I got the urge to write oneself — of insecurities and subconscious yearnings I have tamed within. A ghoul called ghosts lurking, daunted by its solemn silence. Masking myself with different roles I have painted myself.
However, life strikes a reminder of who I was — a lost hallow soul. I have been haunted to make myself unknown, concealing yet existing. Constantly reverting to a demon I was before. But why must I hide all that I feel, all that I am? I chose to stitch my eyes up with a thin piece of cynical string and a metal needle. Threading the idea of light and dark in each vessel. Of up and down ideas, fluctuating, longing, and sinking.
But I am a wanderer, and my conquest is to carve my own destiny. My confessed sins and redeemed oneself hammered the path. Yeah, I am a lost hallow soul. You will see me not as flesh and bones, but as a series of frequencies. Today is not the day. Maybe tomorrow isn’t. Here I emerge, resilient as ever. I am ethereal. I will spawn my being.
