Dreams of oblivion darkened my sleep.
They were like palliatives for my searing pain,
numbing my heart and soothing—
If only for a moment—
My spasms of fear.
My disappointments had become like cobwebs woven inside my heart,
darkening every joy, even the smallest.
Ultimately, I had not chosen my fate,
and I groped in the dark uncertainty,
trying to understand where I was and who I was.
The disdain and aloofness that oozed from the faces of mortals who had crossed my miserable existence
had transformed me into a silent, sombre shadow
whose image did not appear in any mirror.
In my dreams of oblivion and madness, mediocre monsters that sought to tear me apart
appeared menacingly in the realm I tried to protect and keep as mine.
Their intrusion was truly an act of violence.
Their intent to destroy me was the source of my fears.
Ancient dusty clocks tolled the time, which always seemed the same.
The dust of decay and sorrow fell upon me like a heavy rain,
covering me completely and turning me into an invisible shell.
Watchful and evanescent veils covered me, so as not to show me the harsh reality whose injustice and squalor could have tainted the integrity of my heart. And my attempt to awaken from that stupor mixed with despair was in vain.
I was about to become oblivion.
I was about to become my dreams.
I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
almost invisible and nonexistent,
that no mortal of the common reality
could have seen with their limited gaze
shrouded in prejudice.
I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
almost invisible and nonexistent,
that no mortal of the common reality
could have seen with their limited gaze
shrouded in prejudice.
Perhaps I myself was an illusion,
perhaps I had become a utopia or a chimaera.
The devastating pain had transformed me
and erased every trace of my mortality.
Lisa
