I think now that I have been lying to myself. For I haven’t said to myself that I am to die in little time. I have, instead, said nothing. And isn’t a dead silence on the truth a dishonest being? I must die now. If I am to live; I must die now.
– Sole Traveller
The more I live, the less I have to say. I think sometimes it hasn’t anything to do with experiences. For experiences are more numerous now than ever. But, perhaps, it is because I haven’t the desire to be heard.
I wasn’t heard before; but I lived.
I was heard before, and I lived.
I lived. I lived. I lived.
Perhaps, being heard is not essential to live. I dunno. I may just be wrong. But who’s to say? For everybody is talking and nobody is listening.
You sit there lying dead to me
Sometimes I see you seeing me
I hope you’re not all by yourself in that head
Not all should die alone
I think I’ve said more than I ever should have
Seen you dreaming pointless dreams through square windows
Your doors neither near nor far
Constant. Unwavering. With fading knocks from an imprisoned freedom.
You remember there’s a key somewhere
that locks you from within
You consider yourself ok
You could live like that
You could die like that
You seem to be getting increasingly blind
A myopia that often turns into regret
But you tell yourself there’s purpose
A vision of a better future
You’ll get there someday
You lie to yourself
Somewhere amidst crying waters
a lonely sunset cries out your name
You could have been there
But you forgot to be
You never really needed achieve greatness
For greatness would have been thrust upon you anyway
You never really needed ever to shine
For the lights were raining down since the dawn of time
All you ever had to do was leave alone
All you ever had to do was exist
And you must die now
To save me from myself
You’re a past
That need never see my future
Lie to me
Tell me you’ll live anyway
For I’m tired of shedding tears
Over none that ever existed
In clarity I have lost myself. For what have I to find in bright lights and the sickness of certainty? Only the predictability of aloneness. Not loneliness for I forsake my own company. I abandon me for I slow me down. As does every heart of every mind in my lone midst. Within lines of death lies an ego twice dead. Bitten once. Stabbed twice.
Perhaps I was lost before. But I find that finding myself was overrated. Betrayed by false promises of eternity. There seems only the truth that there will be lies. Eternity in destruction. Mindfulness in insanity.
It will perhaps soon be time to turn the tides again. The I in me must die. And I must pretend to be someone else… Until I become someone else.
For I will do so without your allowance anyway.
It is not up to me if you recall.
It’s those damn voices again.
They scream within.
They scream without.
– Sole Traveller