eschatology; doctrines
Jun 5, 2015 0:20:05 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2015 0:20:05 GMT -5
W Y A T T O ' C O N N O R
Stuck within day three among the towering buildings and reflective floors and it feels that one hour has blurred into seventy-two, and yet not a single one could be held with any point of fucking significance, an exact replica of the last eighteen years.
Eighteen years and I was stuck on page eleven of how to fix my problem—I guess ripping the book cover-to-cover desecrated any chances I had of resolving it.
An urge to isolate themselves had been listed on page nine— a living body of symptoms I was the catch twenty-two of them all, page number references sketched across my body like a roadmap to destination x.
I was stuck in this world of grey, unable to differentiate from black and white.
I had seemed to stumble around the training center for seventy-two hours and seventy-three was turning out to be no different, two hundred and forty seconds and I’d be riding the back of seventy-four like I was destined to make a change in the timeline. Peering over shoulders and uninterested responses had gotten me this far, spiraling into hour seventy-four like my mother’s voice had spiraled into my own (“Wyatt you areiamyouareiamyouareiam depressed.”)
Hidden like the sky through tree canopy I cannot differentiate one syllable from the next—aimless steps one hundred and twenty seconds from the next hour and I see no change to the pattern other than the boy whittling away at the trunk of a tree made from no kind of bark I’d ever seen in my six seconds of hour seventy-three spent at a plants station.
Standing under his shadow I’m lost in the glare of the ax, thirty seconds from hour seventy-four and I haven’t spoken to a single soul, for I had been lost between the boundaries of not knowing and not caring.
I think to lean—think again and I’m ten seconds from hour seventy-four, wasting away with the passing seconds and my words fail me save the stupidity in it all—it’s the simplistic “I tried to be a lumberjack once, but I couldn’t cut it.”
Hour seventy-four and I have the audacity to think the path’s going to change.