philos
liberté
princeps
memoria

Ahh, but of course.


This is to the Someone, one fine day.

Let me divulge surreptitious details. Let me reveal the depths of this soul, and bury deep into the subconscious so I may sufficiently extract the germane instant in life that hold us prisoner to our calamitous existence, and to the gush of heavy breathing that is so characteristically surging misery.

Picture for a moment, if you will, the ebbing tide on the beach. Imagine the rising and falling of the frothy waves, the brushing of sand against the tremulous streams, its faint harmony in sync with your gentle breathing.

It is a lull. Can't you hear it?

Try harder. Can you hear the distant cry from the winds? The hushes and secrets it whispers in your ear, the faint mimicry of the lies whirling in your head?

I thought I heard the resonance of deceit for a moment. It murmured and mumbled, but I heard it all the same. Didn't you?

Couldn't you?


I don't believe I hear things. I don't feign ignorance you see. I believe I talk to myself, but only upon circumstances. On circumstances such as these, when I feel not the beats of my heart, but the pounding of my head. Pulsations which leave me devoid of true realistic emotions. Throbs which beat the time of the past, and of a certain part of this painful present.


It was only a letter. Only a few letters you see. But they were words, and those words were swords to the soul, the rapier targeted at one in general, but every one in our entities.

Ah.

Your heart is bleeding. Do you not hear the sound of the dripping faucet? Doesn't it sound just like your heart, ripping, slashing. But that cannot be. You're still alive aren't you/

But there is a little pain, you see. This pain is irrational, completely illogical, and perhaps meaningless. But can you deny its being? No you cannot.


You cannot pretend any longer. These entwined cords of mendacity; they twist at you. They try to tear you apart, and you struggle for breath. Grappling with it. Understanding it not.

Maybe if you could close your eyes, and look beyond the paltry frivolity.

( But only for a while. You cannot forget this. )

You will see kaleidoscopes. It is a mutiny of your mind. The rampage of your senses.

It is felt keenly, like a blade to the throat.

The degeneration of the mind will do strange and foreign things to you. Don't fight it.

Live with it. It will become you too. Just like everything soon will.


And then, what will we be?

_________________________