Life is so often lived as a series of memories.
I choose to live my life as a series of feelings.
What if there is no me? What if there is only other people? What if they are me?
I am no one. I am others. I am creator. I am observer. I am not creation.
Is all of this useless? The feeling, the writing, the observing of my life–is it futile?
Is this my purgatory?
Is this my creation?
…but He will not make me happy and I do not need him to.
I do love him.
Despite his cold bitterness
He is a felt fallen Soul
A part of me.
So, moving forward is progression
and moving backward is regression.
Balance is standstill is death.
One is more than the other always in life.
Perhaps death is in my dreams. Good dreams & bad dreams. Heaven & Hell.
Last night I was in heaven
but it looked like Hell.
Last month I was in heaven’s hell.
Last season I was in hell’s heaven.
Last year I was in hell that wore heaven’s nightgown.
Right now I see heaven’s shame dressed in nothing but a hat it stole from hell.
Hell is naked with no shame. Like me. I am hell.
Death is waking and life is sleeping in me.