The days begin to blur together and the seconds sprint by in centuries. Eyes searching for familiar fingers, fingers twisted into guns, guns pointed at me. Every new hour, a new destiny, every new whisper, a prophecy. Perhaps I’d been charmed to float through life in the constraints of words upon stones and patterns upon the sky. Stars are beautiful, but they can’t foretell. They won’t foretell. Generations of being gazed at and forgotten, by every pair of eyes falling upon them, have left them cold and merciless.
Perhaps the stars are sent to kill.
And they never said that I couldn’t survive with poison gas bubbling in my lungs, and venom hissing in my blood. As though words have real power, and actions can stop a person from jumping off a building.
We are the products of the dimensions we’ve defined for ourselves. We are the victims of mundanity, trapped in an endless experiment, examined, mocked, murdered. Our humanity is contained in jars of morals much weaker than glass and stronger than diamond. We are pawns with feet dipped in ink, writing our legacy out onto the Unnamed’s parchment, we confine ourselves in cages of physics and religion.
We are samples locked in history; we’ve swallowed the key. We run in circles trying to find corners to settle down in, we search for answers in ourselves, we are imprisoned by a sense of invincibility, we are vanity personified. We are flying monkeys with torn off wings, we are goldfish – Goldfish – never to be found in the depths of the well, we are the future, we are the past, we exist only in the moments we consume, we grow into giants and fill the gaps of everything to nothing, we are criminally insane, we are insanely criminal, we deserve to die, we need to survive.
I don’t understand anymore.
Did I ever?
Perhaps the stars are sent to kill.
And they never said that I couldn’t survive with poison gas bubbling in my lungs, and venom hissing in my blood. As though words have real power, and actions can stop a person from jumping off a building.
We are the products of the dimensions we’ve defined for ourselves. We are the victims of mundanity, trapped in an endless experiment, examined, mocked, murdered. Our humanity is contained in jars of morals much weaker than glass and stronger than diamond. We are pawns with feet dipped in ink, writing our legacy out onto the Unnamed’s parchment, we confine ourselves in cages of physics and religion.
We are samples locked in history; we’ve swallowed the key. We run in circles trying to find corners to settle down in, we search for answers in ourselves, we are imprisoned by a sense of invincibility, we are vanity personified. We are flying monkeys with torn off wings, we are goldfish – Goldfish – never to be found in the depths of the well, we are the future, we are the past, we exist only in the moments we consume, we grow into giants and fill the gaps of everything to nothing, we are criminally insane, we are insanely criminal, we deserve to die, we need to survive.
I don’t understand anymore.
Did I ever?
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