Hallways

I walk down the dusty hallways and tattered corridors of my mind, not so hallowed now as they were in the past. Broken mirrors line the walls, reflections of a time when I was whole, now cracked hideous at my feet. I wander, lost in memories that are now shown more in truth, broken and distorted, then when they were whole and new. The reflection of every cruel word, every uncaring thought or action that fell from my lips is thrown back at me in a thousand frozen voices. I drop to my knees, trying to block the amplified thoughtlessness of a lifetime spent in unheeding selfish abandon. I pick up the broken pieces and try to make them whole, the hearts blood of emotion falling from my hands to mingle with the shards in a snowflake tracery of pain.

And down the passageways of time roars the despair of eternity, ready to leave me an icebound parody of what I could have been.

I try harder to rearrange the pieces of my life in any order, any way so long as one part of me is seemingly whole. I kneel amongst the wreckage of my life, and cry for the person I never was. But all endings are beginnings, as all life begins with a death of sorts. The question remains, taunting me. If I die here in the crumbling facade of my mind, will I become pheonix, rising from the ashes of my soul? I am afraid and in indecision. Night falls as I fell so long ago, and the choice is made for me. Divine redemption is an illusion of the brainwashed masses, for the only true forgiveness is internal. I close my eyes and wait for the possible dawn of reality. I am not whole, but I am a beginning. That is good enough.




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