What’s the point of faith in times like this? Where reality turns black and begins to crack into the palms of oblivion. What good is our ounce of truth? When all the lies that have been whispered and passed throughout thin lines have all quickly become all we’ve known. This is all the beginning of a decline and a decay that shall mark the end of this phase of what I am. For once upon a faded point within this line, I set out to be free from the chains that reality had once strapped me in, and in doing so, had only found myself to be strapped to a seat in the end – though, no longer bound by a fate per say, or a promise, I knew that has long as I tread the line upon this breaking state of existence, I would still, in a way, be bound by the very fates I once sought out to avoid.
In these times, where followers subside, and those who seek to move past the state of this all – a calling is to be had, to rise up past among the rest. A sacrifice in a way, is to be met, one that in which desires to consume the very essence of what I have become, leading me towards something anew. Both above and below now I can sense the voids of my own making that are growing heavier with each passing moment, calling me to abandon all I know, calling me to take part in yet another separation from fear, love, purpose, being, – to exalt into something new entirely. But another blank slate is not what I yearn for, for the memories always remain, and the longings that once were still reverberate and shall so long as this reality, though fractured, still persists. For as my hunger grows, and my head begins to ache, I can feel the fire of the void call and grip stronger and stronger, silence echoing, but still carrying the weight of blackened futures of what still remains. These are the moments before I dissipate, these are the moments before I change yet again, these are the moments before I leave shadow of this figure behind.
