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Even grand designers have regrets

By Anna TorresPublished about a year ago Updated 6 months ago 1 min read
Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

We emerge as sufferers from the neglected womb. A state of emergency will be declared soon. We discover new ways to main and torture. I have called upon you to join me and suffer. A crime of despair and audible hate. They rather destroy themselves than face their fates. There’s never any room for compassion and love. There are no answers, there’s none of the above. I press the trigger and let them die. It’s better than believing they’ll make it out alive. The silent journey doesn’t exist anymore. There is no gate but there is a door. Your heroes have all but abandoned you. There are only monsters here, they are right next to you. I can’t tell if my motives are correct. If we can’t have here and now, we have nothing left. A future deprived of all certainty. A shadow hovers over all of my past misdeeds. I feel no shame for what I’ve done. I feel no guilt over what I’ve become. A haven that became an inferno. This is how you lose your sanity, you escape down below. Don’t ask me to die for you. My lips plastered in a silent scream, regretting all of you. In this garden, there are no rules. Just eat the apples, you damn fool! A snake will spew venom directly into your ear. I am the only one that still cares for you out here. An absent father mean for fiction and lullabies. I am your redeemer, you owe me your lives. Give up your dreams and worthiness. There is only dismissal in this horrible mess. Lay down your weapons and follow me. It's going to take a millenia to undo what set you free. I seek a new utopia, reborn and retired. Come with me, we will be one with the fire. There are no cures here, only lies. If it isn't perfect, it isn't paradise

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Anna Torres

I’m a 37-year old wife and mother. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have bipolar depression and have begun writing again since 2019

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