My anxiety makes my heart tiresome and despaired as a triggered alarm clock with a screeching beat. My body becomes cumbersome to the traumatic memories of a withered past, a bilateral battle between my mind and heart. This is what I worked for, a healing tragedy getting stronger and weaker between each breath that I took. The question was simple, “How do I get out of this mess?” The more prominent the destiny, the larger the quest was to decipher the meaning of ultimate sanity. The pain flickered a series of thoughts that were succumbing me to a domino world of emotions spiraling into a sense of silence and numbness. Suddenly, the pandemonium of the world seemed strategized and distanced as I sought for meaning in a paradox. The more I became part of the diffused thoughts of strangers, the more satirical the words of the creator became. The long hours, the somber light and the estranged darkness created a triangle of broken dismays and perpetuated feelings. I had become tired of pursuing a dream that threw me in a surreal realm of emptiness on a stage of hollow lights with no sounds to echo. Perhaps this was the truth that I had been seeking. The journey of an encumbrance and a reverie that had become realistic to the sorrows of a waking tomorrow. The agony of the creator began to feel congenial as she sat in a carousel of mishaps and serendipity tossed in a whirlwind of perplexity. I was lost yet found in a pool of visions colored in abstract hallucinations. The voices began to flutter into my unconscious, creating a sagacity of profundity. Perhaps I had become separate from myself while I envisioned a symbiotic world of harmony and amity. The distance I felt from the end to the early rise of a sub-par beginning felt aimless and flawed each time and my breath reached abysmal levels of despair turned into senseless hope. I decided to flow into a cascade of lights seeking for redemption from the creator. The glory of the renascence had become a demise for the martyr that I was in the name of the creator. The shackles that my mind scurried from had become a strength of sinister ambition with disassociated notions. The dichotomy of my reverence for the radiance of the Heavens had created an abhor of fluid, entangled thoughts of calamity. Fragmented, I laid my chagrined soul in the works of the creator, to be rescued from absolute absence. Finally, I had become a seed of his creation, a mortal with benign vagaries who sought to seek truth in his appearance.
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