Why is it that the more I crave the warmth that lies within the light, I find myself falling deeper into darkness. What have I done that continues to bring me to this God forsaken place. I am anything but drawn. I am captured, and held prisoner within the walls that are dimmed by the knowing of pending conclusion.
I once craved the comfort of the shadows. The absence of light sheltered me from the truth brought forth by vision. But as I stand here in the moment of my existence, I ponder on the realization that I may never find my way beyond the confinement of the black.
Happiness is fragmented into the points of a pen, dotting ink onto a canvas, once blank but now smothered in the oils of the days. Little by little covering ever inch of white until nothing remains but memories.
As alone as the wind that blows through the needles on a bitter Winters pine. The chill of the artist on the stage of life that bares no audience. Unworthy of the creation that was bestowed upon me. I am alone.
Is it me, or does the cold blanket the many, distancing itself from only the few. What is the true cost of fulfillment. Is death the true keeper of light or is it obtainable within the beating heart.
As I sit here in the minutes that run down the instant, I am caught in the ticking of the ever-moving hands. Turning like thoughts that plummet beneath the surface. Knowing that the end will find me in the shivers of night. I have to wonder that if I had stopped long enough to see beyond the distance, and traveled down a different road, if I could have avoided repeating past mistakes. Why do we become blind to reality, and continue to be content with less than what we believe we deserve.
Youth is short, maturity is long, darkness is infinite.
The heart bleeds to be whole, until there is nothing left to keep it beating.
All I wish for, is what every soul wishes for….to make it back….beyond the black.