Echoes Below

It's here where we part with differences. It's here where I yearn not to see all the paraphenalia that you possess. It's here where I yearn not to hear you crow about your new heros of political vantage point. I'm not enamoured with your lust in identity politics. It's here where you will enjoy someone who has the same outlook as you. The one that doesn't go on about every new war in the world.  The coded smears for those you despise, the newfound lust in evangelical preaching of hatred. Dehumanising the enemy. It just isn't right. But then I do it too with politicians and their actions I object to. So it makes the point moot. But the point still stands in your dogma. In your language. I'll never understand your evangelicism when reading things that preach to your sensibility. "Then what does that make me?" Biological "Then what does that make me?" Pathological We're all the same in the end, it's just you want to intensely foc...

Dedicated time, an absence of logic - all to say the dream is over. 

  Swimming against the tide, I dreamt of another world. Where else can I lie for a day and weep in silence as the pain ratchets up its tally. I find the cushioning decline in time over what was once a man skittering on the edge of health. I saw your dead body in the blink of an eye. Only makes me wonder what is going on in my mind. Can I lay here in silence in this room? Will the lights be too bright? Will it become my tomb? It won't do me any good to be here with all your memories that cut me up like glass. To say goodbye in the hallway. To listen to the rain drown out my thoughts. I would've done the same if I could but I don't have the confidence. Our neural pathways no longer connect.