A Little Salt More Than Honey

The consolation of being awake everyday with a bolted jolt, takes hold over the sense born out of a purposeless life. To enliven me, it makes for a dear wish of finding good reason, attempting to beacon from across the edge.

 

Needling around it seems to make me fall into a high pitched rhapsody. Whereas I become the minimal self, not limited by it, trying to appease in my head the most irrelevant. It seeks to envelope the minute by the hour but it burrows enough.

 

While needed to place a sense over loss of everything, the meaning derides any answer it forges when instantly losing itself in the myriad of emotions that become me. I am myself through but something trails behind – drudgery in sequence, playing out apathy.

 

The return of the abysmal draws parallel to the cancer that cries – leaping, seeking and deranging. Trying to disable any means through the most pathetic, my inner world leaves crumbs that are pieces of my soul. They are left out and the stage sets for the last its performance. To date, the end has never come.

 

Sewing myself together when bombed by the ideas of degradation, I hold apiece the remnants of my previous day. They can even be my previous birth. I do not remember much of it. Still keeping it strong, the relevance of the numbed moments protect me from figuring out deviance as a means to establish my own supremacy.

 

Nothing instills silence over the grudge of the soul than the lies that placate and soothe the most haunted wounds. The womb of the untruth takes sound and seethes it, delivering music and I can feel comfort being brought over, maybe a little salt more than honey.

 

© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017

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