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by Skylar Joel Harris about a year ago in fiction
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4/11/2021 - An Entry Written to bury the grief from a betrayed friendship.


Tis a parasitic thing, not a thing of beauty. To feed on others to live, living then means taking from others. Burying what life you knew prior, always running from life to live. Always anew but never fresh, just mantled from the rotten leftovers of the begotten times lingered for forgotten losses. Stirred and stored eternal, meals which the anti-infinity, the black sea of awareness, gobbles by the globules.

In the end, undead is the denial of nature's summons. Immortality is torture; unless you garden life well. Few stories are told so, because few entities who live know to be conscious and forgiving, respectful and understanding. Those who are, be often walked upon, over and thru by the hooves of undead. Trampled by the many, hungry, vestiges greedy to remain lost in the forlorn and empty.

What's on my mind?

Is the final nail of this coffin, it's not for me. It is but a home and vessel for all the broken bonds and memories I no longer house.

Begone yee!!!

May the vikings lullaby send thee upon the crashing waves into stone, ground beyond the grip of time. Pulverized until renewed again. Energy, returned to be remade.

May the cosmos be our guide, and I'll swing between it's stars as the sky. Open and welcoming to those who would plant at life's garden.

Away from the beasts who slave on the hunger and loss of others weaknesses.

May time mend what has been broken, by allowing space for a future where trust is common and loyalty to connection is compassion.

Forgiveness heals wounds made unto self.

Acceptance heals the lies we told ourselves when we gave too much away to the undead. Acceptance, helps us not take the leap to join the ranks of undead... We hope.

The plague is ever thinking you're smarter or better than. It is the inverse of healing, it deteriorates our knowing, and unshackles the bonds that once set us free, and those open shackles then link to misery... Locked to senseless desire and reckless debauchery.

Flip through it's index, see too it never ends.

So to the garden of life.

Alas, consciousness is deliberate, not delivered. Tis choice that beckons thee reconciliation.

I choose to evolve, to sew life unto life.

This is the last time I lay in the cemetery and kiss it's grave flower. It is not a garden, nor is it a place to rise... It is a place of rest.

And may all my chaotic hurt tidings be in company among those who rest in peace.

The future is ahead.

Let the morning sun of the golden hour grace your pace and breathe the new day.

Listen when I say, to never let the cold, the dark, and the hungry in, unless you are prepared to die and become them. Tis becomes a journey to heal from welcoming in anothers unrest, leads one to be leaden and morose. Till the day you rue their true colors: Melancholy till met in earnest of ones sincere values.

Be careful out there...

Home is where the heart is, best keep it safe. Lest something hungry name itself your friend, to tangle among your lifeline until you are no longer needed. Tossed away like trash, left asunder. Vandalized and shaken.

Protect yourself, by learning the meaning of truth and honest love and connection. This is where trust can lead us to evolve and grow together...

Until then...


Sleep tight.

And please... make sure...

Don't let those bed bugs bite.


About the author

Skylar Joel Harris

Author, Musician, Vocalist, Voice Actor, World Builder: Seeking the dream team make all the creative work come to life! I've built an entire Universe of stories from my dreams to make; Graphic Novels, Scores, Movies, Series, & Video Games.

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