I STOOD

I stood below the surface. I stood as a diminishing character under the scope of the environment. I felt I was instigating an irritable force. Observing the surroundings I was in awe. Sparse is understanding. A shadow commences but it profoundly furnishes the walls and decides to bewilder its subject. A prison among prisons. Tumbling beneath the surface is a voice. It talks of failure and cherishes victory. I constitute the walls as a dangerous venture, so I limit my steps. I toil with the numerous possibilities. They eat away at my hunger and leave me content. Content with the rushing waves. An orthodox face details the ceiling. It begins to ponder life but interrupts its inquisition with a violent out reach. The action completely flips the room. Tell me stars, where have you gone? Where is the light of day? I begin to miss the hunger. Instilled in me is an apologist that profoundly vouches for my disability. Reasoning the contentment. Its a meter that never comes into use. I gargle in the flooding waters. I have lost the ability to walk on the water. In reality I’ve lived in a microcosm. A believable culture that I had created for reasonability. I’ve found it to be more detrimental now. More than ever am I questioning, the foundation for which I stand. Am I looking at the right signs? I’m stuck in the ordinary, longing for something new. I was told that when I am older, I can do anything I set my mind to. Well, I am older. My mind stresses on the invisible walls that constrict me. I can’t identify exactly the notion. I can’t exactly decipher the coding of the boundary, or the magnitude of it, nor the location. It’s a mystery gone dead yet somberly lives and without hesitation will awaken within me an anger and irritation. The feelings of solitude. I pretend there not there. That the voices are going to go away. That maybe, they are placed within me for a reason.

I can’t eat without them yelling within. I can’t watch a show without them interpreting every scene. I can’t write without it analyzing every word I put down, every possible outcome possible and the account from the audience for which it is directed towards. If there is even an audience. Sometimes, I feel like I am talking to thin air. Like, I am only doing this to calm down the voices. As a deed, a promise for which I had made years ago to keep. A frenzied, disparaged figure stands before me. Come a little closer and you can see a glaring hole within his chest. I see a web that reflects an image towards me. It brings me joy but breaks my promise to keep quiet. I decide to break that promise and call out to the figure. He stands alone. His eyes filled with greed and jealousy. He stares through me. I am upset. He raises his hand to the sky. He points towards the moon. I set my eyes upon it. He gives me a little nudge and directs my vision back towards the web. I can see a group of people within the reflection. They are laughing. They are doing something terrible. A glob of water builds on the web and I can see the figure grimacing in pain. I begin to cry. A tear falls to the surface. The tear hits the ground with force. It sizzles with disappointment. The figure whispers his name. I couldn’t hear him. He could tell and recollects his courage and spouts his name. “It’s Reality.” I become dizzy. The weight of the moment was much too great. I breath in life and exhale fear. I call out for help. The web that is attached to that glaring hole, is pushed to its limit. It breaks in agony and I fall on my back. I thought this was the end. I sought stability.

Factitious lights flash muddling my understanding even more. I slumber in deep thought. A brisk wind constricts my movements. All of a sudden, I wished I could go back to the moment I broke the promise. I wish I hadn’t. A groom spoke to the walls whitewashing the visions of a young boy. Creativity was no more. Was it hidden? Can I still find a promising treasure within the lies? Society is so crude. Society is so nice. Society is too complex with its artificiality to notice the wolf in sheep’s skin. Another day. Another fallen soldier.

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