I am the BassBastard
I wake every morning and face your ghost
A reminder each day what is gone
Another memory not lost, but archived away
To be experienced once more, redrawn
The echos in the calm from within, stir without
Evoking near choked back tears in the solitude
Another year is looming, a trip around Sol
Your memory rises with verisimilitude.
But what can I believe
And what did I create
Hoping that reality was a lie
Still no tears, despite the sorrow
A decade or more of denial
I still never told you goodbye.
Rolling in
washing over
inevitable force flowing into every conscious moment.
finding who I am
destroying who I was supposed to be
The child died
stillborn into a world without wonder
understanding pain
rage
hate
there has to be something better
the riptide says no
pulling down
pulling away
filling lungs
the black water becomes the void
filling every moment
cleansing through rage
filling every moment
pieces of me
washing through the wake
hoping for a shoreline
glancing shimmering visions of a reflected moon
full on the surface of the deep
calling me up
through the turbulence
Following the light
Luna crossing the sky in time
Ticking away with the crashing waves
calling me back to shore
The jealous water holds me
her embrace familiar
whispering trickles of fear into my soul
that she has always let me catch breath
that she just wants to hold me
Fingers in the saturated sand
pulling into the frigid air
the sharp pain of wind biting
the caress of the deep still on my legs
reminding me that she kept the cold at bay
that feeling is pain
she can hold me
Fist fulls of primordial soil
every agonizing moment dragging me to the high tide line
baked in the cold glow of the moon
who called me
the skin falling away with every inch
exposing raw, enervated flesh to the ravages of the stones
the sand
the hungry gale
She roars at me from the depths
rising up, carried too by the moon’s pull
following the same thread
lapping at the naked flesh of my legs
trying to hold
slipping back into her death bed
her depth bed
The wind dies
the roar fades
and she whispers a song of loss
I lie on my back
eyes to the blinding moon
bathed in the luminescence
feelings, sounds, vibrance no longer mute
no longer held
no longer Held
Most monsters are not active. They just… “are”. It is their potential that terrifies. Sitting, invisibly, out there in the dark. Allowing you to convince yourself that you are safe where you sit.
They do not have to do anything, really. Just exist. Quietly living their lives. Usually, they are oblivious to your fear as they matter far more than you do. You have placed them in that position of status. You are meaningless to their existence.
Until you decide to do something about them. Then you are reminded why you did not stray into their bailiwick. So you, unable to tolerate their quiet existence, prepare yourself. You learn to tolerate venturing into the darkness. Build your strength. Your resources. Accept the pressure and the shift in thinking.
You try to become the hunter of hunters.
But as you train, and modify the neural pathways to accept the reality of what you want to do, you begin to have an understanding. An “endarkenment”. The frightening shadows that once repelled you, now call to you. A cool, embracing comfort. The dark feels more home than the safety of the fire. That warm ring of light you have clung to for so long leaves you feeling naked, and exposed. Like ice on an exposed nerve in a broken tooth.
So you retreat more often into the cool, dark, but alive nights. You begin to witness the savage beauty that surrounds you. The visceral reality of the rest of the world. And the truth begins to dawn on you. You are no longer interested in monsters. You need to expand what you know about this broader, more vibrant world.
As you walk away, you hear the whispers of those still imprisoned by that blinding, searing ring. They no longer comfort you. They are almost silent, against the call to hunt. Fading quietly into distant memories. Because, now, you can truly begin to live.
You’re all so fragile
so broken
fractured beneath the skin
Facade of virtue
of kindness
Cover the hate within
Projecting weakness
your flawed core
Become what you despise.
You are the coward
weak minded
Lost in your fucking lies
Loathing your disease
vapid snow TV’s
low roar static ease
master you displease
Eyes devoid of thought
so empty
Moral bank drained again
Stare into white noise
void embraced
Tali Hebitudine
Rotting potential
so fetid
devoted to garbage
You got yours ’till death
cult of doom
pray that it all will end
Mythos spreads disease
keyboard vector fleas
suck
Mort humanities