From fated love to us imbued

your fill in me, and mine in you.

And in our unclothed skin we feast

Our bloodlines flowing from the East.

I did not find for what I'd come

No loose ends tied, no setting sun.

Instead our love rose from the ash,

binding future to the past.

I let this festered pain in me

spiral out as ecstasy

It twisted through your shattered husk

and stole away my breath to dusk.

They say that when it's time to die, 

That time stands still and pain subsides.

to freeze the final moment when

your darkest hell sees light again.

The least favorite part of my day 

is the silence after you wish me good night.

It isn't in the carefree way you say it, 

or in the sound your feet make as you walk away.

It's not in the distant sound of I-278 

shifting the white sky to crimson red.

It's in that sobering, still silence 

that I fill with all of the alternative endings

that could have been beginnings.

A pixellated dream world

begets a work of paint.

Your simulated mindfulness

turns me into a saint.

Mental image, quantum states,

Our soul becomes collapsed.

My high-pass filters resonate,

With you resounding last.

A fog of fibers and polarized crystals

admits what we ask: the truth, no more.

Our lies are held on false pretenses

leaving our meanings to imagination

I try to reach for a meaningful phrase

I grasp, but meaning is sifted through

my fingers, left with longing clutch

to my own inferiority's complexity 

Our music plays from different shores

but just too far for harmony.

For now, we live behind the veil

and when we speak, I'm born again.

Eyes of white elm 

 and marks in black charcoal. 

Her tanned and taut skin, 

 a silver screen marvel.

-

The strength that I thought 

would always persist 

had lost too much hope 

for will to exist.

So when she had offered 

it troubled me so 

that loneliness spoke 

and didn't say no.

-

We butchered the night 

with blades of our silence. 

dysfunction washed filth 

with emotional violence.

And when it was over 

I packed up and flew 

for all we had done 

at once came to view.

-

Eyes of white elm, 

and nothing to trust. 

our bodies abused, 

addicted to lust.

watching the ghosts of my alternate selves

waiting for the next one to peel away a layer of consciousness

while i gaze into what the last one took

the inaction dissolves into me each time

neurons grow the wrong way, pulses wither

personality coalesces into droplets

familiar surroundings melt into mundanity

turn pearl flourescence to evaporated insanity

i'm reminded that fear is a choice that i make

and every day, i choose to be afraid

It wasn't long ago that humans still longed for adventure. Back then, your endeavours were the most important parts of your life. Your stories became your identity; your mark on time itself.

That's why little trinkets like these are priceless. They're more than just some ornate, nostalgic relics from our past. Each one was at one time a beacon in someone's journey. An enchanted artifact that already knew the time and place of your story's fulfillment. The universe would whisper secrets into the tiniest depths of its workings, and it danced to the rhythm of these truths.

It seems that nowadays these sorts of guides have fallen to antiquity. There are no more questions the electron cannot answer. No more truths to uncover or stories to tell. No more secrets of the universe for these metal spirits to dance to. Journeys have been reduced to weekend getaways where we gaze deeply into our own selves and never find what it is that we're trying to look for.

Now, gaze into this, and look for its questions, not its answers. For its secrets and not its facts. Let it show you the beginning of your adventure, and do not concern yourself with its end. Most often, what you've been looking for is the whole of it.