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| <<<>>> |
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only the lamp |
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| Created by Decius at
| [+ favourites]
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Sitting with a tall black lamp shining at him an aura of yellow the boy (man) works away.
Perhaps it is his lust for happiness or his anger at the lies, whatever it may be.
But he works away in a haze of time dissipating into the past, like fresh steam in the air.
He can almost see it dissolve and dispense with the thoughts that had occurred within that time.
Distraction, known to be the goal of all, seems to take a hold of him because he doesn't think of his life.
He is a point far more distant from meditation than he has ever been before, and he is neither content nor sad.
He is simply a machine, working in the time frame he has given himself, and when it is time to sleep, he will have to cope with the going ons of his life.
The night before was a long one, with much tossing and turning, and maybe this night will be the same. Hopefully pain does die with time.
The work being completed, he gets up slowly, and looks at his tall black lamp, that shines a cold aura of dead light at him, lighting up his apparently dead world.
He looks at his room, and twirls in place, observing the walls he surrounds himself in, as if the physical aspect of his room personifies his own life.
He puts on his most loved music, and it is as dead as the room is, and moves him even less than his work did.
He knows an attempt at sleep would be futile in this state of mind, and he also knows there is no feasible way to get out of this state of mind.
What does a man do when the choices god has given him are worse than existence itself?
Who does he argue with? No, he lets his passion slowly spill, seep and dissolve like time into the air, into the carpet, into the walls, and into the essence of life.
And he stands there, visibly being sucked dry of all that is he, his passion a light mist exiting his entire body, turning his smile/frown into a look of indifference.
And he surrounds himself with the deadness that is he. So he feels at home, in a world that killed his soul. He surrounds himself, with the dead of the world.
He pursues the lifeless goal of money, for that at least feeds his lust for distraction now. Distraction from the factual loss of possibility for happiness.
He smiles.
He knows there is nothing left to kill. |
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| Created by Decius at
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