note from a mortified poet

Condoning reality can sometimes hit you hard in the head. What you feel to seem malevolent is just thrusting deep into the realms of your most precious nerves of existence that you don't feel a glint of the dark anymore. For one reason, there is light that blinds the truth and its veracity encapsulates the values you have inherited, imprisoning them and locks them solitaire beneath the grounds of your heavenly imperium. Nothing else would matter. The decisions you try to make are upheaving to the spirit and knock you down hard when you come to realise there is a lot of starving souls hanging while you are being lifted up.

For those who have been hurt before, what is it that you really want? Retaliation? Condemnation? Will it be this easy to spurn someone you thought was your whole life? And after the disdain and the excruciating agony of the flesh, is it worth holding on?

Life can sometimes splash you with the burning acid of remorse in the face. It leaves wounds that never heal and scars that are repugnant. It can eat your abominable and fraudulent pride, you end up dotty.

Then you swim deep in the abyss of wild and captivating ardor and forget about what you used to despise. You revel in the presence of your fascination and love it so much you don't even decide to swim up the surface, because if you do, you're going to die. You just can't breathe with the atmosphere of your absolute preserve now. Down there you live a life with the transports of delight and breathing is intuitive you don't need lessons for it. All the scars and disfigurements you thought could never be restored are now assuaged. But the spaces between the hand that clasps yours are trapped in the same world you lived. It has been imprisoned and tied in iron cuffs and while it soothes all the pain you're in, you feel the metal goring through your flesh. And the tighter you hold on, the more intense the piercing becomes. But you hardly feel the pain. All you feel is the shame that you ever joyed in the discomfiture of that torment.

Now, you choose between death and mortification.