The Second Act

2014-02-14 01:05

Misguided:
sometimes
good intentions
don't make
good results

Reaching out a hand
to feed someone in need
can end up being
the first step
for them to stop breathing

I'm stumbling through a deep crimson fog
contemplating my myriad mistakes,
while mud and insects soil my feet;
maybe there's no escape
from the labyrinthine web I'm caught in;

from this beautiful artwork
of charred threads of fate
woven into a kaleidoscope
of haunting memories repeated,
too strongly for even Atropos to cut

As I'm getting more and more entangled
in this surreal landscape taken from nightmares
with the screams of my conscience echoing louder,
the scarlet mist that has drawn a veil over
the light at the end of my tunnel, thickens

My breathing gets harder and harder to control,
the war drums in my chest raise their pace,
and my feet move as if
the word 'godspeed' was written on them,
but there is no escape --

Even trying to run faster,
raising my pulse, drawing heavier breaths,
in this world of mirrors filled with my self-deceit
only serves to strengthen the red fog's pushes,
and shrink the corridors of my labyrinth's veins

There is no escape
there's no use lying to myself;
I have to fully accept responsibility:
realize how I can't abandon my past mistakes,
like how the snake leaves his shed skin behind

If my life was a novel
written in the conventional
the three act structure
then I'd say that I'm reaching
the end of the second act.