What a tragic figure I have made.
How quickly I have fallen into desperation.
How quickly I have forgotten the joy I had once shared in.
So soon bound to self exile.
Why have I forgotten the warmth of the sun and the soft patter of the rain on my skin?
With such swift inaction, the fire inside me has been smothered.
With such ease I cut away the only ties that sought to keep me aloft.
With such passionless disinterest, I have thrown myself again into the darkness that awaits me below.
It has become all to simple.
To hide in the mist of that twilight.
And with such impartial synchronization, it has become all the more difficult to face the light that gave me strength once again.
However, I have no qualms with my descent.
I am not the same man that fell, time and time again.
I give my gratitude to this self-inflicted destruction of being.
With each meter of my fall from grace, I chip away at the shell I have hidden within for so long.
My false sense of self, eviscerated on the rough edges of the night I come crashing into.
There is no impact as I reach the bottom.
A feather laid to rest amongst the reeds.
On the back of gentle winds, I nuzzle myself into the welcoming pool of the abyss.
The anxiety of loneliness, no longer found.
For this time, I have found myself.
I welcome my soul back into its intemperate vessel.
The climb shall be brief.
My ascent forever guaranteed.
For this time, I bring with me the feathers of his wings.
jbbartram-illu
janainaart
snowghoul
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