Smoldering Remains
Smoldering remains seep into the pores of existence, an otherworldly intensity that defies containment. It is as if the music of nothingness has become a discordant melody, echoing through the desolate landscape of the soul.
In the depths of this emotional topography, I find myself lost in the labyrinthine corridors of my own mind, searching for a cartography of the heart. But the maps remain incomplete, fragmented by the shards of shattered dreams and the echoes of forgotten promises.
The anomaly detection software on my psyche screams warnings of impending doom, yet I am drawn to the smoldering embers like a moth to flame. It is as if the darkness holds a promise, a glimmer of hope in the void that beckons me closer.
In the stillness of the night, I hear the whispers of forgotten histories, the creaks and groans of ancient wooden doors that lead nowhere. The seaside wind carries the scent of salt and decay, a morbid perfume that intoxicates and repels in equal measure.
My mind is a dishwasher of fragmented thoughts, a cyclical nightmare where the washing cycle repeats ad infinitum. I search for patterns in the suds, for meaning in the mess, but it remains elusive, leaving only the residue of disappointment and despair.
And yet, like a veldt of burning grasses, my emotions rage out of control, consuming everything in their path. Destiny itself seems to have been rewritten, as if the very fabric of reality has been altered by some unseen force.
In this boundless expanse of chaos, I find myself suspended, lost in a sea of uncertainty. The smoldering remains of my former self seem to be slowly disintegrating, leaving behind only a scattering of ash and dust.
But what lies beneath?
Can we truly comprehend the depths of our own despair?
Or are we merely scraping the surface, avoiding the abyss that stares back at us from the mirror?
No answers here. Only the promise in the darkness.
A world of nothingness, where the only sound is the soft whisper of my own madness.
And still I wander, lost in this smoldering wasteland, searching for a way out of the void that haunts me still.
In the depths of this emotional topography, I find myself lost in the labyrinthine corridors of my own mind, searching for a cartography of the heart. But the maps remain incomplete, fragmented by the shards of shattered dreams and the echoes of forgotten promises.
The anomaly detection software on my psyche screams warnings of impending doom, yet I am drawn to the smoldering embers like a moth to flame. It is as if the darkness holds a promise, a glimmer of hope in the void that beckons me closer.
In the stillness of the night, I hear the whispers of forgotten histories, the creaks and groans of ancient wooden doors that lead nowhere. The seaside wind carries the scent of salt and decay, a morbid perfume that intoxicates and repels in equal measure.
My mind is a dishwasher of fragmented thoughts, a cyclical nightmare where the washing cycle repeats ad infinitum. I search for patterns in the suds, for meaning in the mess, but it remains elusive, leaving only the residue of disappointment and despair.
And yet, like a veldt of burning grasses, my emotions rage out of control, consuming everything in their path. Destiny itself seems to have been rewritten, as if the very fabric of reality has been altered by some unseen force.
In this boundless expanse of chaos, I find myself suspended, lost in a sea of uncertainty. The smoldering remains of my former self seem to be slowly disintegrating, leaving behind only a scattering of ash and dust.
But what lies beneath?
Can we truly comprehend the depths of our own despair?
Or are we merely scraping the surface, avoiding the abyss that stares back at us from the mirror?
No answers here. Only the promise in the darkness.
A world of nothingness, where the only sound is the soft whisper of my own madness.
And still I wander, lost in this smoldering wasteland, searching for a way out of the void that haunts me still.
Published September 10, 2023