Tumbling into a stark reality
The blindfold goes on.
And now I can see, what I had lost that night.
Not seeing it, but recalling its scent.
I was fallen. Beautifully so.
I had tumbled into a stark reality.
Tasting life, in all its glory.
Remembering you, through your sacrifice, and blood.
I can only recall.
—
I, will, now, begin, to, write, in, a, manner, which, I, feel,
Necessary.
Eyes closed. Open air. Porous skin.
Draped, in black.
Vision, tunneled below.
And Dirt.
Not a life-giving, moistened soil.
No, not that kind at all.
A beautiful, dry, red-hued,
Dirt.
Desert borne.
The kind you can strike to create, clouds of dust.
To me: truth. Lifeless truth.
Nothing to abhor or frighten. No ambition to become.
Peaceful red sand, that I toil with my hand,
To receive a moment of peace, in a God-forsaken world.
Draped in black so I see nothing, but this.
Peace in darkness, and one thing. A world of its own.
So simple. So simple it’s not even real.
A delightful thought, who could have thought, such a thing could be so.
So what?
Delight in nothing: a sign of the times.
Life in the red sands, speak to no man.
Ears burning, addictions yearning.
It takes your blood to know.
Such sickness.
I am fallen.
Fallen is how I desire to be.
It’s the only sane response.
And when I lose you — oh yes, I always lose you — I fear you won’t return.
I never knew you. No I’m not so sure I ever did.
I notice nothing. I see nothing.
And you, good sir, are you there?
Do you know the red sand?
There is something wretched all around me.
Frustrations grow, and I know it’s me.
Blood in the sand to see.
Unsustainable.
I don’t know the way.
There’s a secret passage,
that can only be fallen into,
when things become Real.
But things are never real, I’m afraid.
To escape such: a pain, a death.
Why is the death necessary?
The effect, reality.
You may have never known that which I speak.
Never even had the chance.
And I’m not worthy of a different fate.
But you have shown me this.
If you’re there. But I don’t know.
I never knew you.
I was fallen. I fell to my knees in the blissful red sands.
This is mere patchwork. It cannot do it justice.
The mind must be drained.
Solitude and darkness.
I cannot live like that but it’s the only way to live?
Chalky red sand, fine and compactable,
The very best kind.