. . .

Thou shalt not forget who art thou and whence thou had come from.

No, it was never a heart of gold. It was a savage heart. Individuality is existence and a brute conjecture of oneself as a simpleton begets the end of that existence. Yes, she is too hard on herself not because she has to prove herself to the world but rather, she has to prove something to herself- she is distinct therefore she exists. And the world will never understand her because if it does, she is therefore phantasm. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Of Filth and Wretchedness

One stroke and a paroxysm worst than madness If not madness would have been better- Of the hateful days curling and stretching into a swoon, I say madness would have been better. Death- even better Natural occasion clad in mystery And why should one be afraid? It's the ultimate hangman of misery. But this abomination is a disease Incessantly spreading with vile and greedy claws And madness and death would have been better Than to drown in foul waters of Eros. What sort of devilry has planted this seed of corruption? Of flesh unyielding to all sorts of self- possession And of that shrill sound of imaginary bells All die down to metaphysical elation. Obscene images float into the realm of thoughts Excite one's twitching and wimpish heart For a promise of dear beloved Heaven- Fraud! Heaven made of fiddles and swindles. Of the gradual fictitious morphine and the abhorrent hedonism Of the silent screams and the rush of blood Of the dilation of the eyes and the...
Read more

These Words

You were like a flower in a dream- Perfect in its almost loathsome beauty, An enchanting supernova An intoxicating euphoria. But now you are the same flower Ruined by the cruelty and grandeur of reality A grotesque black hole And a sore sobriety. The mere sight of you is too painful for me But then I am too drunk with these words.
Read more

The Evil Hour

When this wretched Force quenches my smile, When courage is frail and strength is futile, May the Truth I hold dearest receive me. When Evil's fatal grasp is near And what reigns is deep, dark fear May the Truth I hold dearest receive me. When all I have are feeble icy breaths And all I see is the face of Death, May the Truth I hold dearest receive me.
Read more