Notification.

An awful racket; grinding and scraping… the hollowing. We look away in pure disgust, displaying our trophies in our ignorance, plodding eternally with sinister regret. We choose to look away, you don’t see us because you’re frightened to face the truth, to face the searing pain; surging, raging.

We envy you: you have such ease, such an approach to just existing. Our existence: a soul, hacked away with careless emotion. Abstract emotion. Your mundane activities are our weaknesses, they’re our envy. A constant war that just cannot be won. A war that only we can predict the outcome of, only we can decide when our war is over, consistently conflicted in a bleak, evil abyss.

What you don’t realise is, we join the masquerade anyway, losing ourselves in the depth of the mock, a foul stench of self hatred and the loathing of others. Absurd expressions, and plastic hearts; perhaps its difficult to tell if we are so different after all. We’re engulfed by a thrashing wrath of worthlessness and dark incantations; dead eyes awash in a cloudy silt.

Carefully depicting the idealistic, I remember … what’s lost, what will never be, the smells, the fragile memories, balancing on the edge- the crumbling cliff edge down to the dark abyss. Overwhelmed, we’re left with no choice, there will come a day when we shall jump; racing back for those memories. Claiming them back with vengeful conviction. Maybe then, our war will be over.