Illusory Judgements: A message to the fallen

By any means necessary, I was saddened by the overactive worries plauging our perceptions as they were increasingly provoked, however protected by very few who still See, it seems I’ve made a mistake in perceiving you as something more or anything less than perfectly created for me. I want to leave it all behind, but you, and yet I hated the ways for which you moved, the rhythm in which eager eyes tell soft white lies. Hypnotized by the Saint, it seems, and I’m shedding more layers of my misery. I’m missing her, and us, and now sadly, me. Whomever she might be. It was all about belief. Something I couldn’t revise or bring myself to rewrite due to a transient nature unnaturally contained, the walls were closing in and we were reaching the end.

As clarity further emptied a fragmented mind, I must have sinned and went against myself wholeheartedly. However, pure were my intentions, I should have went against you and all that had once urged me to stay. I must admit, you were beautiful beyond all of my most meaningful dreams; dismal, dying things. Dysfunction that stings stemming from a heaviness that wore me thin. At first I believed it came from me but now I’m not so naïve as to think this disbelief is alive in you. We share a euphoric destiny, going in and out of truth, all from this lack of evidence and proof within a dedication to the formation of, a final frequency I was quite familiar of, and still too angry to recite In a love traditional, it remained still unconventional and yet at times, not so residual. ‘Was I lacking the potential?’ I’m sure you had wondered; as I traveled through time in a stream of strenuous tries, trials that barely held on and clung for dear life. My heart was fixed on you and still my eyes, were captivated by that razor-sharp knife (I must have lost somewhere on your bed). That time I watched shitty pornos while my girlfriend gave you head. “Damn”, I said, (to myself),  dreams do die young. I watched wide eyed and wired as you took the last of my love. Waiting for you awkwardly and wishing I had a gun. Automatic rifle or stun. Either way, it would carelessly lead to more memories of you that now puncture swollen arteries. How you broke me down, was artistry. It was an issue of mentality within this process, being processed through remote viewing preceding all and everything. I just remembered being so sad I couldn’t express so well what I had been aching to have just fucking said. I miss you, and it’s dead. Over it had you overly enthused. I could see in your eyes you felt I was no match for you, and the worst of it all was that it wasn’t entirely the truth. So I put this in writing for your own understanding, however much of it you choose to take to heart despite all other earthly things trying to tear us apart, you didn’t fully understand me. Still thinking I used you or hurt somebody– she must be a soulless bitch, it seems. In expectations of heartache every day for the rest of this week. Maybe we’ll end up in that studio in Tempe. And it’s a shame words can become so hollow and empty; meaningfully unaware of all that I’ve once believed. Still its further obvious that it’s not me you fail to notice, but a vision you now fail to see, as we lie awake writhing in our captivity. Patience, envelop me.




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