Continuance

We are in a transient existence

We are moving on, we are never truly departing

Breath in, breath out

Understanding, understand understood

Misunderstood misunderstanding missed 

false bravado, carpeted intrigue, intrigued guests, serving penance for happenstance. Withered away until the coaxing of an abnormal liar

retreating back, thrusting forward into regression, i can see the wind, i can see the air, the weeds then the trees then the embankments, my minds epicentre flourished but then attacked, cavalcade of drum rolls, plethora of sounds emanating from my mind, call for action, brace for reaction.. It’s all, all all all eroding away, sense of nothingness, devastation, beauty love and an untimely paradox, acknowledging and disregarding in one breath.. My sense of oxygen possesses me, but it doesn’t want my fear, it wants to indulge me in something unusual, something i have never before encountered, tasted accessed or seen………

It feels like an earworm, but it’s probably a prophet, that is false in nature but somehow believed. It’s believed to be something, but it eats away at every fibre of me wanting to be me, and you wanting to be you, in all it’s ugliness and bitter revery, it juxtaposes itself upon my timeline, and mimics, yes mimics, and mocks, by god it mocks…… Self made mockery presents itself in the form of an ear worm, and it talks back to you.. Tells you who you are..

IF you you were not sure about your own existence, it’s own will reinforce your own beliefs about what exactly that is.

Because that which isn’t, cannot erode your spirit. Internally countered, sensationally cornered, beaten, defeated and beseeched upon, bay it be the virtue of suffering, or the futility of resistance. 

It’s often meant everything, but not quite enough. Everyone wanting everything all at once. Having it both ways, and splitting yourself into twos.

With that duality, comes utility… It is then you are called upon for the greater good.. The greater good that will see you serve a great many, but will leave yours truly empty. 

© Callan Cummings 2017