Reflecting Reflections

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Sometimes I feel as if I were suspended in an empty space,  lifelessly without a breath, hanging by a thread. Feeling only gravity bearing down upon me, threatening to sever the only line of reality keeping me off the ground, but the thread remains uncleaved. Its strength stalls the inevitable fall into the cold waters of a dark and dejected abyss awaiting for me below. The silent waves beckon for me through the lonesome hollowness that numbs every needless emotion. Silent waves reflecting the blinding white light that fills this space, sparkling with a false tenderness, dancing in an endless serenade. Silent waves that whisper with distant voices. Distant voices I can no longer hear. Voices I no longer recognize. But they pull on my disembodied emotions, hoping I would open my eyes, eyes which I no longer need to see the illusioned dream that surrounds my lifeless body.
Lingering thoughts fade from my weary mind. Memories pass like still pictures, unmoving, frozen in the depths of time. Vague memories of unfamiliar faces as their features continue to disappear. Memories I should have long forgotten with the dreams and hopes I have given up somewhere in my bitter childhood. I couldn’t ask for more when these feelings began to drain away into the void those memories had created. Leaving behind an empty and lifeless shell, replacing my shallow existence, and stringing it up into the grasp of the mercy of time which holds my thread. To let go now wouldn’t bother me at the least. It would do me a favor I could never return, allowing me to fall into the distant waters below, to be alone in my perfect solitude. Such bliss is too much, honestly. Life knows me all too well.
People ask me to grace them with my visions, and I have never allowed myself to tell them. I can’t bear them with such a burden-- a burden of fair atonement for my existence, something no one else would understand enough to last in my conceited world. It would fade away right before them into this obscurity. To think it was a blessing to be trapped in such a living of purity and extravagance yet one would never know know what it’s like to be a silhouette obstructing the light of the heavens. A Prince of Corrupted Light will never have a place to reign in this world… and as harsh as reality may seem, it’s merciful in its own ways. And I would find myself again suspended in an empty space, hanging by a thread, counting every lasting fatalistic breath…






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