rogziel

The cacophony from the bar had become endlessly more intolerable. The persistence of drunken voices seemed determined to drown each other out; nothing ever changes. Far away from here foot steps could be heard walking through Hell. There is no moment connected outside of this place, there is no way to become that which we are not. The stagnation of emotion cracks against the delusions that hold me to this place. No act of faith can measure the experience of evolution and there can be no changes of spirit that will prevent us from falling into oblivion.

The necessity of escape becomes an ever pressing priority. Already, drunken phantoms travel down the infinite spiral of my soul forever enslaving me. This apathy blurs imagination and upon reflection I see that time is my only enemy. There is nothing to relate that may stir one's misery or that might move the stranger from the doorstep. I can't suppose to know those familiar places and the potential for depravity that lives within us. Sitting here I no longer possess the strength to rise again and walk back the rage of lifetimes as the red tides of madness subside.

I know the name of my demon but have long since forgotten its purpose. Should I ever find egress from this horror I may discover the being that is left inside begins its metamorphosis. This condition suits me; this symbiosis leading us down the paths we know and feeding us the drink that sustains us. We can but only be left to cut out the decaying center and let the colorless liquid of transformation flow from the foundation of my intoxication and watch as the image of my beginning takes shape. However, to attempt to reduce something so complex into some sort of easily digestible matter is an exercise in futility because nothing that sleeps and intervolves itself so deeply into my mind can be safe from the damage of my quicksilver dreams.

-S.T.