Born on december the seventh.

At 12:07.

Wet cries in a pediatric ward announce the arrival of yet another child into the world. Curious thing birth, a mind a body and soul coming together, grown in the womb.Like a rose bud grows under the light of a morning sun and in the dew of a midnight shower. My life isnt abnormal, and there is no story to be told but i will admit that the peculiarity of existence throughout my time here. Has brought upon a slow growth of curiosity for the way things are were and shall be. A mold making its metablositic orgy on my mind demands silly questions be answered in serious answers. And i abide and do not deny this mold its demand, who am i to deprive the curiosity from the poor forest mold on my mind. “Does the mind of a man comprehend the cosmos with ease?’ this mold asks.  And i shake my head in a confident pace “no the mind of man knows no such thing of this comprehension”. A ragged breath scoffs and coughs as if the lung of the mold was full of a dark brown liquid. “Well than what is the pride of man placed upon” the mold had pondered my mind. May i be the creation of a creation? Do i know what man prides? “man, i believe prides wealth” the mold grew, and grew silently. “What is the pride of wealth that man admires so?” and this was apparent, as apparent as fire touching a finger tip. “Oh man admires much, very much does man admire, wealth is measured through many things like the roots of a sycamore tree growing to create the branches, and it is countless to try and grab the leafs on these trees in examination.” the mold is unhappy with this reply, and a fire begins to grab ahold in the back of my mind, burning a hole letting in all the birds and bees to build homes unwanted on my part.

The mold looks at me with one of his eyes, and at the bees and birds conversing with another simultaneously. “A man is a ghastly beast, and no beast is ghastlier than a man the birds and bees do not do as you but they live a life of more beauty and happiness than you. Listen to me and do not answer, you ghastly man”

I feel the birth of life in the nest built in the back of my mind, and i do not mind such a thing for my consciousness is now the womb of another and i suppose it is better off than it was.

The mold is slow and embracive and with a hushed voice he speaks to me while watching the birds and bees.    

“There is so much, and you are confined to so little.

You live a life in a dark room, with only a peephole to observe.

And threw this hole and observation, it becomes you’re existence it becomes all you are.

The life you live is built upon the delusion of man, and the things you say and do are products of something you had no say in. no matter what you are told. no matter what you are shown.

The truth will always remain the same.

Like an eternal flame.

Not a shelf shall be left.

And that is a freedom only god knows.

And the freedom not taken but let go of.

Is the freedom that reveals the peephole is nothing compared to the darkness of the room.”

The mold grew dim, and never spoke again.

And the birds had all been gone leaving only dry bone

And the hum of the bees and smell of honey had faded.

And in the youth of age a voice told me all of what to do and say

And i let it grow unto me

Like a sick sick mold

Black and not a forest green, with no complexity of spirals that seemed to live in breath.

This mold is dark and dead but still lives off of me.

I feed the mold, and the mold is fed off of me.

Clutter. A constant clutter.

I stare so fiercely through the peephole that my eyes know no rest.

And only when i sleep, do i look away and embrace the darkness of the room.

And it frees me just as the forest green mold told me it would.

A prisoner of the room and the peephole

Not knowing which is more real.

Not knowing if my mind, body, and soul will all depart.

Not knowing if time will be true.  

And not a shelf will be left among this world of men.

The peephole speaks. And i listen.