Dark Ramblings. . . nothing more... nothing less.

The inky black void where one can find safety from those who stare. It is in that dark place I find myself wrapped in. may it is by choice, maybe it is not. It does not matter to me anymore than it did all those years ago. I will not shine like a star in the sky. My glow is but a dim one on the surface of the sun. When it finally fades, few will cry for me. . . few. It is what it is. . .

I live my life in the shadow of a man who does not care for me. I live my life in the shadow of a woman who lives a lie, a façade of a belief in a son that sees only shade. I live in the shadow of a mountain that threatens to topple down on me. Sometimes I can feel it consuming me from the inside. Every day, a piece of myself slips away. There are no tears any longer and I can not remember the last time I had a good hard laugh. If I still had the Triad in my life, would that mean that I would still have an identity? My father is a dark stain in my life that has surrounding himself in a world of smoke and intangible facts. . . if that is what they are. My Mother… a shadow in my mind, devoid of love, caring, compassion, identity, hate, anger. . . . Although I know her face, she does not even carry a physical presence. And then there is him . . . Her? I wonder if the youngling would have had my blue eyes. Sometimes, in my sleep, I see those eyes staring back at me like cold steel, unblinking. I wonder what it is like to taste death before you ever take your first breath of life. Am I loosing my humanity? Am I loosing what was once known as Matthew? It is what it is. . .

It’s a hard question for me to ask because I don’t know. I only see the daily routine in my life that repeats itself in an ever constant circle. It never stops and never changes. The dreams that I had once had are nothing more than a distant memory, fading like the setting sun. I am afraid that one day they will not even be that. Sometimes I grab a hold of new dreams but they seem to fade into reality with every rise of the moon. It seems that it would be easier to just smile and wave goodbye to what I would like to happen in my life, rather than give myself false hope. Hope. I had once hoped my life would be a bright one. But reality has set it. It is what it is.

Writing this, I realize that I am not feeling any sense of fear, or dread, or worry. It’s more like a feeling of understanding, a sense of knowing, wrapped around a sensation of apprehension. It is what it is, I guess. I wonder what that makes me. Am I broken? I am not a hero. I have done no heroic deeds. I am no rogue. I have committed no crimes even if I am far from innocent. My innocence is buried in my past with an identity that I knew then was not me. I don’t even know why I write this. Perhaps I want someone to understand. But how? I don’t even understand myself. I don’t understand anything. I don’t understand the path I am walking. I only take one step after another. . . why? Because I must. I can’t go back and as the rule of time, I can only step forward. There is no going back, there is no stopping. It is what it is.

I once saw the world in a light that I imagined I understood. It was different that what all those around me saw. But now I wonder if I even truly saw anything. Am I just as blind as everyone else? It seems so. Like everyone else, it seems that the days pass by like a blur and we are all just waiting for something to happen. Try as I might but I can’t seem to change it. I don’t see a change coming. Its all the same but still its as if something else was guiding my steps, forcing me to walk a path that I don’t know nor dare know. Just like all those around me. I can’t see where I am going; I only know where I have been. I look back and see the trail of broken glass and torn lines that follow in my wake. I see through my life that dark shadow that I lived my life in. Through the destruction that is my upbringing, I see what is and thank a dead man in the see for what it should have been. I don’t know what my life would have been but I know what should have been. No shadows. No lies. No fabrications. No cold steel blue eyes staring at me from the darkness of my dreams. There should have been a foundation to build a castle that I may hide in. Not a dark shadow below mountain made up of a foolish man, an intangible mother and a . . . mirror . . . with those cold steel blue eyes. I really do wonder if they would have been my eyes.

It is what it is. There is no changing that. This is my life as it is and was and could be. But never what it should be. Perhaps my seed will grow into something that I will one day look back and see what that it is what it is . . . and . . . it is good.