Static. Silent static. pacing up and down, left to right throughout every corner of my mind. Feeding off of every ounce of knowledge that I know, and every memory that I own, and even memory’s that are not my own. It’s piercing silence is even present in my dreams. Silent dreams that display only flashes and glimpses of a life that once were, of a places that I could once call my own, of fleeting hope that was never meant to see the dawn of a newer advent. No longer do I speak of Advent’s to come and era’s past – as they now seem so vastly behind me, so caught up and twisted within lines and cycles of a dying time, a time that has since brought about tragedy’s and intro to cataclysms I hope to never have to meet. This night and it’s darkness is still just as piercing as I remember it to be, perhaps even more-so. For while he was let go to wait at the bottom of some cold and darken pool – I now walk a different and final path. One where hope and faith are the chains that bind me to some suffering that is never ending, one where I move through fear like a thief moves through the night, one where the flames that were once set ablaze to build me up, now burn only to burn me down.
There is no longer a promise or oath I must keep to continue moving onward’s for all that I know, and all I have known is fleeting and fragile. There is no longer a path I must follow that shall lead to a different course, for every path that remains has been blocked. There is no longer a threat or an enemy I must face in hopes of leading a brighter or easier life – as all that remains is the inevitable tragedy that lurks and what is to come and follow. There is an emptiness that knows no end, that has begun to spiral out of control. It has devoured every bit of feeling, every bit of purpose, and every single lifeline that I have ever known. This emptiness, while enters and exits through open windows time and time again, like a new sort of cycle within these faltering days, is only one of the several final fates that had been bestowed upon me. It will soon become a theme that will mark the vanishing of what I am, becoming a catalyst that will see that this reality slips through my fingers and vision, even more so than it does now. For now, it has me gripped by the throat. It’s very strength fleeting and resuming time and time again, allowing me to grasp the full severity and process of letting go.
It is this very push and pull, this very half and half abuse that has allowed me to become what I have become today. It is this very final fate that has bestowed upon the only doorway I was seemingly meant to see, one that would lead out of a dying Advent of fates, and into the collapse that would follow. As with no purpose in mind, and no path left to follow – this place that remains views me like a Phantom. A figure that drifts in and out of reality, or a touch that can be felt but will never be seen. My fleeting ambitions and endeavors may violently burn alongside all that I am, but there will shall never have an imprint upon this reality. For we are only meant to pursue and consume, whilst becoming even more empty in the end.
