Save me from my mind. For that will be the death of me.
That or drive me into insanity... swallowed by my own consciousness.
With every droplet of thought, I sink deeper into the unending abyss that will serve as my last.
The vessel still breathes, yet the soul ceases to reverberate within.
Empty. Hollow.
With every word trying to wake it from its perpetual slumber rattling the void, shaking up the dust of what was and spilling to the ground ashes of what used to be.
Leave the vessel. Leave the soul.
Please just save me. Or at least the remnant of who I am...
~~
Is this poetry? Or is this but a "literal" representation of what the soul has to say. (Do pardon the double entendre) Though, I suppose that is what poetry is. Words that come undiluted from the heart and soul. Straight onto a blank void and into the hearts of others. I suppose this is how souls communicate amongst each other. Our consciousness have our spoken technical words. Our souls have art, that of which mostly do not rely on words. Save for the unfortunate writers, bound to the confines of words and grammar (to an extent). Though through that limitation, we are freeing ourselves. To be able to express fully the essence of the crux of humanity, while chained to those earthly manifestations... it's there that one is truly free. The ultimate form of freedom.
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