My Tirade

I question myself on the night I pick up a pen,

“Where do you want to be?”

Among the clouds that carry the imprints of faces with anger, ecstasy, desolation that charred themselves before the very hour of exposure into a universe full of possibilities?

Or somewhere within yourself, a labyrinth without even a particle of light to guide you, and the walls whisper, “You are on your own”…

Or somewhere down that road where you failed to walk and fell into a puddle of deception with thistles sticking out of the surface to make you bleed the truth and make you leak of lies…

Or somewhere over the surface where you are standing at this very moment, but the soles of your shoes have killed the minuscule details that design a new mask for you…

Or somewhere in that isolated house of ruse where bloodied hands are glued on the walls of slight security but they were torn apart by the mob of eyes that shrieked all nights of purgatory and songs of cremation…

Or somewhere along the train track where the nuts and bolts have come loose after every train that goes by carrying threats with boxes of coal hearts and fractured teeth that tried to bite every frost that covered their hope and buried their voices between the gate and the blistering air…

Or somewhere in a graveyard where tombstones have every word inscribed that you have said to yourself through your pillow of uncertainty that perforated your mind to watch drops of despondency crawl out of the holes where you hide your regrets that were heavier than the gravity that held you down when you wanted to soar away…

And I question myself on the night I pick up a pen,

“Where do you want to be?”

2 Replies to “My Tirade”

  1. Wherever you might finally chose to be, I’m sure you’ll spread your unique flavour of life and the various shades and colours you feel it in….
    Keep writing,
    Keep living!

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