PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

  I have taken a leave of absence from my writing for some time. It's been too long and little resources detered me from furthering my expanses and writings that allow me to clear my mind. I've had clouded judgement, and lacked any means to clear those clouds and allow the light to shine through. Henceforth I shall acclaim to the demons that plagued my mind. This is a testament to what I have endured, to what I have experienced, to what has made me who, and what I am today. This story may not be worth reading, it may have no correlation to your life in it's surface context, but I promise you, that once submerged, you will find a meaning to extract from it.

  Shortly following a verbal escapade I posted on here, my life changed considerably. I lost my life, everything I knew was now gone. While I may have been surrounded by familiars, I was still stuck in a hole of my own design. After losing my friends, a majority of my family, and above all the respect and trust of those people, I was angry. I was angry at the world. I was angry at them. I was angry at everyone, but myself. I guess it's true what they say, that it's harder to see the problem, when you are so close to the problem. When you are the problem.

  I thought moving away would solve all my problems. It would alleviate everything that I had done. Looking back I couldn't have been more wrong. I was a coward. Running away from my mistakes, just hoping that leaving them in the dust it would settle and burry them so deep that no one would find them, or better yet, remember them. My mistakes aren't like the ancient ruins of cities long since forgotten. The dust that settled ontop of them didn't just cover my mistakes. It built a monument. A monument to my cowardice, my shame, my loathing, and my hate. It was a monument for other to look upon and remember me. It showed my being in full, but it was not me. It showed every line in my face, every freckle, every imperfection, every infinitesimial detail, but it was not me. It was a mask, a shrowd, if you will. Conjured by the smoke made by the devil himself. Smoke that took rise over my face, coming from the circular glass prison that I was kept in. I loved that prison. It took me away, far far away from every problem, every argument, every bad energy I had every felt. It let me forget. While inside I did not take heed to the dangers that were encroaching on me. It was the wool over my eyes that brought on my downfall.