Oh no no no. You never thought it could happen again, right? Drink as much chamomile as you could. Try banishing it. Whatever you do is not going to help. You didn't hear that did you? It's over. You can't stop it this time. Okay? Just accept it. I know it may sound strange to you, but that's what you need to do, I think. Accept it, and move on, okay?
That does not mean you should stop dreaming, waiting, wanting, hoping something would happen to deliver you from bondage, but you must be realistic, be true to yourself, know your limits, and realize that something would have to give, sometime, in you, to free you, for real, from you. You want to be free, and you will be free, okay?
But it's all in your hands. You have what it takes to be free again, just so you know, as you wish you were. So, what's stopping you now, but you, the trap, the fear, the onus you fail to bear, for what you ask yourself, the answers you get you breed, to soothe your aching soul and put you to sleep at night. But all to no avail. You are back in the trap as soon as the cock crows to wail again another day.
So, why don't you wake up, really, wake up. Its dawn again, a new and different one just for you, to make the best of what is left in a sojourn that seems never going to end. So now you pause. Tired? Don't know what more to say? Common now, wake up. Can't you see your time is now, to make your life your way again.
It's so dark I know you say. Yes, dark it is, but there will be a brighter day. Gloom comes and goes, but your life stays yours for all time, to mould how you like, to enjoy if you care, not to let others choose another way, shame and pain, to make their day, your day, may be even your life, to moan and groan forever in pain.
That's the way it is you know. It's a potpourri for game, to choose and savour to gain, which blend you mix owes to you in you, the wish to live or die, with time your pace, who cares fast or slow, really, who cares, you say, so which way you go you really don't care, so long as you let it be you ask for your tired soul, by whoever cares, really, who? You.
To be sure, you have little blame to take you say to ask, even as you labour in vain to clear your name, to put on someone else the shame you feel to so languish in pain. Yes, it was not you since you did not choose to be born into pain. Yet, you know inside you not to thrive no more in shame, to lift your head above the fray into which your soul so often sinks lifting you for no fault you say its own.
So, do it. Get up. Wake up. Rise above pain, render yourself anew to the forces that tend to drag you around like a rag, worn by harangue dealt by fate, nurtured by you, and be one who now knows the way, who wants to be free again, to live, to love, and to die when the time comes with your head held high, your shoulders squared, your soul emblazoned in gold, ready to go, to fly away to where you wish, in unity with kindred souls.
Well then, it's my childhood depression predicting itself, or the anxiety I had after all the blows I hid from home cross-predicting it, after all I was not a defiant or bad kid, you insist. Good for you to have something to shed your tears over, but don't you think you need help, from yourself, the strength dormant in you crying for expression, for manifest the gridiron that you are, and that you miss is the puppeteer of your life, on which you could work its theatre for you and no one else for light to shine in others from you the love that glows within?
I wish it was that simple, you say. Okay, may be not, the nothingness that fills you with pain emerges in the rootlessness you know you will forever bear. Fine. May be its time to be defiant, to shake off the yoke of abysmal dread, to wallop the zeitgeist, to say your long-suffering soul is able and is now ready to rebel, to be free. Really, you can do it, be free again, for ever, unchained.
Give me another chance my soul I pray, alright its heard, your prayer the cherubim sings in you since long ago, and waits for you to act, to change its fate, the faith in you it knows is what you have to gain, to lose another day crying again. Use it. Let it flow from its tender bosom to soothe your soul and make you whole again.
You concede you are not here to wither away for want of nothing as your soul fades from its roots that seem so far away. But did you think that is all there is to it? Wake up my friend from your ennui. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do something to change your life for what you think is why you should, you, just you.
Okay, it is clear you need to do something for yourself for a change. Right? So do it. Now. You know you will never delight in you to spite you, even as you really do so, not being friends to you, being which does not mean you will still not be same to others, as you always are even as you spite yourself, really oblivious to not being what you really want to be for others, in effect not being a being, as you wouldn't incrementally as you continue to spite yourself.
Do it. Okay? Do it for you, so you can be who you really want to be, who you really are. Be filled with love for others but if you so forget yourself, you may be unwittingly going to lack, well, lack, really, everything, you, and will not be there even for those you so much love, to share their pain, let alone wish away what else the prevailing forces conspire you say to thrust on you all each day. I heard you, and will work with you, being you, to be you, just me. Together, we can make it, and for sure we will.
A gentle breeze caresses the room, the classical music that oozes from its every corner kind to the ears. The ambient pretentious serenity belies the veneer that cloaks the jejune masquerade that tends to cloud my mind into resignation just locked in the maze my vacant stare launched into its orbit in an eternal charade that now heralds its demise. I am indeed back from my reverie, sure where I head
