Stumbling

I heave myself towards to door, bleeding. The divine parents, I have murdered them with scepticism. Father God. Mother Nature. Everywhere, I see the twisted masks around me, I hear their muffled voices. Honesty? To ask that is to ask the world, nothing of that kind remains here. The only thing close is 'I don't know', and only if the speaker believes it... they never do. As for me, I won't be fooled. My mother took my right eye, my father my left. I'm bleeding from the sockets, stumbling and afraid. I've always known this was my fate, to live in darkness, but honestly afraid.

Let us cease with metaphors, although it limits my honesty. Everything in me pulls me in different directions. All of my instincts, drives, spirits with wills - they force me to act. They provide me the impetus for movement, and the illusion of freedom. After all, if it is I who acts on my desires, aren't I free? No, it is my desires which act, I cannot control them. The only freedom I have is to appeal to higher instincts; beg them to take control; feed them and grow them. I do not possess my desires, they possess me. And yet, all my actions reek of inaction, and I never finish the journeys I begin. Those journeys transform under the weight of my desires, and become self-endulgement. I then either cease, or surrender to myself, and I still wish to resist my own decadence. I will fight, and seek counsel from my deepest self, but nothing hurts more than giving up ease for honesty - it's losing my eyes, and having no one to trust. Now I feel my way through things, and I trust neither my eyes nor my parents, because I know that everything lies.