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Cover image for post an essay sown with perspective, by ALifeWitArt
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ALifeWitArt in Stream of Consciousness

an essay sown with perspective

The siren cried and I watched my constitution collapse to its knees. I was hovering above, mourning for the humanity that bequest just a hiccup in time, as the broken light of empathy dimmed witness to the despair in its balking crowd:

When you reach for me, I exhale with resignation: Let me be your sacrifice.

The pitch of my ache rises from within the core of darkness that was cast in the garden, and my longing reverberates against canonized buildings like a pinball. I am insatiably haunted by a solemn fog reflecting the souls that ricochet in limbo. Our memories bounce in a cesspool of chemistry, and our knuckles are bloodied from the absurdity of existence.

Pain is contagious.

Pacing the streets wrecked with the diseased human condition, we continue to slip on the sewage that ascends. Our hearts flood with bile, and we bargain to drown.

I need you to touch me: We will abscond on a high of euphoria before the atmosphere drops, suffocating us with its hands of billowing soot.

Humans gather, but walk alone in a space crowded with fear. We are blind to the parietal art stretched on our souls, and deaf to the aboriginal proof. We are sick and hungover in a mushroom cloud of despondency, and in an endless route to escape, our painted masks run from themselves.

I am caked in the remnants of you.

Before the sun rises, I will kowtow to my own demise in the desert. The beads of my sweat will baptize my road, and the taste of of my tears will intoxicate me. The heat swelling from my body will ignite the acid rain falling from our own self-destruction, and the hair of its hope will singe into ash.

Footsteps echo the warning of my dual consciousness: Watch yourself metamorphose into a stranger to yourself, and avoid your own reflection like the plague.

There are thin imposters lifting from illusionary shadows, and they welcome me into their hell. Their walls are padded with harvested flesh offering rank blood to quench the growing thirst in my gut. Amnesia will wash over me like a scar: I am unconscious to reality and helpless against evolution. A manifesto was carved onto the scroll of my mind at birth, but I am numb to its propaganda.

Manic survival will reign in its hunt for pleasure, as we barely notice the light fading over the sea of oblivion.

And all at once

The last day arrived

Birthing our future

As the clouds parted

Into a yellow halo

Of pain and

Reaped misery dripping

And mercy was sought

Too late and

On bruised knees

For Magdalene's sparrow

Was plucked raw and

Forever destroyed