Visions of the motherless white wolf, flowing like a stream emanating from Zion, down to the heavens below. Formless, seamless. Without any limitation implanted upon his heart.

I haven't a single clue...

I oftentimes contemplate on the actuality of myself and what makes me, me. What are my parameters? I think of myself as some machine when I think like this. Am I extensive to count myself as having so many aspects of myself? No, that seems too much like a lie. Everything seems as if its some veil that I hide behind because I'm afraid to shew my heart unto another. To everyone else, I'd be deemed a woman because of my immense heart, but my nature is tender, yet stronger than the scales of some elder dragon. Maybe I'm afraid that I'll fall into that same hole once again, but... I've fallen just because of said fear. I make it difficult to not depict the slightest memories of dreams I once had long ago. The beauty that would pass by my lips in sheer minuscule moments. It is no longer desire or longing, but the actuality of what I searched for so long.
To the outside, I am a man with a feminine countenance. But to those who know me, I'm but a lover that stares into the eyes of the most tender corners of a woman's heart. And if I was to be near to her, not a word would be said, not a movement needed but one kiss. Everything past, present, and future, would happen in an instant.
And yet with a sigh, I remember all of the promises I could not keep, all of the hearts that I shattered. And I deem it unnecessary for me to see tomorrow. And yet why. Why, I ask myself, did I allow such a thing to happen when I knew the consequences of each of my actions and what they would entail to. Why did I not speak up? I wanted to give what I simply could not give at the time. Maybe every thought that takes place within my mind is but a falsehood. A dream and a lie to further inspire me not to leave this earth just yet.
The world is colder, and it feels as if it is my own doing. That everything wrong stems from me. The violence, the sadness, the hatred, I feel as if I could have done something to prohibit it. But alas, it seems that I went back on my original promise. The promise I made to myself many a year ago. That I would never add to another's suffering.
My dog, my friend, my confidant, is no longer with me. This fatal blow has caused me to be seemingly numb. Still I see him around me. And yet, I wonder why I haven't cried. I saw the pain in his eyes and heard him beg to see me one last time. And yet I could not permit that to him. I feel as if I have failed myself, my friends, my family, and even God at times.

Is it that I have long given up the things of yesterday, or is it that they were stolen from me? Maybe I'm so lost in my own pain that I cannot acknowledge the destruction of the world around me. There is no rest for the wicked. And since I haven't been able to sleep well, I suppose I'm just as juxtaposed as those heathens. Lined me up for bread and shots to the dome, emboss my body in a tomb full of chrome. Or so they wish to pontificate by the delusioned. But to the disillusioned who wear their hearts on their sleeves as they face the stark reality of a loveless life. What does it mean to truly be alone? I've tasted it when I slipped into the void as I attempted to reverse the effects of cognitive dissonance. A weapon that kills off the soul in a single swipe. Or it gives the target a means to give up their will with ease.