Giving Away, Is Giving With.

In Suffering

We Are All Made

The Same

Once Again...


What A Beautiful

Nevertheless

Terrifying

Thought...


Not From

The Point Of

Self Pity

But From The Point Of

Pure

And Helpless

Imagination.


Oh How Those Who Suffered...

They Had

Nothing But

Their Imaginations.


My God.


That

Is A Lot

Of Wishes

To Deal With.


And Yet...

There Is

No Magnitude...

For Imagination

Is Not Real...


Imagination

Is Not Ours...


It Is

Ours All.


Maybe

When I Am Left

With No Imagination


Will I Know

How Much Others Need

The Hand That Feeds Them

And The Grasp

The Closure

The Warmth

That Comforts Them.


I Think

I'll Give My Imagination Away

To Those Who Need It

Much More

Than I Do.

Lightness Of Being

Fate

And Pain

Seem

To Go Together

In A Way…


That Freewill

Refuses To

Compare Itself

To Anything

Other Than

Complete Freedom.


But My Expectation

Of Complete Freedom

Implies

That I Need To Be

Completely Free

From That Which

I Am Suffering From.


Does That Not Imply

That I Am Bound

In Some Way

To Something…

That I Cannot

Free Myself From?


Perhaps

My Freewill

Did Not

Blend Itself

Into

The Moment

Where I Felt

All Was Bound To Me

And That I Was Bound

To All That

I Had No Idea

Or Premonition

Of Expecting…


In Other Words,

I Was Innocent.


Perhaps

It Is Not

Fate

Or Freewill

That I Am Looking For…

But Perhaps

A Deeper Innocence

That Infact

Challenges

The Very Notion…

Of What It Means

To Be Innocent.


Lightness…


Lightness,

Is All

That I Am Looking For.

Temporary Forever... In Time.

A Numbness

A Texture

Of What It Is Like

To Lose

All That You Had...


Yet Regain It

In Ways

That You Would Not Have Thought

Phenomenally

Possible.


For I Believe

That

Even Though

I Was Searching For A Way Out

Even Before

I Had Lost...

All That I Could Not Have

Imagined

I Would Have Lost...


I Was Already

Setting Myself Up

For A Fall

Only A Few Lifetimes

Could Have Taken

To Pick Me Up...


And Start Afresh

In A Manner,

That I Could Not Have Controlled...

And Could Not Have Even

Had The Chance

To Wish For.


Was It Ressurection

That I Craved...

Or Was It

Forgiveness

That I Desired For?


These Embers...

These Station-Points

Of Life...


Refused To Yield

To The Chaotic Whims

Of My Restructured Mind


That Had Lost

The Safe Sense Of Security

That It Was So

Accustomed To

In The Quiet

Yet Negative Silence...


Of The Anchor

That Signified...


That Nothing Existed Apart From It

Yet

Nothing Else

Existed For It.


And So...

In My Loss

Of This Separatory Anchor...


I Wished

And Prayed...

For Redemption...

For Answers.


Why Did They Not Come?

Perhaps...

They Laid

Beyond The Scope

Of My Instinct...

And Beyond The Ability

Of My Seemingly Protective

Mental Organization.


These Whims...

These Habits,

Had No Choice

In The Face Of

An Open Ended

Pathway...


That Told Me

That I Needed To

Venture

Out Of Myself...

Out Of My Concerns...


Out Of My,

Specially Recognized Abilities...

In Order To Find The Truth...

And Not,

The Answers.


For Words

Could Not Measure

To The Pain

I Felt Within...


They Could Not Heal...

The Sense Of Loss

And This Inescapable

Sense Of Dread...


That Imitated

The Fragility

Yet The Immobility

Of A Man

Frozen In Time.


I See Now

That It Was In Truth

A Butchering

Of An Inner Strength

That Refused To Fade Out

Or Die

Irrespective

Of What

Or Who

Came In The Way...


In Its Instinctive

Notion

Of Itself.


For It Protected

Itself

In A Manner

That Could Not Be Gauged

That Could Not Be Seen

By Ordinary Sight.


Yet

In All Its Capacity

And All Its Invisibility,

It Did Not Foresee,

The Death With Which,

It Was To Become

Temporary Forever


To The Tune

Of A Destiny

Decided Before

The Very Moment

It Set Itself Forth

In Time.

