recordabitur

I remember choosing to forget...

Soul

;

I walked through my dark bedroom to my desk, to switch on my favorite candle. I reached under the desk for the switch, a spider bit me… Put it’s fine-point syringes of antagonizing venom into my hand.

Eyes wide open, I saw the paper-thin incision points through the darkness. They were growing, floating off my hand. They grew closer and closer to my eyes, turning into binoculars, giving me a clear view of the inside. I saw the metro of nerves, leading to my brain. I hopped on, no one asked for a ticket. I rode to the deserted Grand Central that was my heart… What once was a thriving city with perfect weather, towering skyscrapers, and constant, beautiful light was now an empty wasteland. A dark gray-scale beating organ, almost non-essential to the life I was living. I dared to venture into it alone, and pushing passed the old libraries, filled with books of old memories, the trinket shops with their shattered windows, obscene writings on their walls. I took the stairs all the way down to it’s catacombs. Infinite winding halls burrowed deep into the abyss. Filled with etched names of those who left their mark. It’s faint light seemed to move away from you as you approached it. There were no lanterns, no sources for this dim light, but it was the only color in the whole place. A dim yellow. It flickered at times, which was the only way you could tell that you weren't frozen… Then finally it stopped, there was nothing but blackness. Seeing it for exactly what it was, I gathered myself, and took the leap of faith… The leap into my soul. It was a place I had never seen before, never even knew existed. I had heard so many things that remained unproven to my mind, it was as if they were all challenges. White people with white collars writing down things for us to test in a book and throwing it at us, all the while they didn't want us to test it, but simply to mark it with our stamp of approval, as if it gave them some sort of pleasure. It was as if I was damned for standing out. For not agreeing to just say OK. For wanting to experience everything, every sensation whether it be good or bad or bad or good, just to feel it… All of it. Because in my life the only thing I ever do is feel. I am good at it. I feel the sting of people talking about me, ridiculing what I do, the chill of those who turn their backs on me, who leave me to myself. I feel all of that… just as I felt that spider’s paper-thin fangs go in, and felt my passion go out. I felt myself sliding into blackness, knowing I would never return, and the only thing that was on my mind was her smile, the smile that used to light that now empty station.  I knew that that small light, that danced along the tunnel walls, providing you with some hope of something greater, was out. And that not even the sun…could take it’s place. 

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