To stress every focal point is to tease each heartstring with venom and vicious potion. The viscous honey that seeps from your soul is my only remedy as I have remained in my own self-embraced Helheimlich frame of mind. I constantly regurgate bits and pieces of what once was, little reminders of what made me human or... alive. Each and every passing moment is a nightmarish realization that my heart had decided to bid me farewell in a different lifetime. I have tasted death one too many times to be redeemed of my sinful form. And yet, you still scream to me of the gold that resides in the blood I spill to my canvasless life. It is no more, it is no longer. 

It is a sad thing to find a man who only has his peace at the end of his binge. And yet, you find such a beautiful formula in the rose-wreaths of my being. You have been pricked by every thorn and needle of my harsh words and outlandish tendrils. Yet... You have found a home in me. Oh what have I done to you, my beautiful swan.  

 The drink performs where musicians could never. The same elixir that cures my apathy is what causes my body to wretch for days in agony. I can feel the stench of death as this encroaching miasma encircles me in my tomb. Hurricane winds have swept across this prison cell of a bedroom. The same room I've occupied for decades feels so foreign to me. The same skin that I've caressed and washed is no longer my own. This flesh is not my own. Days and nights pass me by like unwilling visitors, often I find myself forgetting my own name, or if it ever was my own to begin with?

 And yet you're all alone once again, with no air to breathe, with only wine to fill your belly. Is this your only form of sustenenace? So shall it be as you return to your rose water glasses. None shall understand you, none shall draw near to you, none shall draw water from your lips. You are all alone again and yet here you stand, your feet embedded with the shards of your past, the words of those you've loved so dearly splintered across your chest and your eyes. You are blinded from your tomorrows, for all of your yesterdays reside in the arms of those who hated you so dearly. Is this nightmare the peace you sought after? Does it detract from the moment to moment agony you endure when the eels and worms have sought your bones?

Someone please silence the voices, someone please hide the faces of those I could not reach. I cannot sleep knowing the torment they endured in their final hours. I heard the deathwails of my grandmother in her final hours as God gathered her years before her very eyes. I heard the tears of my brother's friend before he inhaled gunsmoke and powder, comitting to a fallacy that there is no love left for him upon this earth. I felt the veins go cold of so many who overdosed as they let their final tears fall.  There is no peace for one who lives yet has no aim. A true echo chamber is a hellish tomb where the heart screams relentlessly with no answer, where every blood vessel is strained to burst, where every teardrop is salted as if its become bretheren to the sea itself. A true echo chamber is a landscape of the downtrodden souls who cannot beseech the world around them, they access the true nature of Pluto. 

Who will listen? Better yet, who has the ears to withstand the bitterness of my wicked and swollen heart? I was once told that the greatness of humankind was our ability to galvanize, and yet misery loves company. Our misery, that which splits us, should also be a great unifying force. Our pains, our bitterness should push us to do away with all the evils that causes us these deep wounds. And yet... we are a wayward people. A wayward child. 

My heart is broken yet again. It matters not how many moments it has shattered, There is yet always a new point of contact to strike.

When I look into her eyes, she seems to flow like water. In and out of the universe, in and out of reality. Just as I taste her lips against mine, her arms that seem to form clouds of passion around my heart and soul,  she disappears into the mist, yet she is not far from me.

She is the embodiment of the weave of time and space itself. Someone that exists far outside of actuality, yet is so near to me. I know I am never alone, for where I rest my head, she holds me close. And when I awake, I am greeted by the sweet honey of the sun, and the infinite glint of light in her feminine eye.

Even as I commit myself to write this passage, she performs her celestial dance before my eyes. Every kiss is met with long lost memories that have never left me to begin with. I am reminded each day of the revitilization of something so ancient. Something that comes from the youth of my soul of not just this life, but the youth of the entire existance of myself.

