Gone


“Is Not Easy Being Me”

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Our relationship was intercepted before the essence of these words had time to reach its final destination. A malicious “gag order” phenomenon was planted near the vicinity surrounding external activities. Absolute power corrupts absolutely before the entertainment zombies have gathered to feast on his soul of sorrows.

“Frank Underwood makes being a presidential narcissistic driven

psychopath so much fun on the teli.”

–House Of Cards

The things I uttered to her while we danced, dined, kissed passionately drenched in pedestrian traffic without a care in this world came via the ether from within. The circumference surrounding  neuronal activity in the brain have become the only memory there is to fill. These emotional weapons of mass destruction are a safety mechanism acting as the arena for action. “I did, I really try to make this work, even with the distance and my work schedule. But it was your constant pressure and negative reactions that really pushed me away, specially in the time that I needed you to be more understanding.” There could never be a moment between us again not for reconciliation of the heart but rather to heal a scar created by the void between her distance and abstract emotions created by a wounded heart.

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Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse but to weight and consider.

“She made the right decision”


” Your under investigation”


” I do what am told, and they placed a gag order on me”


“Be careful what you say and who you say it to”


“It’s not something that is forced, it’s something that grows freely. I liked you, however the pressure you put on me did not allow it to grow into love. It takes time, and it didn’t get there for me. Again you can’t pressure it or force it to be.”


These random echoes are things I hear and see as the metaphoric back door chatter plots behind me while I run for her in a halo of silence. The essence of her presence has disappeared due to certain metal road blocks in conjunction with hidden agendas. I ran towards you  with intentions to fortified this thing we began to grow together. I simply wanted you to see the real person, behind the polarized double sided mirror we shared due to arranged circumstances in life. I am destined to write the ghost of Virginia Wolf, Sylvia Plath and Hunter Thomson with every tragic pin, a brand new neuron begins to fall in love with you all over again. Love is information traveling at the speed of light via neuronal  connectors in the brain. While these chemical compounds are abstract in nature to the naked eye the emotional trail they leave behind can be recorded in real time. No one ever sees a tornado, only the devastation it leaves behind.  When the reader thinks these candid words are “dramatic in nature” they might seem so to a malicious observer. These are the tragic circumstances in my life which are being recorded one neuron at a time.

Next Steps

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“I am not perfect up there. But I know what Love is”

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Categories: Art Journal Magazine, Culture, Editorial Rebuttals, Essay-Fiction, GonzoTags: , ,

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