fragments

time

calcification is the truest form of surrender

why it takes remembrance to suffer the loss of the forgotten

movements that will never be memories

the world is seemingly adept at showing signs even to those convinced of its passivity

identity

their dutiful strides, determined faces, and the sense of conviction written into their gaze—they do not pause to look as they pass

air of anonymity, an ephemeral gaze, eyes that waver and concede their defeat

why is it that invisibility is so often externalized when it almost always pertains to the innermost recesses of the mind?

years of vacant conversations have made us husks, slated to express a predetermined set of words that have no meaning behind them and are, by all definitions of the word, empty and inconsequential

i feel as though i have existed in stasis for quite some time, and i suppose i am not sure if i will ever leave it. but however much i try, i cannot fathom how i got here

why even try if these labels were crafted long before you were ever there to entertain them

the induction of fatigue so potent it is enough to render my mind categorically blank

choice

hasn’t choice always been the enabler of ignorance

fear of freedom, shackles of their own

illusion of control disillusion of choice delusion of belief

cyclical resonance, paradoxical by nature

desire

is it the emulation of joy or its perpetuation that renders it obsolete
imitation or insistence

fixation and complacency, unchecked and overlooked—perhaps even indistinguishable?

enveloped in so much abundance that it feels as normative, as assured and unremarkable as being immersed in tepid water. no distinction between where i lie and where my desires begin. rather i live inside it and think only of the cold that will shock me when i emerge. never stopping to consider i may be burned instead

a mélange of granularities

purpose

intention is protective. whether of the self or the other is yet to be determined

neutrality is a veil constructed by the weak, those that hear of the world’s coffers—all that it has to offer—and shy away from it, afraid they will be overtaken by its will for their own is not strong enough

is the mundane truly so benevolent and altruistic

and how noble is it that we have managed to keep this meager piece—this fragment—untouched and pristine, safe from the transient whims and unseen distractions of others. natures that were seemingly benign but may have become malignant had time run its course

residue

homesick vagabond, familiarity breeds contempt
yet distance nurtures despondency

an ache so intrinsic it clings to your person like humidity to the skin, omnipresent and inescapable

will it wash out with water or is it in the blood

mortality

never have i found such difficulty in preserving my solitude except in the absence of yours

fear of death is not akin to ardor of life

dying embers of a waning sun
no acknowledgement of the restraint involved in such short lived exultation
when so easily it can choose to burn

and when all is said and done your memory will dwindle and my body will desecrate

state of complete aporia
irresolvable internal indulgence

well intentioned flaws are but a mercy

relics of a reluctant half lived life