The Obscure

Forgive this post, I'm hopped up on clonapyn


For too long I have neglected this public diary of mine, I think it is about time I replenished it's supply of incomprehensible words.

It is beyond me to create imagery. I can think and think and think, but for some reason I always seem unable to convey the thoughts in my head to the head of another man. I must always settle for this mindless introverted humzummery that does no good to anyone but my over-burdened brain; and my over-burdened brain really does not need anymore help than it already has.
I have some chemicals in my blood today, chemicals that seem to crush my creative spirit to a thin filmy substance that now coats the inside of my eyelids.
Where am I supposed to go now? All these people have a clue, but I stand here perpetually clueless. Give me my engine, and I shall drive with full force into the flood of my extinction.
These words are not new ones, these are but a repeat of past mistakes. My lover with the golden curves cares deeply for me and has sympathy for my pain, little does she know that I have long given up on my own happiness and comfort. My physical well-being is no longer an issue, I can just drug myself till I forget the pain. My emotional health is beyond my reach now, all I can do is work and sleep.
So here stand I, in the frontlines of a great army. Around me fly flaming arrows, broken shards of steel, the severed limbs of Men, and I sway, slowly stretching my hands out towards mine enemy, cutting a swathe of red death across the thousands of necks of those ordained as the evil ones.
Here I stand, kneeling before the gates of heaven, praying to the shining visage of the Christ for just one small taste of righteousness before he sends me on my way. The afterlife, to a traveller, is just a rest-stop on the side of an eternal highway. Ours is not to live and earn our keep, ours is to walk, and walk, and walk on past the end of time, and join Omar the Ageless in the pantheon of Immortal Sons.
I alone can open the gate to the truth, I alone can slide that golden blade across my throat.
There walk I
Past the wicked men of old
Past the dragons, hoarding gold
Past the lady in the lake
Travelling for my own Sake
And on I go, and on I run
And never can I say I'm Done
'till I walk past the end of Life
And end Me with the Golden Knife.