When it just makes more sense to go for it than to weave and dance and
Leaving traces. I'm leaving traces but letting the path fading. I will not use it again.
I've weaved, I've danced. Justified and avoided. Until no more options were available. I bought all the extras, found all the easter eggs, played in God mode.
An end that dragged through my words, an end that survived this long because of them.
Pictures, drawings, songs… An idea, a life within a folder, a thousand paper weights on it. All for the sake of this one story.
It lived and now has died and within an instant it will be for ever erased. Within an instant I will destroy all the intricacies I've carefully laid on it. My bonds. My weights.
Life. Death. Creation. Destruction. Truth. Lies. Realities. Dreams. Nothing in between.
As I said. Simplicity.
And I wanted to tell you something sweet.
Something that didn't hurt.
But despite my good will, I am silenced, the words trapped.
The right ones. The ones that belong.
I never used you before, I always was sufficient.
Then you. So I.
You hold a mirror that I want shattered.
But you hold it with such abandon, such generosity.
And still all I can think of is the disguise I should wear.
A reflection I can deal with.
A reflection you have seen through long ago.
When you put it down, the mirror,
I hope that in your eyes will remain the image of what I can be.
It's all here, all in here, between you and me.
Deleted. Not yet. Not quite.
Coming back. Regaining some kind of human form.
The deletion amplifying as my mind eases into a comfortable position.
Like passes. Like a file cleaner. How many passes should I allow?
Complete irradication. Or traces. Lost file fragments.
Things are starting to make sense again.
Reality is not hiding, not a nightmare, not unbearable.
I don't want to disapear, not as much anyway.
Thought I needed to format, but
BSOD… Memory dump. Reboot.
The files survived after all.
Compress old files? Yes.
I'm much quicker on startup, with minimal damage.
I heard it. I turned around and watched it finish it's course at my feet.
The tree fell. The ground wavered. The roots ripped open the earth and I cried.
Infernal noise as tendrils of life let go of the giving soil.
My shouts muffled, green leaves spilling their tears in my mouth.
The branches bleeding as they are whiping against the forest.
And I touch the blood and bring my fingers to my lips.
My lips.
My tongue pushes softly called by the wetness.
My lips.
Do not open. I will go to sleep thirsty.
I turn around and let it bleed and bleed and bleed.
It's not the fall that killed the tree.
Something. Something in the history that we wanted to write.
That will never make it in the books.
Jumping was the easy part. But climbing out became our daily gamble.
What was there to lose but frowns upon our good life?
Sill, stalled on the lips of the well, sitting and waiting and thinking about not thinking.
Faltering, bending, giving in. Going back and back to the start line.
One too many times.
This is the last time. This is the last time.
Who fell… Who's out dancing with the world, crying to be dead?
Who's alive… Who's trapped in the silence of too much certainty?
It's not our souls that are lost. The words showed them the way.
Long before we stopped understanding them.