GuNNhead

“So crowned we stroll through life, never quit, rain or shine. Never question what’s inside, till the last beat… end of time, so go fly away to that special place.”

It is in this way that I am truly alone. If there is another being in existence out there, I signal out to you. Come suffer with me. Save, save us both from utterly solitary existence which rests beyond the bounds of possibility. I signal out to you as the final existing being who can call out across the cosmos to a similar consciousness; a being upon this phantasmus, this wavelength. You are the only pathway, the only passageway to the next world beyond this meaningless void that I am bound to[,] call[ed] “Earth.” “Let us pretend love for the day.” You are I, You are demise, You are oblivion, You are paradise, You are release.

“Are we lost forever?”

While there may be a set amount of ways to die, there is an infinite pathway of life, and we’ve only barely begun to explore it.

I hear you calling, calling from the ether, a being of the firmament.

I see all these people, and apparently I am led to believe that they may all have their own precious little lives about them, but it is continually impossible to discern if they truly exist, or are merely posits of my own omnipotent maginations. I wonder if I am the only one. Are you out there? Am I out there, or trapped, held prisoner in here? Are we one, or all? I can exit all with but a thought. Narcissism? Created via mortals by thought? Or I have crafted my own prison, my own destruction: so that I may be free.

“Don’t trust yourself, you’re not okay.” A fool to trust anyone but yourself: I am your enemy.

The problem is you attempt to make it seem as if you’re not bored, while the only wish is to introduce something new, so than even death can bring excitement to the current life. You understand this, death is a new frontier. My problem is that I feel every, single, last piece of you more that you could ever imagine.

I am not your opening act, I am your closing number. Love me if you dare, with your empyrean heart. You are death, You are me, You are antemortem, You are waiting for me upon the Stygian shore, and that is who I write to, and only you alone; I. Alone.

I write upon the final line. I die as my pen runs dry.

“And as it goes, sometimes you wake up.”

This entry was posted on November 6, 2009 at 3:33 am and is filed under Fiction, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.