My self self destruction is my form of healing.
In one life there so many rebirths that blossom within just one.
I’ve been so many people whom tell stories to me throughout my mind. Slides of memories and feelings of these different people play when my world sits still. It becomes habit to burry these souls of the past but listening to their purposes breathe air into the person I am becoming.
Looking through the eyes of these people of the past there is one thing within that remains persistent and familiar. The seed of loneliness, hopeless, and desperation. The seed grows all throughout me and eats away my insides. While i whither away I soon begin to blossom into a new life enriched from the lessons of the past. Death gives birth to another. In first bloom the seed that’s embedded within lays still but remains to give growth to what is new. A muted grey that slumbers beneath the vibrance of a reconstructed surface encourages the will to persist. Soon what has once been seen as resurrection will gradually wither away and sink deep into the ground it had stood upon. As it’s bloom is ravaged by its initial poisoned veins the soil for new life becomes gradually immune to the pestilence embedded within it. Wilting into nothing through agony and fear strengthens the foundation for the new. Sprouting back up from the ground flourishes a mind that burns brighter than the one before. Ones self demise metamorphosis into recovery, making destruction a form of reconstruction. The circle of life occurs throughout the individual of myself.
