- Books Of Lost Languages -

There is a hollowness inside of me which at times seem to grow larger, consuming my very essence in the process.There is a darkness inside of me that seem to get deeper, drowning all my senses till there’s nothing left to salvage. Though I’m certain that this new existence is my eternal damnation for the wrongs I have committed inside of my head, I was relieved when I awoke this morning from a long slumber to the sight of my blank ceiling, which was proving to be a welcomed distraction from the images of my shattered memories which haunt my every waking hour and follow me into my nightmares. I’m able to render myself unconscious here. I’d be grateful for the rest if it truly felt relaxing. But alas, I cannot rid myself of the horrors of my convoluted thoughts and as they come crawling back into my consciousness with their sinister vengeance, I for once feel the need to welcome them with open arms, exposing the opening in my chest in the process. I am not certain of how anxious I am of recovering the good memories. I suspect my ignorance might be a blessing in disguise. And I must count my blessings in this meaningless, mundane existence.My words that I write today feel oddly genuine. As the pen drags my heavy voice across blank paper, I feel a sense of rejuvenation creeping forth the cracks of my crumbling walls. These words that bleed out of my eyes seem to slow down time. I feel youthful one moment and dead the next. Things have not seemed so out of place for a really long time in my life and I haven’t fully grasped why all of this feels so right to me. Right now, everything is exactly where it belongs. Often the path to enlightenment which so often intersects with the highway of insanity seems to crash in the middle of the forest of misunderstanding. I am not sure that I am still treading the same path I started from oh so many ages ago, but I need to find contentment in the fact that I am still moving. I need to remind myself that I still have a beating heart that seems to fester every time I think of my hazy past. I still know so little of myself. I wonder if it’s time for me to move on out of this well that doesn't seem to have a bottom.The anticipation is the worst punishment of all. But I am afraid that if I were to stop or look back and reassess my condition, what I would find would be more horrific than what might or might not be waiting for me at the end of my journey ahead. So now I keep on walking and I don’t know for how long I can manage to keep this pace up. Whatever becomes of me in the coming days will either be written by scholars in books of lost languages or be forever lost in time like tears in the rain. - 08-11-2013.