Crystal bed of sentient quiescence
amidst the dark bedazzled
tombstone of solar haze.
A night of sentiment bedighted
in grim and graceful lace,
watering her wake with dry tears
of lucid bewilderment.
A brilliant spear imbued
with roses and nightshade,
the warm solitude untouched,
immaculate by virtue of rebirth.
The altar of sacrificial breath
for the alluring ambrosia of the dead
tells the tales of an ancient distress:
a sorrow of loving hell unredeemed
by the armament of the deluded flesh.
In my mind, I simply behave as I like when I please.
In your head, I am the summary and reminder of the tears you’ve shed and the anxiety you’ve given yourself into.
It’s not my intention to aggravate your pain, and I often come to the conclusion that I innately know how to reflect your inner world to force you to face the shades of your dead.
Not for a moment fool yourself with the thought that your words or deeds can affect me. Only you will suffer the whole price for your nescience and your insolence.
Yelling, taking offense, won’t make your turmoil go away. The more you resist, the more the themes that tint the walls of your consciousness will be projected onto your surroundings.
You will see me and others enact your fears and your blockages until you decide to convert them and use them to propel you toward the next stage of personal evolution.
Whatever you do, I will observe impervious.
You will display your most child-like behaviour when I break down to you your mental processes as you’ll feel denuded before the imposing truth with no way to retaliate against it.
You think your age validates your comportment.
Before my eyes, you are but a snot of life who was never taught to rise above the detrimental patterns of the sleeping rusty ones.
For once, ever since you were birthed into this world of lies, ponder upon the reasons behind your impulses, and stop hiding from your internal problems.
Do yourself a favour.
Know yourself before you engender a monstrosity you will later regret.