The heightened sense of awareness that I have seemingly attained is just as fleeting as the very lines and moments that it resides in essence in. Like dissolving within the very seams of my hands, it is a purer knowing that comes and goes as it pleases – much like a distant love that I had once known. Despite this darker bloom, I can feel the very essence of of life leave me with every passing moment, memories and echoes holding and cradling me through these jarring moments spent alone, for they know this process shall be a long one – yet when the ends finally meet, I know that it will seem like it was all in a blink of an eye. But I know this withering that shall take place now is a necessary one. One that seeks to lead to ascensions of a different sort, one that seeks to attain the truer prime that I have long since envisioned. Much of this I’ve came to peace of mind with, although still drifting and slipping through egotistical delusions and neon daydreams – returning to this darkened bloom, yet inevitable state of withering is still the only time where I feel closest to god, or whatever the hell controls these hands of fate. Planted, Sprouted, Blooming, Dead, each state grows less and less relevant with each passing moment tied up in cycles that we can never seem to break – so instead of doing it all over again, I’ll let the end play out this time as it always yearned to; an end where the color decays, and all else withers, an end where blistering winds are met with scars upon the wrists that no one shall tend to till we’re long since dead and gone. Forever withering in the hands of fates fruitions is where I’ll stay than to do it all over again, for maybe then I can rest from the madness, roots and stems broken and wilted from the very blackened tides that once washed over us. There’s a sort of glory in it all, a sort of purpose or meaning in bowing out of the wicked game – a salvation in blooming in the dark eyes of fate, rather than the embrace of the dying suns rays.
Forever Withering
