Grieving The Loss of Amerika pt.2
Awaken From The Illusion
That ache in your belly you try to ignore. The nagging pull on your mind; images that flash in crazy psychedelic patterns, permeating the very, inner skin of your brain. Interrupting the wonderful mirages, offered up by those that would choose to think for you.
Until, you blink.
You choose to think, about something else. Anything else. Busy hands. Busy feet. Busy. Busy. Busy.
All is, as it is suppose to be. All is right with the world.
But you know that it is not.
You blow away the shadows in hopes their cold embrace will never reach you again. Run. Run. Run.
Chase that tail. And so the cycle goes.
Paint the shadows with rainbows of colors and pretend their kisses are sweet. You imagine they are.
You are startled and wake; in a cellblock. The color machine that resides in your mind, does not work here.
They took your shoes, the floor is clammy; the toilet seat frostbite cold. Your thin mat on concrete and no blanket, have you permanently tattooed with red, blotchy, goose flesh. Your head pounds like never before, and the breakfast smells like the vomit that is not yet in the silver, lidless john.
Then it hits you. You can’t escape the reality of prickly skin, wet feet, pounding head and you can’t shake the icicles from your legs. You CAN NOT deny what IS true existence for you. This harsh, bleak and cold cold world is nothing, like you once imagined.
When your truth is inescapable, you face it; and end up with frost on your nose that will only melt with the tears you cannot cry. For all that you knew is GONE. GONE. DONE. FINITO.
No more rainbow tinted shadows, the darkness creeps in, with your every breath, and doesn’t even stop with your bones. Your core is rocked, it has rendered you without words; unable to process this strange new world you have found your feet in.
Paralysis. The lies. They are almost laughable, almost.
Paint drying on the wall wont escape its new home and, neither, I’m afraid will you. You’re awake.
Can you shake this anxiety? Trembling hands, quaking soul, and twitching eyes.
Stolen are the colors that lived behind your eyes. Terror. Absolute. Unfathomed. Break your neck. Leave you for dead.
SILENCE. Wriggles in, until it takes up the place that used to be. Replacing the bubbles and holographic reflections with deep, echoing SILENCE.
Look around this barren desert where you woke. Do you recognize a a thing? Purse your lips and gently blow the sand away………
You tell yourself, “your just dreaming.” Close and open your eyes as many times as it takes. Nope. You are not asleep.
Rocks in your socks, now baring down, and eating holes in your ankles; as you trudge along trying to fight this barren newness. Will you soon wake from this foolishness? Madness? Unreality?
Turn to look from whence you came, and only to see your shadow dragging its tail through your bloody footprints. *realization*;
No more trudging. You won’t wake to find the blood gone.
This is no dream. You burn with instinct. Dig. Dig damn you. Dig for your life, for your water!
This barren desert will swallow you whole.
And so you do, you dig; for days and nights on end, watching the stars shift on the horizon. Your mouth, dry as the sand.
When you reach the cool depths of moonlit, mirrored reflection; you know you will survive. You can face whatever beast lies waiting for you in the night above.
You sit. Sweating. Finally. Giving. Back to sweet mother what she has given you. Truth. Stunning. You are awake. Trembling. Malnourished. Afraid. Alert. Mindful.
Realize, all media has an agenda. A death grip on your perception, and how your “suppose” to react. Reject them.
Look for the foreboding between phrases. Between breaths, even they cannot hide their humanity.
What is missing? Why isn’t anyone doing anything about (insert your favorite topic here)?
You. You are what is missing. There is a role or many you can play real-believe with and FIGHT the ILLUSION.
You were never free of scorching days, starry frozen nights, digging and bleeding. That was REAL.
Everything you knew before, bubbly rainbows, filaments, and flakes in a globe. The unreal. Gone are soft holographic dream-like steps.
All that is real is today. What are you going to do with yours?
Still bleeding? That’s ok. It will slow, when you begin to push back the illusion. You will find your footing and ride your waves into shores of truth. Aching, yet blissfully Alive.
~no one said waking would be easy. only, that it would be worth it~