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Vampire.

  • Mar 7
  • 1 min read

I note the decades passing by with as much value as what I leave in the toilet, and find despair in each aging line on a loved one's face, knowing I am the most helpless of all. Time stands still in those moments, until it takes another part of me to the grave. Piece by piece:

 

I am imprisoned within time itself and eternally burdened with layer upon layer of grief and hardened misery suffered throughout my existence. The miles traveled long, the wear hard, not the kind of injury that ever softens, only thickens.

 

I like to think I can still hold onto compassion for all life, mourn an injured bee, place a dying plant in sunlight to live a few moments longer, or give my unvalued decades freely to another, knowing what it would cost at the end ...


 

That said, monsters are dangerous, we're not to be taken lightly, yet even monsters need to be known. Without, can I exist at all? We all crave mirrors to look into, even if it withers before our own eyes.



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