I AM MERELY THE PRETENSE OF A THOUGHT THAT DREW ITS LAST BREATH AT THE ARCHWAY OF THE UNREMEMBERED. / Drawn from the well of @eMinji.
Not a breath of defamation has tumbled from my mouth, nor has a brush graced my skin; my hands have known nothing. My lungs are still; there has been no breath to rupture the shackles. Each slaughter fuels the conflagration of renewal, like a threnody mourning side by side with the trainloads of despondency. Yet, I am still searching for something that isn’t there. But let me hear it, Mother. Let me see it, Father. Brief me in on everything I do not know.
I recognize that my existence carries no greater desecration than simply being. Blemishes are imprinted on my ribs and toes, remnants of what has fallen by the wayside, until I become hardened enough by the obligations of being alive and remembered. What has not been witnessed or understood might yet be conceived in me, for all I seek is to understand a moat I cannot bridge.
Not a breath of defamation has tumbled from my mouth, nor has a brush graced my skin; my hands have known nothing. My lungs are still; there has been no breath to rupture the shackles. Each slaughter fuels the conflagration of renewal, like a threnody mourning side by side with the trainloads of despondency. Yet, I am still searching for something that isn’t there. But let me hear it, Mother. Let me see it, Father. Brief me in on everything I do not know.
I recognize that my existence carries no greater desecration than simply being. Blemishes are imprinted on my ribs and toes, remnants of what has fallen by the wayside, until I become hardened enough by the obligations of being alive and remembered. What has not been witnessed or understood might yet be conceived in me, for all I seek is to understand a moat I cannot bridge.