I dedicate this to Anastasia from Sex, Life and Frilly Bits, a dear friend and one of the first people I met since starting this blog in February, 2007. She really made my day. She hails from Australia – her writing is fearless, powerful and brilliant. You should read her work, she is simply one of the best. Thanks Ana! Though this piece is extremely disturbing, it was inspired by something we talked about several months ago. Check out her CSI idea for the popular TV series – I love it!
I read a fantastic article from Catatonic Kid entitled The Secret Garden. The final lines describe how madness and melancholy have their seasons. It’s so absolutely true. Here, I describe a deeply personal season of my own:
There remain only memories, of who I used to be. All that remains is a shell. A dehydrated husk; cracked, dried and discarded. Forgotten. On a wisp of wind, I vaguely tasted the scent of who I used to be; a man full of hope and dreams. I became lost. Millions of faces everywhere I look, yet I feel dead. I feel alone. The remnants of self identity – once my only companion – is dead. Nothing remains but the fragrance of smoke – the forgotten embers of a singular life, lost in my crypt of eternal dread.
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