The Edge of Two Worlds

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sleep deprivation and feeling really inbetween states.

Submitted: March 19, 2015

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Submitted: March 19, 2015



1000 forms of fear--Sia-Induced Seroquel Song


Edge of Two Worlds

Eye movements jerk side to side in their orbits, blinking away time and motion between each shift.

Eating the feeble heart, learning the only way to start is to stop your heart and feed the folds of angry coals. Hallucinations and words mingle together, amorphis traitor that perception is, I can treat this moment as my own, or I could keep changing my own skin to try to find what is real.

Line by line, what is real, what is kind.

My only dream is to escape this cage that I want to break and burn, make and turn, shatter and learn...I want to learn how to run fast enough from this pain. Running over the rain, trampling the shadows, easing into the future with both fists clenched.

Is this the fuel to the jet, have I burned that yet? Fire feeds the uncontrollable urge to write down the time that can float now, on into infinity.

This trial is killing me, impeccably.

Sullen, dried by the wounds, giving a care, the only way out is by meeting the bear of fate...

Fairies faintly flit on the edge of consciousness and reality--breaking what I need to know into pieces, and giving back the playful flight of immediate words and actions, echoes without thought.

Eager fingers that search the dark and find only the cold, tired eyes blinking the silence away with fear.

I waltz on tiles of black and gold, candles and cups, consuming the tiny pinpricks on the skin that tell me I should be warm, but instead I am frozen. Waltzing in the frozen moment.

Waltzing despite the glaring flash of light that captured reality of a moment. Waltzing in the presence of doubt, and coming undone by the motion of my hands, finally fluttering like eyelids in the morning light.

The simplicity of silence and stillness is broken by jagged lines of motion that appear so smooth to the 60fps eyes that see only a portion of the light spectrum.

The world is essentially invisible. Reality is a rudimentary pictoral representation of our limited senses.

Doubt, fear, anger, depression, mania all mingle into what this reality actually is.

Dance among the lilies of the fall, and in the sunsparks of life.

Hard lines begin to lose conture, thoughts are typed verbatim, just like him, actually juxtaposed to every position we can call admission, guilt.

We greet the seduction of every word spoken, lips rounding vowels and kissing constanants, hissing about the s's misery like a snake in a quaint field of leisurely tirades.

What does not make sense eventually does when the mind has finally contorted effectively around the idea, evenly debating the quenchable implicit desires.

Words begin to come out jolted as I proceed, like a doll on strings, consuming my self-confidence and summoning defeat.

This song is one of many, and there are errors-a-plenty. May mother mania and father depression meet you in fields of solitude, and may we not forget that we are made of the same aptitude as those who woke up to a new century and realized all was changed, all was gold, the hardest hue to hold.

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