Lively Light the Malignant Soul

June 15, 2006

Sometimes I sit in the little loose slip of sanity. I pine over the interesting facts of life as if they truly matter to someone. If they do, I’m sure no one even can begin to explain why. Though, I would appreciate some explanatory suggestions once in a while.

After the light of the day begins to fade slowly into the twilight of evening, I sit once again. I sit and ponder as much as any man really can without developing some sort of malignant posterior. I try. I succeed, somehow. Who really knows?

As night continues on, I become a statistic. It’s one that falls under the category of some type of catatonic nature, or sleep deprivation. Insomnia, I believe that’s the name. That’s me. I continue to sit, and pine, and think, and desire to do anything that possesses something that can be quite different from what I feel I’ve become, or am becoming. However, my malignant may form at a glance, and I can’t pass something up like that, so I continue to sit.

Nighttime ends with a brilliant glimmer of what a malignant spirit may consider to be poison. Light can be a purifying essence to many things. Though, it seems to be poison to me as well. The light destroys who I feel I am. I must be ever more so less benign than anything that finds comfort in light.

I wonder sometimes. The wondering leads to wandering, and then I’m lost. When you are lost in a place in which you are not familiar with, and you are allergic to the light, a real life ensues. My life is the epitome of this. My life is the only life. Other lives are more of a fleeting thought in the mid of a greater being that may or may not exist.

When those thoughts are gone lives are over, and then I sit, biding my time to bide more time, whereupon I’ll sit some more. I sit in a little loose slip of insanity. I pine over the uninteresting facts of death as if they don’t matter. If they do, I’m sure no one can even end the explanations.



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