My deepest apologies are matched by my deep regrets. It hurts me so where only a smile can deceive the cunning, but a broken yet wise heart can only sense. My great longing for meaning is without a source, i am without tangible caressing of its gentle and comforting hand. All day long I felt the absent hand of impending doom, and a doom so selfishly I wished upon the world. If my pain is not known, then who better to sympathize with me then those who are in utter ruin? So, in the swell of my worries I harboured evil in my heart like a monk in deep meditation. What am I suppose to do when the world demands physical and all I have is a profound love of the spiritual? I try to write these words impressed on my soul, yet I go to chapters and lo behold, there are the words written stright out of my heart. Can i sink any lower and dispair?

My belonging is with purpose yet the purpose i believe belongs to me is written out and on a shelf. Where do i find my solace?

I turn to God in a philosophical way. I ask, Lord what is my purpose? What is my call to life? And then i hear that hallowing sound deep in my nerves, that sound of absolute meaninglessness. As if the response of silence is the answer: To live and to die.
All the experiences in between just winds of a fleeting moment, a constant reminder of my finite self. But in my heart or in my mind i see a life immortal. Immortalized in my vision of a life worth living. I see that if I give myself a reason ill find that reason will unfold itself. If i envision a life of riches riches will unfold before me thus ill find that im rich beyond belief. As I define the lifestyle i wish to express I find in my definition my purpose. As all feels well in my soul i cannot help but feel that all this striving for purpose is for nothing, and i seek again on my knees “Lord, what is important?”

Its hard to focus. All the issues that seem insurmountable surmounting me. Im a mountain moved by the little faith of the demons in pursuit of my soul. I scream fuck, but no echo. I cry, but no tears. I fight for my life, but im alone.

Im in a cycle of hopelessness. Perhaps ive sided with that end. Perhaps ive gone so far beyond grace that hell is the place that finds its own in me. Im so cold that hades warms its hands by my heart. Though, here I am crying out to God, the warmer of my soul, the drummer of my heart, the ocean in my veins. What is my purpose? What is important?

Must he answer me? Am I so use to having pleasure of a response that I can’t brave the weather of silence to find that if i seek ill see it right before me? Am I so use to the sounds the world makes about looking a certain way or being a certain type, or having a certain thing that Ive neglected my own sound?

I open my eyes. My problems are still here. My debt is wild. My bank is empty. My stomach is growling.

Damn, my knees are sore.


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