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The Path of Thorns

Reality is a place of pain and loneliness
A place filled with false hope and imagined finess
The prickly path of illusions that is half of life
The bloody road of emotion that is strife
We cry because of the pain that wells forth like blood
Caused by those closest just because they could.

When holding a rose the deepest cuts,
Come from the tightest holds as our heart shuts
and we strive to break the mold
To be unique and only ourselves
To walk a path of our personal hells
To live and die, fight and fold.

This is the dance of the butterfly
As it flutters down the path of thorns.


Chaotic Image

The scent of the first sweet bud, blooming as it's kissed by the sun
The screams of pain rising forth from those burned by it's light caress
The blinding light transformed, as it invades our tortured form
The taste of ash heavy on our tounge and gritty in our throat.
The blackened and cracked skin laced with ever darkened crimson
The feel of the heat sinking to the bone and blossoming in the mind.

Yet the fractured mirror shows a whole split into many
The light chiming of glass, stained glass windows show images of myth
A slick, gentle, texture as it slides along the fingers, warm like skin
That sharp, salty, taste that makes the heart beat faster
The smell of sweat as exertion peaks and limits are pushed
The rush is the bass line to the newest images and desires.

A symphony of thoughts that build on one another and themselves
Towering higher and higher, pouring forth in a constant babel
Will their tower fall like the legend?
Will it simply implode beneath the weight of it's unexpressed concepts?
Why do these thoughts and voices fill my mind with their siren's song?
What will it take to find that sweet release, from madness and sanity?

Oh come sweet oblivion, embrace me in your eternal caress
Still this mind that spawns violence and malice
Strike down this heart that shows love and compassion
Destroy all that is and all that can be of these people that make me.
When the world ceases it's spin and all stars are snuffed out,
What embrace will comfort a non-believer?

That caress that comes in the darkest of hours
The one sought in the most trying of times
When the heart is not beating nor the lungs breathing,
How does a mind get between dreams and reality?
Take me at last to the place I see when not breathing,
Wrap me in formless shadows and rob me of all that I am.

Steal my senses one by one, take these eyes that see so many lies
Take this tounge that tastes of temptation and speaks of duplicity
Muffle these ears that hear the truth beneath the words
Clog this nose that smells the corruption of a society and race
Gouge out this heart that feels so intensely and hurts so simply
And finally smother this cacophony of thoughts that drives me wild.

For such a simple gift to be found maybe the world need end.
Too many complex concepts errode simplicity
Too many one sided views decimate truth
Creatures of habit prey on this world
But death shall prey on all in it's time
So in the end some wish for heaven and some expect hell,
My only wish is that sweet release of nothingness.

At times I wonder if I have allowed the cold world too deep beneath my skin, I find my replies to most these days filled with the acidic sarcasm and simple callousness that I used to reserve for opponents. It is nearly twenty two years of life unfulfilled for the longest but with a growing purpose surrounding the last two years of my life. I'm well aware that the nature of the world is uncaring but I'm curious if the last of my childish idealism is slowly dying like so many I knew when I was small. Life is changing far more rapidly than any time since that day so long ago when I chose my first path. I no longer feel guilt or sympathy for my actions or how they affect others. All that fills my mind these days are thoughts of Sylvan, she is my inspiration to succeed, my drive to get up each morning and make my way to work, and she is all that keeps me from looking for a new job now instead of later. She is as much a consoling force in my life as her mother and for that I am happy that I at least have made progress with my life and found some path to light from the darkness that used to ensnare my mind and inspire the darkest poems I have conceived. I still possess the rage and hatred for so much of the world that fueled me for as long as I can remember, but now I have found something outside of nature that calms my restless mind in the dark hours of the night. I hope and will remember for all time with this entry, that the terrors of sleep and insomnia will cease to plague me as I do all that I may to protect and care for those I love.

How does observation alter reality?
How does denial alter finality?
Will I ever be cleansed of the taint?
I believe I will continue to hate, continue to live and die with every breath. Yet I will fight to survive. Not for myself who is merely an obstacle, but for the few I care for. To spend another day, night, or handful of minutes talking, chatting, or thinking of them. To enjoy another conversation on art by the talented I know, a debate by the unusual, a joke by the silly. I can feel the faintest of smiles upon my face at these thoughts and the heaviest of tears trapped behind lashes. Maybe, maybe someday I'll find a place where the smile will come naturally and the tears shall never again rise. Until that day though I shall live with my mistakes, hate, and longing.

I know I suffer from wanderlust, I feel at home where ever I decide, yet I think I love to travel so much because I have either not found, or not recognized the place that I belong. Maybe I never will in this time, but I will search until the day I die and hope to find it.

This blade of thought, of cold logic and lost regret,
I place to my heart and stab inward to my core.
And as it pierces my flesh I curse the weakness within
And hope for the day that I may find a peaceful end

Someday the fall will not end and I shall achive grace
Someday the world will disappear and I will not lose face
Hopes, dreams, desires.... are nothing in a harsh world.
Achievements, missteps, and mistakes are all that get told.

So I wish to fly, to the moon and back on a shining strand of thought
To the suns we call stars in the night sky, in the heat of the moment sought
I shall find a path to take me away, and grasp the guardians hand
Then fly so high to unending chance, with trust by my side to new lands.

Madness fills my mind with every breath they take, shadowy tendrils play along the edges of my vision. A twisted sickness sits in my stomach as a burning itch envelopes my mind. Peace, solitude, and silence. Craved yet not sought, what is it that makes the world force the image of my duality into veiw? Why is it that reality brings attention to the living paradox that I am again and again? That is as always though, a question for another night, for now I will simply go back to existing in limbo, in a world where few see me, fewer care, and almost none avoid stepping on me.