The Unknown Memory

As I finish the last words I confront this mental haze, this poetic fog, this chaotic mess.

I drift down this forest path. The cloudy windy day barely stirs my senses. This lostness that has consumed my mind blocks all rational thought and feeling.

The trees and decaying matter swell around me, threaten me like that of a memory. I feel the dark terror and understand it yet feel no raw danger.


I stop and stare at the ground and wonder if i should sit. Wonder what the purpose of this walk is. What is the meaning? What is the life?

I can feel it now...in this lostness. It pushes against my inside painfully. It feels like all i have left is my skin, my outsides. Within me all there is is this emptiness, that is so hard, so cold...
All of my intestines, my stomach, my heat and lungs no longer reside within my cavity but are a black roting liquid that trails behind me. Empty cold fingures grasp the inside of my throat and twist and clench my windpipe but again this pain feels only like a memory...a nightmare. It is hard and cold yet lacks the sharpness of reality.

I am empty,
I am hollow,
I am vacant,
...I am not alone...

The vision my blank eyes see flickers. The grasses and shrubs are no longer but piles of black flames making war on piles of ashes take their place. The trees that were swaying in the wind are decaying bodies moving vividly with anguish. Coals cling to their faces. Their mouths are gaping holes of hell, spraying their blood upon me. Their moaning screams rip my ears open. Their arms are outstreached to embrace the horror. Their soaked tendons exposed drip blood into the flames that happily leap up to consume them. Their eyes...their eyes suck color from me...inplace i only feel sorrow and hopelessness...

This is the pain that haunts me as a memory.

I no longer stand in the cloudy windy day but buckle my knees and lay in the meadow grass...but all i see is burning ash and coals.

The tears leave streaks of soot on my face and the heat of the fire blisters my skin. but again for some reason i only feel it as a memory.
...somehow...
...someway..
...my ashed body lives on without air or pulse. I am dead. Dead to my flames.
My own personal hell no longer waits for me.

I still bleed but only water...i have no blood anymore. I pour from my eternally open wounds. I cry from the memory. The memory that is reality for the burning corpses that i see on this cloudy windy day all while i silently lie on the forest floor. I live in a parallel sphere with them. I want to stop their pain, and shut their eyes to this demons masquerade.
I just want to touch them....to embrace their burning pain and let this water blind the terror and kill the horror.

So that we can walk together in this flickering vision, quenching the fire with our bleeding water, and opening the ashes to the cloudy sky and the windy day...

So that this water that flows in my damaged viens, and leaks out my many wounds complete this dead corpse and renew the inside. To keep this a memory, that only makes my passion to bleed water stronger....


...To embrace their pain...and strike down the flame...

"To keep me from becoming conceited, because of these surrpassing great revlations, there was given to me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." - 2 Cor. 12: 7-10