~
He wanted to witness something beautiful
from the inside
looking out
at the rest of creation.
He wanted to create a comparison
of this surrealism he had come to know
against the world his body exists within,
but his mind had long forgotten.
He wanted to feel the warmth
of his creation
licking his skin.
He wanted to make something
truly beautiful
which everyone may experience.
~
The smoke,
it still billows
thick
like black cotton pillows
as they rise
up into the air
and meld with
what was once a baby blue sky
slightly tickled by the sun.
A sun,
it appears,
is what this planet
had become.
The flames
tower
to the heavens.
And now
the sky is hidden
behind
a darkening tint of gray
turning black
as the ash of the Earth
falls back to its place in the world
where it was lifted from.
Replaced by itself,
the planet reconstructs,
but
as something completely different.
What was lush is now desolate,
and what was once alive
is now choking what is left
as all biology
is suffocated,
encased in an ashen shell.
~
He didn’t mean for it to go this far
but once you create something so pure
and wondrous;
the way the flames dance and sway
like a seductress
looking to rob you of your senses
by means of overloading each
with a lust for innocence;
it would be a vile crime against universal design
if it were to ever be kept contained.
He just wanted to connect
his consciousness
with the collective
by means of expression.
But rather than becoming
a part of their thought,
it seems he pulled them into his.
~
The smoke,
it still billows.
Then from the flames he emerges-
And
lingering behind his every step,
like a trailing worm, he leaves
a path of destruction.
Emanating from the center
that he has become,
an expanding wave of surrealism
envelops the world around him,
deconstructs creation,
and recreates it as his own,
of his own mind,
of his perception of his own image.
The very same place
he is afraid
to exist within.
Now there is no where left to hide.
~
It is hard to say
that he was never meant to exist.
Though he knew it as a fact,
it was hard for him
to understand
because he did exist.
He existed…
It felt wrong to him.
It felt off somehow.
As if he was somewhere
between this plain
and another that felt all-too-vague.
It is either too complicated or too simple
for the human imagination.
Maybe he was born at the wrong place,
or at the wrong time,
or in some other way
against design.
But he existed
here, now, and in this body
with this mind.
This had to be
because it is.
Maybe he is a tool of design
or the hand of nature
fulfilling his purpose in creation:
To undo it entirely.
Or maybe he is taking
complete advantage
of humanities free will
given to him by God at the beginning.
Either way,
what is
is.
Or was…
~
The smoke,
it still billows
thick
like black cotton pillows
as they rise
up into the air
and meld with
what was once a baby blue sky
slightly tickled by the sun.
As the ash rains down.
~
He just wanted to set the world on fire
as he lay within it.
And that is what he did.
He made us all a part of his sense of beauty
just before it swallowed him entirely.
And all that was left,
all the was left
was nothing.
~
