what if it's not a man, it must be a ghost ?
home is where the heart is, but what if the heart is broken and lost ?
what then, when there are no roads and no pathways, but a forest with naked trees and with barely enough sunlight creeping in to make out the void that surrounds us at all times.
what if a mind does not require a body anymore ?
where do we go from there ?
questions pierce my conscience like an asteroid hitting earth traveling at a thousand miles per heart beat,
evaporating any sense of belief or religion that existed in the deepest corners of my being, resembling a fire that even sun is afraid of --
what if the answers never come ?
what if everything ends before i can wake up, before i have the urge to do something worthwhile with my dreams and fears,
i can build castles in sand and bury my doubts in tiny rooms with tiny beds, but never escape this impending sense of doom that has made a circus in my veins, always to and fro the axis, as i wait for the silence to scream from across the ocean, i guess i'm still waiting for somebody to say my name before i forget how to think,
and i'm still thinking of various ways to end this train of thought and perhaps i'll jump off at the next station, i can see myself from afar howling at the wheels of my suffering for taking a turn for the worse,
it's better if i leave this room before it devours me, i have so much to think and so little room to sit idle, it's as if the walls are suffocating me for fun, every brick vibrating like the bones in my body, trembling in a careless rhythm --
and it feels as if i can never escape from this sadness that has made a nest inside my hollowed body, i am but a step away from breaking down in little brittle pieces of absolute nothing,
i'm so close to being scattered, of crying rivers and oceans of my solitude and misguided birth, but i never do, i never let the rain kill the storm --
i never let the blues paint over the rotten reds, and greens and everything that does not come with a colour,
i enjoy my drakness alone, and i make peace with the ghosts those dance around us when nobody's looking,
i swallow my screams until i'm drowning in my own sorrows, my eyes in a horrific trance, watching the atoms destroy each other a billion times in plain sight,
it kills me that nobody bothers, nobody cares until they're dying, with unrelenting sadness at all times breathing down their necks, ready to bite and drain away the lesser world.
why life when there must've been so much before ? -- i wonder in disguise of madness and tame melancholia, ruined by man made conditions and nefarious activities of the restless and unkept,
and yes, i'm talking about you too, about us, about the gods that live in palaces made of rejected prayers and songs,
i'm talking about memories, slowly decomposing into dead skin and dusty old book shelves that harbour nothing more than old age and forgotten fingerprints fading away even though the arms of the clocks on the unraveled walls have stopped moving, and the time has stood still peeking from outside the window, waiting for somebody to draw the curtains.
in the cold gloomy room where i've sat everyday for days to come, i sit even now paying attention to every detail, with empty promises and smothered dreams, with voices that echo across the many places inside my mind, buzzing with words that change with every step, and no matter how deep i crawl there'll always be something on the outside that just doesn't make sense.
i wonder if that's how people feel, otherwise it'll be harder for me to explain when i'm done talking,
i'm always breathing the fumes of whispers and stories that people radiate, walking room to room, traveling in circles, and in straight lines that never deviate to accommodate any other shape, reason or thought, always blind to the things passing us by, never turning to see if there's more than what greets the eye when you're looking for something out of place.
perhaps that's why we never leave our souls and wander about in the world of ghosts to see for ourselves if there's more than what we think there is, always believing to choose the lies instead of the truth because we were taught not to be real in this binary world where being out of the box means you're exposed,
that's when i wrestle with the man in the mirror, strangle him and complicate him, abuse him and starve him, carve out his body in my own, paint over him until all that i see, are my eyes peering into my soul, telling my mind that my thoughts have died a sudden death and all there is, is an echo that keeps fading away whenever i remember i do exist, and this is more than just reality, and i'll be better off without my own company,
who am i ? three words that keep me from ending it all, i hope there's no answer.