Tag: broken mind

Static Metamorphosis
by Esther Elizabeth Racah

Static metamorphosis bloomed in a night of apathy,
Lugubrious thoughts knocked on the door of the imagination,
In nightmares and dreams, the sound of anguish tasted bitter like poison,
Death always waited, a loyal follower of those who dared to wander the infinite darkness.

Absurdities became the fabric of an invisible realm,
Where logic faltered and crumbled into dust,
A forgotten world on the edge of existence,
Drowning beneath waves of incoherence.

Shadows twisted and intertwined,
Carved hollow paths through the abyss,
Led to nowhere, yet everywhere at once,
As if time itself had untangled,
A delicate thread snapped in the winds of fate.

Familiar faces faded into the void,
Distorted echoes of what they once were,
Now mere spectres, hollow shells,
Lost in the labyrinth of a broken mind.

In that eerie stillness,
The heart of despair beat softly,
Rhythms of sorrow pulsed through the veins,
A macabre dance with unseen forces,
Invisible hands pulled strings in the puppet show of life.

Static metamorphosis spread like a silent plague,
Consuming every thought, every flicker of hope,
Turning moments into fragments,
Scattered like ashes in a windless sky.

Each breath felt heavy, burdened with the weight of inevitability,
As moments slipped like sand through outstretched fingers,
Fleeting, intangible, impossible to grasp.

The walls of the mind closed in,
A prison built from fragments of shattered hopes,
Each brick was a memory,
Each corner was darkened by fear.

Amidst the decay,
A trace of something hollow remained,
A distant light, dim and fading,
Barely there but clinging,
A futile thread in a world resigned to despair.

Static metamorphosis claimed the dreams,
Wrapped it in layers of uncertainty and doubt,
Tore at the edges of reality,
Transforming it into a place of neither light nor shadow,
Suspended in the void of oblivion.

The dreams grappled with this silent force,
Torn between the pull of oblivion and the glimpse of survival,
Clawed at the fabric of its own existence,
Strained to break free from the suffocating stillness.

But the metamorphosis had already taken root,
A relentless transformation within,
One that neither light nor dark could fully claim,
A state of perpetual becoming,
Suspended between the realms of being and nothingness.

In the end,
As the final veil of darkness descended,
The metamorphosis remained incomplete,
An eternal process frozen in time,
A silent monument to the fragile nature of existence.

Static metamorphosis lingered eternally,
Gloomy clouds in the labyrinth of expectations,
A reminder that once change begins,
It could never indeed be undone.