sometimes, I have these ideations
and sometimes, they come true
and in those moments I despise myself
I wonder how soulless I must be to have not only searched for, but beseeched pain that wasn’t even mine
to have gifted the universe with tiny, seething sparks that kindled the death of those who were more loved than I ever will be
And so, I curse myself and swear that I would never let my imagination run astray
that I would never wish ill on myself or others ever again, or spare even a whisper of misfortune, lest it resonates.
I tell myself : you’re a child of science, but you never know who’s listening.
clearly, all rationality has been abandoned.
soon these wilful promises are subdued,
consumed by this pathetic, ghoulish part of me which craves the suffering, and attention and validity that accompanies tragedies
the same part of me that yearns for explicable misery
Oh it’s absurd, I know,
but that hushed, laden voice stifling frantic apology’s and stumbling over words that deliver yesterdays bad news feels like fresh, unbridled relief that holds you gently and cradles your mind and gives you a reason to feel the way you have been feeling for the past month
maybe even the past year
it absolves the confusion and haze of not knowing what’s wrong with you
and frees the guilt of having everything that guarantees happiness, yet feeling nothing but muted insanity
your conscience playfully tiptoes the edge of coherence while you withstand the banality of dragging yourself out of bed and brushing your teeth and feigning a weary normalcy for those who cherish a version of you that ceases to be
your mind perpetually on the brink of explosively shattering into unsalvageable pieces forever lost to nihility
but, it’s okay – at least you have something to blame now. now, you’re armed with a cause.
It’s so human to find comfort in despair and usefulness in grief, and to endow and imbue your heartache with purpose – the repercussions of this leave you untouched until you find yourself unable to reconcile peace with fulfilment, as you realise that stability now engenders unease
your healing harbours shame and excavates your every chamber, only to leave this funny, hollow feeling of burning incompletion
and so, you ragingly lust after wonted pain in ways whose unfamiliarity frightens you
you don’t even want to feel whole, you just want to feel.
you’re not entirely sure who you are or who you’ve become, but you trust all will be restored – it has to be, right?
But that’s for someday, sometime,
For now, the present beckons and demands swift gratification,
and the present always, always wins.
and so, those same ideations that you once renounced are born and expelled yet again
only to keep this whimsical, cosmic wheel of misfortune turning,
and turning, and turning
don’t you ever let it stop.