My Mind. My Space. Not Yours.

None Of You Can

Or Ever Will

Take Me

Away From Myself

To Fulfill

The Fruit Of Your Fantasies

And The Darth

Of Your

Ill-Intentioned Plans...


Don't Mask Yourselves...

You Are Not The Evil

That You Believe You Are

Neither Are You

The Angels

You Believe You Are.


Stop Contacting Me

Through Your Ways Of

Illiterate Seduction...


For None Of You

Can Pay The Price

That I Will Have To


If I Ever Find Myself

Being Used

By Your Ways

Of Anointing

Me

The Master

Of Another's Life

Just Like You May Wish

To Be A Part

Of My...

So Called Evolution

In Your Mind...


Something,

That You Have Not

Truly Experienced

If You Believe

That You Can Take Advantage Of Me

When I Am Relaxed

When I Am Not Worried

About

What Is Happening

Around Me.

The Art Of Forgetting

Forgetfulness

Is My Key To Release...


I

Who Have Suffered

Innumerably

For The Truth

Of The Fortune

Of The One

Who Saw Me

When I Could Not

See Myself.


So Many Voices

Come In

And Interfere...

They Take Charge

Of My Life

Like They've Known Me

From The Very Beginning...


Oh But You

You Don't Know Me.


You Fool Me

Into Believing

That You Know Me

The Way

The One

Who Sees Me

But Does Not Say Anything...


So That I May Know

That The Only Voice

I Can Truly Listen To

Is The Voice Of Silence

That Sees Me...

Just Like I See

My Beloved Other.


There Is A God That Exists

But He Speaks Not

He Merely Sees Me...

As I Am.


No One...

That I Know...

Or I Have Ever Known...

Can Ever Take Away

Something That Is Present

So Superciliously

That It Is Almost

The Inner Reflection

Of Peace...

That I Wish To Attain

Within...

Myself,

& Myself,

Only.

In The Eyes Of A Stranger

Demure

Is Her Expression


Her

Fiery

Focused Eyes

Singe Through

The Lies

In My Face


As She Peers

And As She Feels


I Feel Transported


To A Place

Where A Woman

Powerful

In Her Search

For Truth


Embraces

The Genuinity

In Me


And Pays Honour

And Respect

To The Privacy

Of My Space.


She Wilts

In The Dusk

Of Her Beauty


Shedding Tears

Only For Those

Crestfallen

Who Have No Way

No Measure

Of Knowing


How They Could Live


In The Mystical

Purity

Of Her Touch...


In The Lace-Like

Transposition

Of Her Presence.


She Endears Me

To

The Soft Gentilitude

Of Her Smile


To The Rhythm

Of Her Gaze

That Falls

Upon That

Which Passes Her Sight


In The Consciousness

Of Its Own Notion

Of Itself...


Within Which

It Is

Its Own Mystery

Its Own Fortitude

& Its Own

Delicate Strife.

The Inescapability Of Self Immolation

I Was

The Inverse

Of My Expectations


When I Felt That

I Was Not Redeemed

In A Manner

That I Wanted.


I Saw

How Deep

I Couldn't See

When All I Wanted

Was A Boomerang

Of The Consequences

I Perceived

Others

Had Incurred

On The Wrath

Of My Skin.


Maybe

Just To See

How Deeply

I Could Hurt Others


On The Cost

Of The Exchange

We Shared

In A Moment Of

Unrestricted

Animalistic

Abandon.


Though Surprisingly

If Not For This Exchange

I Would Not Have Realized

The Extent

To Which

I Was Lost

Within The Depths

Of Myself...


That Possessed

No Anchor

No Sense Of

Accomplished Linearity.


Oh But This

This Sense

Of Imagination

That Satisfied

Every Rule

Axiom

And

Standard

That I Perceived

Needed Implementation...


Escaped

The Very Fruit

Of My Projected

And Wishful

Exit

From It.


It Instead

Became

My Escape...


My Departure

From Moments

Of Unguarded Honesty

And Irreverential

Dismay.


And So I Realized

That My Time

With Myself

Was Most Precious

And Most Crucial

In My Understanding

Of The Paradoxicality

With Which...


The Darkness

That Was Eating Me


Had Destroyed

The Very Path


It Sought

To Seek Itself


Out Of.