The face of the world is a beauty to behold,
Yet its personality is vile.
I seek inner peace to escape her cruelty.
A surge of glee tickles my blood as I
Remove my eyes from their sockets.
I devour them and let them travel through
The dark tunnel that is populated by oxygen.
It’s a gateway to inner peace,
One that I am familiar with,
One that is not infected by the poison that is the world.
The darkness will come.
The World is a painting I exist in,
Yet I don’t even know its Creator.
It’s a work of Art that is never permanent,
Amending itself with escalating beauty and chaos.
I stand in an open field to view
The evolving beauty. It’s like
The colors bleed into each other
To create an entirely new painting to awe.
The colors of the World begin to melt.
The paint falls to the surface I stand upon
Like rain that cleanses the World
From all its chaos.
The surface is flooding with this concoction.
The pool’s volume continues to grow until my feet are lifted
And I’m swimming in the paint.
The World is looking white
As if the Creator is beginning a new project.
The paint continues to melt until I’m treading
In the pool of beauty and chaos.
This is not the end of the World;
The Artist wants us to truly engage with the Art.
I look upon the ghostly white environment,
And then slowly fall until my head is submerged in the paint.
I’m not fading into the darkness,
I am drowning in Art.
The pool of beauty and chaos drowns me,
Dying in Art and not a World of nothing.
I’m haunted by the elegiac darkness of this world.
There are no visible boundaries of this black room I exist in.
No light, no color, almost as if the world itself is blind.
How am I to restore light in such a dark place
That even I am unable to see through?
I cannot see, I can smell, taste, hear, and touch
The darkness circulating throughout the realm.
A light has made its presence known as a glow
Emits from the depths within my body.
This white shine only glows within my body
And still leaves the rest of the world saturated in black paint.
My heart and every other vital organ are exposed.
A myriad of colors are flowing through my veins.
These are the only colors left that exist.
The world needs to be painted again so
I’m going to bring it back to life.
With a razor, I cut through my skin and watched
The colors seep through my body into the darkness.
A pool of multicolored paint lays in front of me at my disposal.
With a paintbrush, I use the colors within my body
And give a hue to everything that was once alive.
I’m losing consciousness and I will soon be dead
But the world will never again dabble into darkness.
The grass is greener than it ever was, the sky is bluer
And everything that was once beautiful is lively again.
I’ve fallen into a slumber in which I’ll never awake,
But I’ll get to sleep in a pool of beautiful colors
I knew once existed. To my death,
I’ve made the world a painting of my own
That came straight from the heart.
The environment suffocates in silence while the noise inside my head is heavy metal. The stresses of the world have penetrated into my cranium like an uninvited bullet, yet I’m still among the living. The bullet has halted its trajectory; there is no exit wound to allow the ground to be peppered with fragments of my mind. The pain is burning my brain matter, disintigrating all of its tissues and cells into a pile of ash. Somebody help me, I’m falling apart at the seam.
Why is the bullet resting in my mind? It’s so painful, all of the world’s flaws are hiding inside my cranium so as to not disturb anybody else. Is this what they meant when they say I held the weight of the world on my shoulders?
The pain is slowly subsiding without surgery. The bullet has made its exit, but only positive energy flows out of the wound. A scar is certain, but it proves that I am strong enough to work with the world’s imperfections. I may have overstayed my welcome, but you can’t rid of me no matter how hard you try. My imperfections are at war with yours, that is why I coexist with you, Earth.
I am stronger than you think, World.
If there’s anything in this world that isn’t deceptive, it’s a mirror. It’s the best at mimicking the actions of the real world flawlessly. In a sense, a mirror knows the world better than you do in a physical way. It’s an incredible artist with the brilliant talent of showing you a photographic image, animating you and everything else around. In a way, it’s better than a friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, or any category of human being because it doesn’t lie to your face for personal gain. I applaud the mirror for bringing me together with the person that I really am…on the outside.
That’s its one flaw. It is spot-on with visuals, but is incapable of mirroring the psychology and the perplexing details of your inner self. While it may be a flaw, you shouldn’t be concerned. It can’t manipulate your feelings about yourself and the world, you’re doing this to yourself. The mirror is innocent, it tests your willingness to accept the truth. Hopefully you aren’t relying on a mirror to tell you who you really are on the inside and out. Are you really going to take your frustration out on an inanimate object? However, it isn’t exactly inanimate to the fullest. It’s lifeless, yet projects and animates life. It can visualize the love between you and your significant other, it can stare back at you with your own smile, among other things. It may be able to see and show our physical affection for one another, yet it’s quite possible we don’t feel very similar on the inside. I can smile into the mirror, yet on the inside my feelings are destructive.
We constantly lie to the one who is incapable of deception. Just imagine what a mirror does when you’re turned around and not even looking. Is the mirror a backstabber, stooping to the level of humanity when we aren’t looking? If anything, it doesn’t want to show us what monsters we really are, and it doesn’t want to show the world for what it is: descending into chaos at the hands of monsters.
My Seven Devils 