Unsure of what I will become. The things I planned to do. The person I planned to be. Changed. Somewhere I got lost within myself and found by the scheme of another. A cog in the machine. A replaceable part. Used and worn, then thrown away. Not even given enough respect to be recycled. Time did not wait for me. Opportunity passed by me and looked me in the eye, but I looked away. Fear is my blanket and I sleep in a bed of doubt. The night is cold and unforgiving, but I have laid in the warmth of illusion. Only to be awakened by the blaring harshness of reality. Who am I? The mirror does not lie, but I have to face it. I already know what I will see. I have felt pain until it brings me a sliver of pleasure. Pain at least breaks the monotony and reminds me that I am alive...but dead in spirit. Broken. Shards of my childhood ambition stab at my soul.The memory of what was. The reminder of what is. Dim lights flicker and reveal faint images of my demise. I reach out and fall into my mind. Unsure of what I will become.
We hold each other. Bonded. Balanced. Giving strength to our collective weaknesses. Existing on a higher plane. Another dimension. Our earthly bodies cannot contain the energy our love generates. Vibrating beyond the realm of human understanding. Locks intertwined. Extensions of our mental connection. Fortified. Preserved and pure. Inside of your outside...and everywhere on your in-between.
Raindrops tap on my window like restless fingers on a desk. I sit up in my bed and watch their journey. They leap and plunge to their fate. Playfully dancing on leaves before settling on the grass. Mother Nature's gift to Father Time. Offering a coexistence to cultivate. Elemental yet elementary. Dripping. Flowing. Buoyant substance of sustenance. Nurturing aspiration and washing away failure. Vast. Deep. Immeasurable power hidden under the surface of blue-green serenity. Ubiquitous. We are of it. Genetically embedded with it. Theoretically indebted to it. Evidenced by our shared lunar disposition. Engaging us. Enticing us by leaving clues to our history on the shore. Daring us to explore its dark fathoms to discover more. Violently submerging our idols when it has grown tired of our toxic behavior. Tides turn, crash and bend. Evaporate and ascend. Only to begin anew...as raindrops on my window.
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AuthorThanks for checking out my website, y'all! Drawing is a labor of love for me, and I hope you can see that in my work.---Jason Thomas Archives
July 2013
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