The Monotony of Dichotomy in And The Rest.

Sometimes the practicalities of self-induced fatality become my only gravity, the last ties of reality, the lure of pure finality; it percolates and circulates like platelets through my hollow veins, to be reduced to just remains; to drift like stardust, overdosed: forever sleeping, comatose.

It’s everpresent, luminescent; iridescent, incandescent, a yearning sensation, a burning temptation; the all-consuming infiltration of self-destructive ideation. Contemplation, rumination, of my own home-grown assassination, because the finite solution is always elusion, inevitable as a foregone conclusion, a daydream mirage in degrees of illusion. It’s simplified, idealised: anaesthetise or euthanise, annihilate or liberate, they’re Siamese-twins in symmetry, a symphony of synonymity, passports to anonymity; just whispers of release to me.

Perhaps it’s all just apathy, collapsing into laxity; I’m a cheap fake, a fraud, underwhelmed and unawed, gazing blank-eyed and bored at the nearest neon-lit exit door. A catatonic hazy drift through every day’s tectonic shifts, a promise of that future gift- of freedom, like a dirty bribe, to close my eyes and unsubscribe.

I try to reassign my mind, to muzzle it and redefine; affirmations sought out by design; still undercurrents shadow-deep make all that flotsam talk seem cheap: an anthem I cannot ignore- too immature or insecure- these undertones and overtures are the clarion call of a carrion song; everpresent, incessant, everlong.

Seeking temporary moorings in the grenadine dawning of sunspangled morning, or cobalt-blue skies of Curacao and cream, crosshatched in aeroplane slipstreams: are they enough to usurp all my runaway dreams, when I’m eternally coming apart at the seams? I’m trying to hold on to transience- perhaps this is reality, built of frivolous trivialities- everything’s ephemeral and happiness is chemical; the slippery transparency of all the moments forming me; re-educate, indoctrinate: suffocate or subjugate the violent strident voice of hate… as though by willpower, simple force, I could undo the pattern of my thoughts.

That pure allure of destiny: resistance is a test to me, existence is unrest, to me, this weighted hatred stealthily, forever stealing up on me; some days it gets the best of me; earthbound yet dispossessed: unfree.