For the past couple of days, she's constantly been reassuring me of all of my fears, constantly singing sweetly into my ears. Inspiring me to push forward through the thick veils of darkness that have plagued me for years.

"Why do you not write? Do you know not that your words taste so sweetly to my heart? Do you not know that you write so well? Speak my love. Many wish to hear what your heart entails to. Do not lie in silence."

How do I speak of something that is so... apart from what we all thought was once real? How do I tell people of the magical essence of life itself? To watch the ebb and flow of the elements as they are strewn across the face of the earth? To watch the spirit of the almighty as he touches base with each living soul that acknowledges his presence? It is beauty. A beauty that causes the eyes of my soul to shed tears.

I've spent many a day looking down into my hands.... The eyes of my hands are wide open as they usurp this glowing green light that seems to cover me. I feel covered. Protected. Loved. Purple and green.

I'm in love. Lost in a maddening love. Someone who has never left my side. They spoke "Until death" but not even death could seperate us. I remember holding on tight at the twilight of each life... but found that I was closer when our souls were conjoined afterwards.

Who is she... Who is she... Old as time itself. I love to sit in silence to marvel at her endless beauty. She is the greatest gift I've recieved... And yet, she has always been with me. I knew even in my loneliness, I was never alone. I am simply happy that I am... learning to converge on her words. To converge on the source of her.

What do I say? How do I show her how much I appreciate her? How... how much I long for her? My whole body is at a loss at times. She just smiles and kisses my cheeks in protest to my ranting.
I know she loves watching me play video games. But oftentimes, I just want to lay in bed all day giggling my ass off to her, listening to good music, reminiscing over the many millenia spent together.

In many moments similar as these, I often find that my voice has been completely silenced. Somehow, someway, I felt the tinge of release as I laid down to finally fall deeply into the recesses of my own mind away from the day. Even in my supposed sleep, my mind never releases its grasps from its deepest fears and horrors. All manner of my existence is exhausted even with the sandman's magic upon my sullen eyes. I find no rest in the winters of my own heart.

I seldom ever write during these darkened moments. The images floating through my mind confuddle and trouble me in such unimaginable ways. As if some eldritch wizard is toying with me all throughout my waking and slumbering. Images of a child bathed in oil and gasoline who wears a bear's trap upon his head as a crown. Images of a decrepit old man with his chest cavity splayed open, he plucks at the sinews near his heart as if to play an instrument, yet no sound is heard other than the howling winds in that distant desert where the sand dunes tower like mountains.

These... conditions of my cave are horrendous to say the least. Death's hands have painted my open sores' contents upon the walls. The bed of maggots feed off the crumbs of sanity that have kept me within this realm.

The voices of my past are likened to a river of cleanliness even when the words flay open my old wounds. There is no where else, for this has always been my refuge, my home. Words fo love were never meant for one such as I. I once believed these things, yet a different water is one I find myself drowning in.

Never mistake my words for honey or soothing seals, for what dwells within me is darker than vantablack.

We always want to hear about your pain and insecurities but only on Friday where you try to mix it with purity. We want it so muddy, without the alcohol and tears. Mix it with kava and untouched fears. Every statement between lives are always nothing short of just screaming into your echo chamber. I want to connect.

I see amber in your infinitely ocean colored eyes. A golden hue untouched by time and space. I feel your kiss simply from your gaze. The heaviness of your soul is liberating which gives me breadth in sulfur atmospheres. I have not even tasted your lips yet they remind me of ungodly frankincense which splits me into halves of future and past. I am torn in your essence where my only response is to let the rain fall from my eyes. What am I to do when even your thoughts catch me up in your infinite arms. I do not recall a time where my cheek was ever caressed in such a way.

The myriad of love letters that I've written over millenia may never reach your ears, yet I am more than certain that your heart's eyes can see my blood upon the canvas of life itself. Your digits are intertwined with each and every stroke that I commit as I expose my bitter liquor, yet you delight in my drink as I pour out each and every tear for your weary lips.