Under The Knife
April 2, 2011
Under The Knife
Under the knife. The irony. To feel the other side of the blade, slicing and piercing its way through the layers of complexity is inescapable. It confounds me that I am moved by something Iâve become so familiar with. My nerves reckoned that. It is too easy to foresee all those lying on the cold plank, but rather troublesome when it is someone as reflective as myself. Will I travel a long journey through the silence and darkness as a micro beam licks the smoke against my flesh? Or will the voyage stay short and bleak, to waken me in a trance to harbor the pain within? It is the transparency that of the fact that one must face to assure that the idea of the mind is coherent to now just the strength of the soul, but also the will of the heart. It is in this peace of mind, the seldom regrets, and the need to process that hovers near me during these few hours.
Fear. It can be ignored. Victory. It is not an option, but a resolution. Solace. Verse between the pitiless and the pitiful. Slowly, I can hear the ticking of every hand, as I must come to my own peace with the circumstances. It is in this place, where I will find the courage and the patience to proceed. My world believes that in such a time, neglect is not possible, but the reality of loneliness is the truth of pain. There is no escape, there is no relief, there is no demeanor, nor questions "answered"
~Pasadena, California
