What Goes Comes Back

A simple straight curve, as an abstraction of reality, was ridiculing itself in its daunting darkness. Linear was it meant to be. Linear in all local terms concerning the self, and nothing more around it. With darkness encompassing an incomprehensibly evil halo of that ecstatic blindfold, the supposed odyssey was done with quick confident steps. Exotic were the ways - those evil intentions remote and invisible. Words were no longer  meant to be, but just to be. And thus it lived, travelling as a cursed promise, hovering as vultures over a dead decaying symbol of death. Death not from hate or guilt or greed - but from love - the pure passionate pain.

That mesmerising scent of an unreachable destination gaping into the infinite with its magnificent decaying efficacy gives birth to an unresolved contradiction. Contradiction of the poison at it's source, of a gnawing realization of a painful end, of ending into the nothingness of dark empty void. The curse lived on as a prodigious disciplinary righteousness of being haunted by an ultimate inflection of my own existence.

It all came back. The poison in those veins making them blue, with eyes turning black, and face already paler than death. Drops of rain flowing down deeper into unknown depressions of implicit self-retaliation. The destruction didn't pardon or excuse too proud with it's arrogance - a merciless rage to split the skull open, to reveal what unimaginable force no longer trapped inside would smile it's final goodbye and would bleed till those lips turn white. Till there is pain no more...