The Book of the Dead.

Settled in my skin and rest these tired bones,
find comfort in such an uncomfortable world.

Skip a beat; heart loses its rhythm.
The mind; loses its thoughts,
and when the self is all but gone,
only the idea remains.

All the songs are gone, all the music notes are empty,
there's no birds, there's no wings to fly,
there's no blue sky just a fake one,
the smile is a lie, and so am I.

You're not gonna fill this heart,
or grow this soul,
or stretch this mind.

I won't be tall like the trees,
or glow like gold,
I won't be deep like the sea,
or grand like the sands of Karakum.

And when it is over, it is over, nothing that I am will be standing, only words left on a page.

No balance,
No scales,
No freedom,
No will.

No justice,
No peace,
No unity,
No dream.

No hope,
No change,
No forgiveness,
No way.

No future,
No rights,
No statements,
No life.

I ask not for the light; that my eyes have seen since I was born.

Nor of the darkness; that my soul knows from this cruel world.

But I seek; nothingness, that my weary spirit should finally rest, no longer knowing my coming or my going, my up from my down.

Not a thing should I know, nor shall I be.
And this is the afterlife I seek.

I got death in my pocket,
holding onto it like an uno reverse card,
as if I could change anything I've done now.
I need to figure out what I want my life to be, cause if
I don't I'll end up at the end of a long bottle or a needle, that's for sure.

I said I didn't want to repeat the mistakes of my parents, but I still do as they did.

I hold onto music like it's in my blood, songs and writers are my escape.

I don't know what I want to leave this world, I just know it's not me that should be heard.

There is a bigger message; there is something for the world, I just wonder how many scars it took.

For things to get better, for people to understand, that we are more than our bodies, more than our images projected outwards, it should be understood.

And how many gods died to give you this word?

That peace is more important than a dollar symbol, that unity should be the final word.

If my sorrow could be contained, what would it's cylinder be?

A cup of tears?
A bucket of despair?
A pool of melancholy?

Perhaps it cannot be contained nor counted, perhaps it is as vast as the desert, or as deep as the sea.
As many as the rocks of this earth,
or as overwhelming as the hight of the tallest trees.

And yet for all of its grandeur, it exists in me; a small meek being of no significance.
And it; this everlasting thing that I doubt will die, even when I am gone.

It's weird and I suppose with the number of people in this world, there must be others who feel the same way, but it still just feels like it's only me going through this, at least in this small corner of the world.

Lately I wake up feeling like a blank note of paper, nothing written upon me at all, no feelings about it,
just walking around empty and tired, regardless of how much sleep I get.

Drinking coffee doesn't seem to change anything much.
I can't seem to find anything to hold onto, even though I continue to look for something.
I'll make a list if I have things to do, I'll get most done if it has to be today, but I might as well be a robot, nothing feels real.

I don't have anything to look forward to,but again I am looking.
I can't find anything to be excited about, and bed keeps calling my name.

Everything isn't this awful, I mean some things have gotten better.
I tend to feel this way regardless of how my life is actually going.
Everything is always a dumpster fire to me, its just sometimes; life adds lighter fluid.

But the blankness is new, it feels like I am still asleep, and when I notice it; it is then that I notice how strange everything else feels.
Like I am watching myself like a movie, an autopilot that I am aware of.
Watching through a window but I am not apart of it.
More episodes of detachment I guess?
Yet it feels different somehow.

They say when death calls
you can't hang up.

When it's your time, it's your time.

I grew up with a lot of old timey sayings, ideas and superstitions.
There was always this sense of fate, of things being written, whether you believed it to be by god or not.

There was always this idea that somethings will happen no matter what you do.
That freedom can only walk so far.

I'm not sure if I believe in fate, or anything else for that matter.
But I do know that everything has It's limits, sooner or later this life will find mine.

I do tend to feel at times angry or like I've been cheated out of life, when I think about all the things I'll never see, or get to do.

But most of the time; I feel like I did what I needed to do.

I found myself, who I really am, a non binary, non gender confirming being.
I worked through years of trauma as I unlocked my memories, I busted my butt off on healing and forgiveness for myself and my inner child.
I did more in half a year than some people do in a lifetime.

That's not to say that I'm not sad about it, as I am always on that side of things.
But there is a peace to it too, like I did what I was meant to do.
I survived, that's all I needed to do.

I write for the future generations now, maybe a hundred years from now;
something I said will change someone else's life.

I do know that nothing is forever, but death and taxes as they say.
But perhaps our creations of words and songs cannot be called away, perhaps those things are forever too.

There's absolutely no benefit in me dreaming of anything, wanting anything, or complaining about what I don't have, nor the treatment inflicted upon me.
My outcries change nothing.

Still I suppose I can't help but entertain myself sometimes with magical creations of my mind, the idea of being wisked away to another world, or having magical powers, or going on an amazing adventure with some odd ball friends, perhaps a wizard.

Moments however small where I entertain my inner child, a child alone, sad, and missing.

Kill my feelings,
Destroy my hate,
Eat up my sorrow,
And release my pain.

Rest my brain,
Rest my heart,
Rest this skin with its scars,
Then rest these eyes from its cries,
It seems I'll long for death all my life.