Black Bile

Der Autor hat folgende Stimmungen f�r sein Werk angegeben:
melancholisch



I feel abandoned.
Everything that surrounds me is different, not like me. The air I breathe is so foreign to me that it hurts my mucous membranes every time I inhale the unknown. The path I walk is dark before me, like a lightless tunnel without end. Everyone around me is a stranger, a husk, encasing a rift of difference. They are mind negating mirrors, their eyes piercing right through me, as if I’m not there. Is everyone alone in this place so crawling with life? Is love but an imagination, an escape route to veil the unforgiving barrier that surrounds each and every one of us? Would life bore us to death if we did not pretend to be together instead of alone?
Am I really asking these questions or is someone asking me?
Soulless emotions, numb feelings, dumb words, soundless shrieks, screaming silence.
Why am I Silence?
My mind is speaking but my mouth stays shut.
My fingers might be running along the path of letters, forming words, forming sentences but my mouth stays shut.
My words are open for everyone to read but I never voice them.

The lightless tunnel, creation of my dark feelings, innuendo to my destination.
Walking the dark path I find myself standing in front of an unseen bend, presenting a choice, that is none.
The road to perdition is closed and the detour leads on the highway to hell. I will not turn. I am tainted, so why not take the highway, it’s not dark and at least one knows where it ends.