A Single Spark
It starts with a joke, an adolescent impulse fueled by raging youthful fervour.
A web of possibilities avoided, of probabilities evaded, an arrangement has been reached and the game will continue with all consequences endured.
Poisonous seeds sprout in the depths as naive light fades away, choose to adapt, to routinely purge all thoughts from your fragile existence, to survive the encompassing chaos.
A single spark, flickering alone in the night.
Pounding. Pulsating. Ragged choking but no water to douse the clawing flames in your lungs, a burning that suffocates pride and love and faith and hope and everything you once held close.
Blurred vision obscured by uncontrollable thoughts of fear and hate, this or that, up or down, in or out. But no when, why, or how. Just now.
Chaotic orchestrations of white noise disrupt this warped reality, your futile existence is nearing its inevitable demise, yet it never arrives.
The eye of a storm is indeed a tranquil place; quiet and serene, filled with hope, anticipation, and a nervous excitement for everything that is yet to come.
Hell has a heart called Eden.
A place unknown to most and visited by few, this idyllic Arcadian garden resides in the depths of torment and persecution. Gated by false pride and walled by obstinance, Eden exists as an indulgent oasis for those whom used to know better.
A resting place for eternity, perhaps.
Lifetimes of isolated incarceration stimulate luculent channels, seamlessly meshing emotion to thought to reality.
A matrix of lies. Isolated. Hopeless. Paranoid.
Dark nights of wild contradictions leave you unworthy of your martyrdom, the end you so selflessly sought now ripped away, taken beyond your reach with little remorse. There is nothing left, only pain.
Yet venomous meadows hide rare roses, and high above lone stars radiate in a boundless abyss. Far out in the dripping dark lays the precipice of our known universe. Step out, push forward, and feel the roaring wind of change rush through your newly opened wings.