The Worship Of Idols


The Worship Of Idols 

And as the moon rises your eyes become elated in the verses of others. You scour the pages before you, in addiction to escape your tedious life. Finding pills of dopamine behind each moment spent idolizing the breath of others. Knowing every detail of the wealthy, the famous, and degenerates of reality.

Combing their bodies with your thoughts. Wishing to mimic their demeanor, their exact presence, only to find no solace behind close eyes. And as you drift to the deepness of deceitful fantasies, you swallow the lies you tell yourself. Bleeding the selfish blame of what surrounds you. Calling out for an answer as you question with a frothing mouth of pity,

"Why does this immense burden of haze snuff the flames of my once blazing soul? Why am I forsaken, but they are dealt in Abundance? "

Be ware, for the whole story is never told.

You hold no gratitude for the breath that fills your lungs. You walk with no humble opinions, you scrap your tongue against the roughness of your mouth. Wondering why they walk happily upon pages, but you fall to the desolation of your heart. You give others perfection, but dare to give yourself even a morsel of affection.

You breathe their stories, their images, their relationships, infatuated are your lips. Praising their words, their thoughts, but you create none of your own. You walk in a sorrow filled path, slitting wrists of the past, bathing in the blood of what has forsaken you, and that which has left you. It is but your own existence, that has forsaken you, is but you, that has left you.

You have buried your own chest in a pile of riddled lies. You look to the mirror upon seeing others smile. Plastering your flesh with inconsistent lies, tossing truth to a prison of shanks. Leaving it to bleed, to cry out. And watching a crime with no call to action, you might as well be the criminal.

You have built a worship around things that don't even know your name. Around people that would never hold you in your time of need. Around people you have never met and yet you scream. You plead why you feel so castrated from the world. Why you limp with misery at foot.

You have left what you once were and sold it to the devil of temptations. You have led a life of endless escapes. Never facing the demons before you, possessed in the falsehood of society, yet, you are society.

Guilty you must plea, to the actions you have endured. The suffering you have fed and the hell you have built. And in the shadows you must go, you must lacerate the voices that speak with cavernous tones. You must pierce that veil, the perception that you are of nothing.

For those you know line for line, know nothing of you, care nothing of you. Drop the worship of idols, and come back to you.
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What is your favorite part of this story?
Thank you for reading, if you wish for more, A Man's Traveled Heart

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