Existence

Existence

It’s my will, my choice. It’s my will
to bend, corrupt, fabricate.
Divine intervention a concept of ages old,
archaic relics powerless to influence.

Forgotten pasts,
fragmented futures,
dashes of what might have been:
Worthless.

I’m finding my purpose, my selfhood.
A leap of faith in aid of
alienation. Sweet solitude
in the destruction of my spirit, but what is spirit?
The internal torment of belief.

Profound anguish deep within,
unconscious despair never to be released.
Yet uttered with such form as to sound
like beautiful music.

Dark deliberation given life only to be oppressed,
suffocated for want of gladder thoughts.
Perhaps rejuvenation will greet one who
embraces the knight of faith.

But I cannot. Tainted by sick pleasures
I must endlessly traipse the fantasy
of my own repose. A melancholy dwelling
of endless possibilities.

As musings are laid to rest, conformity must
return. For fear strikes those who are figments
of another realm. Tender consideration, for things
are now in your Hands.

How shall I be remembered?