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.
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2 comments:
i just love the way you write. ibang klase talaga! napaka-engrossing. i was reading your words that make no sense, but i understand. the cruel and chilling play of your words pierce through the mind and reach directly to the very existence of one's being. it skips analyses and thought processing. it doesn't have to be analyzed or processed, it means what it is. ang galing diba? that's what's so complexly simple about your writing.
Oh yeah! i just wanted to say, di paren ako makaget over na you outsmarted, outthought, outreasoned, outmanipulated, and outstared me sa manang's kanina. i should have ate more noodles kanina, kc hindi nakayanan ng noodle-powered intellect ko yung better noodle-powered intellect mo. hahaha! joke!
uhm... sorry for commenting again... i read your blogs again once in a while... and apparently, nagkaroon ako ng sankatutak na nightmares nung saturday... and when i read this post again, parang nag-iba yun pagbasa ko... nagbago yun interpretation ko in light of the nightmares i had. Your words make so much more sense now. kahit hindi ko alam clearly what you really mean by what you wrote, iba na naman ang tama sakin. haay... if how i feel right now is how you feel most of the time or worse, that sucks.
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