Is there anyone out there I can have a stimulation conversation with
I find myself in a state of overwhelming despair this early morning.
Laying in bed, staring into the darkness, I can feel it.. closing in.
It’s an odd phenomena, demented and tortured wrapping it’s fucking claws into the sparking fibers of consciousness.
Complete and utter loss, the abandonment of a spastic child running through rosebushes with his stuffed animal.
You know the animal gets caught now and again, and the child just rips the animal off the thorns.
Leaving open wounds for precious stuffing to fall to the ground.
Now the child is lost, and then you, the stuffed animal, lay in a carved out heap.
Empty of all your stuffing.
Empty and strange in a state of
endless bewilderment, abandon, and hopelessness.
We all know stuffed animals can’t move or operate on their own, they need the child to make them live.
To make them move and breathe.
They are real because of the child’s imagination.
The only reason you exist is because you’ve been created by someone else.
You’ve always been the stuffed animal.
But.. What if the child..
Was the product of the stuffed animals imagination all along?
What if you created what created you, to create you?
Only to abandon you.
What are you then?
Pure, fucking, hopelessness.
The mask you’ve made finally falls off, and you now stand naked in the mirror.
Gazing into the abyss that is yourself.
But god damn..
Does being hopeless feel good.
Ravens call roaming.
Never again through the hopeless hope. The beating hearts and the endless light in the dark.
The Ravens cry falling.
What is love if you haven’t lost.
What is lost if you watched it die.
What is death
If you killed it.
The Ravens sigh.
Will they fly.