Found this in a bundle of unfinished writing..... the start of something good, or clear evidence that I need some damn sleep? You be the judge.....
It stirs. Even as I slumber, it twists and turns like a live butterfly pinned to a board, struggling as the glass case it resides in is locked. It looks for release, craves it, and finding none, ceases it’s contortions briefly. But the ever-present anger that I feel with every fibre of my being, remains. No, it is not anger, but defiance, a rebellion almost, though that sounds almost childish, against its capture, its imprisonment in what it must find the crudest of lodgings.
It hums, a tuneless yet lilting melody, has for what feels like centuries now, designed to drive me to the brink of madness and keep me there long enough for it to find the path to freedom. With this knowledge, I keep my wits about me and drift back into what I know will be a restless and disturbed sleep. It lets me rest for as long as it takes me to fall into the deepest of dreams, and then it will make some violent movement, some agitated contortion to wake me. Another of it’s games, all the more to disconcert me, letting me sleep just long enough so when I am woken that moment of disorientation is prolonged, I know it does not mean to make it’s escape at this time, but it plants the idea like a fledgling seed, dwelling to water it every so often, fanning the flames of panic it hopes will be my destruction, and it’s retribution.
I have sworn, sworn not on all that is holy, not that which I hold dear, not on the lives of my loved ones, who are tortured by my plight, but on all the values that hold my very soul together. All those knotted ropes of content and idealism, all those notions of peace and clarity, all that has ever kept me whole and in possession of some ounce of sanity in this torched and fevered world. In short, not my physical life, but that which keeps me alive and living through each confounding day, that keeps my broken and much-abused body on the path which I have set my feet upon. I have sworn that not torture, no punishment, no malady or vision will break me from my purpose, from my bond to it, and it is my intention to keep it in my control until such a time as to mould its warped and hopeless soul into something harmless and broken. There is no hope of redemption; the point has been passed that it could be saved or some worthwhile purpose found for the wretched being whose sole purpose has become to escape the confines of the prison that has me as it’s jailor.
Trump (heart) hate art
1 day ago