Walking down the beaten path of foul fuckery, alone for years, gathering knowledge on almost nothing. Feet bleeding from the rough road made of gravel and bits of corpses bones. Scars on my back shining in the torturing sun with no shade in sight. Hands callused over. The use of each finger fading throughout time, due to days I grabbed the rope trying to pull others to safety. Each leg was not sure the next step could be taken. Carrying the weight of my own body and my mistakes each mile, with many left to go. Throat throbbing with thirst, closing, as the days collapse into one another. I walk the line, straight down to hell. Wishing to be alone as I can’t imagine, even my worst enemy, continuing as I have down this trail. I have been broken, beaten, and betrayed more than anybody else I have come across so far. Knowing there are many worse off than myself. That and that alone is what keeps me walking down the path of pitiless portrayal. If I can keep only one other soul off the road, I will consider it worth my time.
They say the depressed are the happiest. The saddest smile the brightest. The most damaged are the wisest. The ones who didn’t follow directions listen the best. That loneliest show the most kindness. If any or all of these are true I don’t understand why I’m not the idol all wish to be. I am everything nobody wants to be on the inside. A fraction of myself as I used to be. I was trying to influence positivity in people at my own risk. Walking on coals to carry companions to the other side. Wishing I had seen my mistakes clearly as I can portray them to others so they don’t make the same ones. Being shut down by the blasphemy of myself. By bitches spewing bullshit inside my head and broken by betrayal in real life. Not knowing how to get people's attention in order to steer them away so they don’t end up as sorry as this poor soul. Scattered and selfish of my own life begging for survival. I can’t be a savior due to the risk of crucifixion, but can’t continue constantly corrupted by the cold feeling of confusion others might convey if they have half the calls my conscience has taken. I cannot wish this upon anybody, even my worst enemies. I can’t wish this upon people who have refused the slightest help or influence I desired to give. The trouble is it breaks me more to watch them walk down the same road I have littered with my own blood more than it does for them to catch up to where I stand on it. I am not often angry. However, I am portrayed as pissed off. This is due to watching the inside light of people slowly dim to the struggles of situations I said to avoid. Telling them how to steer clear of mistakes I myself have made. Screaming at people in the nicest way possible. Pleading, so I don't have to watch them suffer with pain. I am calling now. On a god, I don’t believe in, on the frequencies of the universe, on the souls sprinkled and sewn into the street of sins, all to give me a way to convey the crux of life. How not to end up as opposite as I appear. How not to be who I am.