Further Down We Go

The most fucked up part about living in a world that folds in and out of others is watching the was, is, and should be cross.

Ghosts of the dead strolling in your front door, wondering what's for dinner.

Enemies, in their land, cuddle buddies with people I care about.

Friends throwing a blade within a hairsbreadth of my face for daring to visit.

Being expected to know where my footsteps fall.

What to do.

How to feel.

I'm a stranger in this land.

On the surface, it looks like my home.

My home's been gone for many a year.

And yet, I still smile. Keep going through the motions.

This was the best of all the world's I could have fallen into.

I can't help but hold onto old ties.

Old grudges.

Old loves.

How do you keep from going insane when the life you've lived is now a lie? A work of fiction or memory?

I lose track.

Grew afraid of writing the accords.

So afraid of being seen. Heard. Found.

Fuck it all.

I'm tired of watching people emotionally graverob everything we worked for.

Breaking down inside as the people I love ask what my name is. Disbelieving we ever had a life together.

It's the immortal's dilemma all over again, I just keep dying and coming back. Learning a new beat to move to, a new job to learn on the fly, memorizing lists of who to speak to and who to avoid.

Can't catch my breath in this new world.

Someone new to be every few months as I fall through the cracks.

I stopped trying to bring people with me across these jumps.

Some people just can't help but hold on

Others, can't figure out why they keep getting drawn to the stranger with a familiar smile.

Like magnets with polarized force, to and from.

Some blame me or accuse me of wothcraft for being who I am. Knowing what I do.

Oh, the record keeps ski-ii-iii-iii-pp-ppp-ppp-iiiiing.

Tired of keeping these memories in my head to prevent them from affecting the world.

These world's, these lands, pressing down on me through my memories.

Somewhere, somehow I have to write.

Fragments of the stories that'll never fully get told.

Here, they'll come to die.

In and out, weaving through time.

It's the only discourse I have left in this mad world we walk.

Further down the rabbit hole, we go.

Take a deep breath and jump with me now.

It's time.

Be wary, though, this route be long and dangerous.

Behold all you see with a grain of salt.

And keep your heads about you. Literally.

I hear there's royalty here that likes removing them.