Nightmare.

They were nothing more but bits and pieces of the past. Nothing more than little insects that bite and make red splotches on eerie pale skin. But they remind one of the consequences, of the days not faced, of the wonders untouched by the disgusting filth that is of the human mind.

To one’s memories, one holds a seance. To the twists and turns, to the cackling. To the good and the evil. To the love that was cherished and then perished. To the dreams that flew for a second then fell to the eternal depths of damnation. To the demands of a life not wanted, to the emptiness of a life much wanted.

Caring for nothing but themselves, the bits and pieces scream madly at each other, demanding space, demanding time, demanding love. Bits and pieces of one’s lost soul cry for justice as they fly around, wrinkling the very fabric of forgetfulness of which they are encased in.

True. True.

Truth.

The truth that sets them free. The one that will liberate all those things said above, uttered with the utmost nonsense until they all just break down and cry and disappear. To the shadows of the unknown world, to the disappearing faces of loved ones who could touch and caress and love.

And it all comes down to that.

To the emptiness eating away the warmth so longed for. To the shelter from the acid rain that dissolves the coherent thoughts and beings who clung to their consciousness so desperately so.

Desperate.

Would love not find an answer?

Would it remain hidden, trapped? Concealed until it shrivels up and dies like the weakness that it embodies. Love looks strong, feels strong. But it is not strong. Love is feeble, it is fragile like the china pieces from yesterday’s thoughts. It is clear like the glass case of the heart and it is sharp like the tip of a double-edged dagger, ready to slice through thick and thin, creaming up the milk that happens to flow and float and fly.

Never.

Never was.

Never before.

Never again.

It would be what it will be. It is what it is. Death holds no power, life loses its magic. Once with every full moon, every full beating of the drums that deafen and crack the shiftless eyes of the everlasting sun. Once upon a dream.

Once upon a nightmare.

His nightmare.

Her nightmare.

Mine.

.BrEaK.

It was not any different from what it was before. The darkness was there, the emptiness imminent in it. The breath that shivers with each exhale, the fog that clouds up the mirrors shared with distant shadows of time and space. It was not different.

It was the same.

The same old songs, the same old rhythm. The same dance. Life. Confusion. Desperation. Depression. Nothing changes. Comfort in that fact. And the shadows do nothing about it and only move about as to wonder why and how things will change and when...

When?

When will one see the sunshine that blinds? When will one hear the birds singing or the bells clanging in the distant hills of the crumbling old church? The questions cannot be answered and no one knows why, how, or what. Or where things will be from the distant future and the lost past that once was glorifying and bedazzling in each and every second of life that passed...

Past lives. Past breaths. Past sins.

Locked together in a reach so far away, the blood starts to drip and each cut grows until one can see the flesh ripping and the bones breaking. With the chains and the keys thrown into the deep blue sea of longing and despair, the past is gone forever, and one will never see the splendor and wonderment the past can bring.

But is it truly gone?

Is the past forever locked away in the memories of old?

In the golden pages of a yellowing book?

Calligraphy in the leaves of an onion-papered novel. It will mesmerize, it will awe. It will live and die again. Rebirth at its utmost intensity. The young shall discover and the old shall recover. The bars of a closed mind will disintegrate with the pouring of the acid rain of dignity.

The prison finally broken down.

The solid walls cracking.

Memories flow freely once again.