|No world is the victor
||[Apr. 22nd, 2013|08:07 am]
As they cut their flesh to feel their life.|
They want to love themselves but all they feel is bitter hate and self resign.
Seeking meaning outside and in.
Meaning where their is none.
Ten thousand angels and one hundred demons played out.
So in the cuts and the blood we feel the vital red.
We see it all spill out.
Washing us clean.
Clean of life.
The inner play of pain unseen and understandably not wanting to be understood by the external other.
That's why when they ask you how your day is, and you scream in their face they seen an aberration.
When really it's the only true rational response to an irrational world and people.
They hand you a cup and by it's heat you have already chosen not knowing not believing.
F the belief what is their to believe when birds sing and skies burn in dark black blue awakening the blinking stars.
I feel and know the pain of others.
Which is why I know their pain is so shallow while others are oceans.
I have seen them jump off and out of the world unable to contain themselves the spiral to consume them.
Whether we choose to jump or we die of a coronary heart failure our fates are the same.
But in the nullification, their is nothing not this sharing or this loving anymore.
So in this moment of true life knowing the true meanings and the true purpose sing as the birds do fly as they do.
For your spirit has wings to which no world is the victory.