A Man To His Mind
I am somewhere between gaseous and solid. I sense a vile touch placed upon my mind. Its most relevant when I sleep. I feel no sense of awareness as if I am always a sleep. Things such as demons and witches seem to cling to the walls of my dreams like leeches. Trying to consume the very existence of who I am. Trying to drag me in with whispering words I can barely hear among my own thoughts. They tantalize like a delectable fruit to my tongue. But the sourness that they leave behind makes me spit them from my soul. While my mind floats my body feels solid but like that of an old rotten trunk, of a once powerful tree. Sitting still with no real rhyme to be where I lay. My heart beats but only to help keep the flesh tone colors of my skin. For if anyone was to find out I lay between death and life. For sure they would think I am but casted with a disease and lock me up or maybe even worse. Burn me like that of a witch.
My whole my mind plays tricks on me floating between reality and dreams. I see demons lying helpless calling out for help. Trying to play tricks with the endearing heart that has been placed inside my chest. But I know their tricks I see them and tell them to go forth on their own. To suffer in their pain, they have enveloped themselves within. Even witches hide within the living of nature. Growing from vines and roots straight from the grounds. Filling themselves with beauty and resting their eyes rest upon their victims. Waiting for them to no longer see the lie of the witch. But how can such vile evil exist? How can such hate be prancing like deer through open fields and so many ignore it? Their beauty so easily distracts the human mind. They don’t look closely enough at its tricks. Like an audience to a magician, a slight of hand makes all things appear magical.
I fear that things are becoming the emptiness of that which has been told. My heart is no longer feeling the happiness it once did. My mind wanders like a sad soul lingering in purgatory. And my body, well my body is but a mere hollow vessel waiting to be broken open and spilled into the heavens. Never have I felt to retched evil trying to flank me with my reasoning and my dreams.
Their tongues twist like serpents while their voices lift like angels. I have seen their eyes and they are dead. They are black like oil spilt to the sea. Consuming whatever life is held within the ocean’s vast body. I fear that we all will end up like me, lost and consumed. Always running from evil but skirting by its very living space. As if maybe I am better off, maybe what they whisper holds some truth.
But those eyes I cannot get over those eyes. They pierce your soul like a needle through flesh. So small yet they hold the ability to rid your flesh of blood. I don’t know if such evil has pulled you in. Creating a mystifying world around you but with no magic to feel. Making you feel between a gaseous state and a solid state. But one can only hope that you have not. For if you do, be aware of the whispers and be very aware of how they play in your dreams. They have no rules and use all the suffering you have placed in yourself. They will never quit till you fall. And if you do, the pain you must endure to escape their pale twisted hands grown from hell, is pain I cannot describe. So heed my warning and fill your heart and mind now, with those things that bring you joy and that fill your mind and body with the nutrients of that which heals the very soul. For we are given but one breath that dangles from a single, taut…. thin…. thread.