nomadicscratches: “Devourer of Rapture”…The usual person sleeps in the evening, d
nomadicscratches: “Devourer of Rapture”…The usual person sleeps in the evening, dreams, dozes off and comes to again..The sun beats them down,the moon tucks them inunder sheets of silk protection,duvets of impenetrable comfort..I don’t believe I dream,I wholly understand I do not sleep..My eyelids collapse and are lockedlike rolling garage bay doors..It’s not I who possesses the keyand these shadows,these misty plains I see are not dreams,are not imaginary or objects of any fantasy to fancy..One usually sees a citrusy warmth about the wet skin covering their corneabefore all lights go out..Yet, I’m not among the usual crowd,I’m not tainted with the normalcyof the human condition,conditioned to wake and wander toward work and play,consume and create,romanticize and reminisce..This isn’t sleep.This is no dream or vision..This is beyond sleep paralysis,more relevant than any demon, malevolent,more honest than the gods of humanity.A truth my heart reluctantly finds resolute.…I am bound by chains of fleshunearthed unpleasantly from my own being..These aren’t thoughts that plague my human self,not creative imagination sprouted from a mind misunderstood..This is a clear truthseen only by those subjected tothis murky realm where sight is utilized beyond the eye’s ability..I am clasped in the ethereal gripof something cosmically ancient.Power unmatched by the sun,yet it’s existential flame burns cool.Its thousand blind eyeshave watched us all,have witnessed inception and terminationin each and every sense..It stares at my subconscious through pupils unproduced, projects a sound heard only by my frightened soul….Here is where it hums.Here is where it relinquishes what you believe nightmares are.Here is where it has slept before time existed.Here is where it has awakened.Here is where I find true black oblivion.Here is where fear becomes tangible.Here is where gods are exhibited as false,Hopeless, powerless, void of divinity.Here is where I am void of everything,where everything is void of myself..It is the void.We are cool breezes swallowed by stoic clouds.Ships wrestling black seassinking into a bottomless eternity……No, I do not dream,and I surely have not sleptto have seen through my soul’s eyewhat I have seen..We do not dream.We are not real..We think and feelas easily as we die..Still we are terrifiedof the pure black chamberto our personal extinction..Here is where it hums serenely as our endless universe slowly succumbs to its own undoing,waltzing into the jaws, onto the tongueof that which is hungry,of that which feeds upon rapture.…DLMC 01/06/2020 -- source link