Part 3
Endings have a way of always starting again. Nothing is ever wrapped so neatly like freshly cut meat. The perfectly tied string around the brown paper; keeping in something that used to be alive. This absurdity we call life, merely an experiment.
The certainty of ending is always haunting, like a shadow in the afternoon sun. Who can find hope in this horrible violent womb? The places we call home are only breeding grounds for disaster. One misspoke word or misplaced comment, corruption in the misunderstandings. Waiting in line at the end of the earth there is no one to tell me the point of my birth. Living alone surrounded by others. Cancellations and corrections but no clear directions; how can we know the reason?
Life feels like treason against my own soul.
Part 4
Too many sick days in my current state of mind.
All my hopes and dreams are fading away; like the sun drifting into the sea.
There is so much fear and emptiness; praying doesn’t make it go away.
God is there, but maybe it’s me who has wandered into the darkness.
Maybe the light is struggling to find fuel, maybe its burning out.
This old man of me is wanting to be free, but he’s bound by his responsibility.
Driving forces inside this head, but already crashing into a wall. There is not much further until the end.
So many missed opportunities for joy, so much happiness for me and I just can’t grasp it.
Its like my hands are incapable of holding onto the things that fulfill; and my heart is shriveling in my chest.
The chaos of my intellect and the losing appetite for challenge is driving me to the brink.
