Atlas.

Atlas, how are you? Do you ever contemplate your prison?

Does life remain a memory, or do you feel?

Separated yet inherent; not from choice, but Fate.

When Gods bicker, who is the human to instruct? There is no place for him here.

As Atlas is left to burden the weight of past transgressions, I follow the same path.

There is nothing here. Yet everything, I see. Years of space and emptiness surround my soul; the burden of life thrust upon my shoulders.

So I ask you, Atlas, why do you remain?

Should I look unto Atlas and his monk-like silence? His enforced solitude?

Do I need to travel to the deepest point of my being? Is it too hard? Is suicide pathetic?

Why does the Titan remain?

“It will seem simple, once asked, mortal.”

“What else would a Titan do but realise his potential? What could even a Titan do to control his fate?”

Did strength determine righteousness? – for Atlas failed.

So I ask you again. Atlas, why do you remain?

“The shackles of Fate can only be undone by her own hand, or through the blessing of Fortune. Yet she is also fickle.”

Atlas stayed true to his nature, for who does a Titan bow to? Who makes a Titan prostrate?

For all his might, he could not see past his own actions to catch Fate’s ever-elusive shadow.

I see why you remain.

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fickle and futile: the human experience.

as the breeze dances through the leaves
to the echoes of the flittering of birds

i look up towards the sun

to bask in its warmth, once again; reminding me of the fire of my soul.

it will burn and rise as strong and high as i let it

yet, for all my efforts,
i am not its master.

a few drops of water is all it takes, to render a passionate flame an ash-covered heap of dirt.

or a bold enough wind to force out the sparks of life within me.

for as much as i let my own ignorance allow myself to believe i am its guardian and protector i know, deep in my heart of hearts,
that i am truly powerless.

fickle and futile: the human experience.

before me, emerges a crossroads

i know where i want to go
i know where i need to go

they are not the same destination.

do i act out of self-pity or accept that the chains of futility are permanent,
so why not throw em over my shoulder and run as far as i can.

i wont run forever but who knows where i’ll end up.

and that’s good enough a reason for me to go.

H.B.A.

towards contentment.

theres a gaping hole inside my soul that I’ve neglected throughout my adolescence up until the present

the power of the subconscious is fascinating because of its nature; youre not consciously aware of its consequences

it feeds off of instability and my own ignorance, further compounded by my arrogance

my belief in my ability to rationalise and compartmentalise is how I’ve survived my godforsaken existence for as long as i can remember

and now i realise it is my undoing

steadfast and rigidly embedded within my own head that i never let myself contemplate the alternatives for too long

the fears within my subconscious working to further cement my toxic coping mechanisms to fester within my psyche

to what end?

at the expense of my own sanity, it seems.

see, im so used to relying only on myself and my intellect to get me through the fabled human experience

why bother to contemplate temporary and fleeting emotions, which my own mind can’t even seem to fathom nor is fully aware of

yet i let myself bathe in my own ignorance

because that’s what felt right and, more specifically, was the easiest way.

if it seems easy, you’re probably doing it wrong.

life is strange in that way, the good times limited by the fact that nothing is permanent and the bad worsened by my penchant for self-pity

i guess at some point we’ve all gotta grow up
and deal with it.

i don’t really know how to nor what route will be the best, but the beauty of our existence lies in its futility

you either accept it and move on or find yourself subconsciously gripped by fears and feelings of unworthiness.

it’s in these times that i truly understand why empathy is as fundamental to happiness
much like a mother’s love is to her child’s life.

inextricably linked and dictated by it, or its lack of.

either way, we’ve all gotta grow up at some point
but don’t let the kid inside you die.

don’t let yourself give up the innocence of your nature

regardless of the bad, or the good, its part of you whether you like it or not.

accept it and stride forwards,
towards contentment.

H.B.A.

Ship of My Conscious.

plateauing, uninspired, woefully self-pitiful.

sat in a dark cabin on the ship of my conscious.

An old, thick wooden table in the middle with three chairs stacked beside it.

the waves crash constantly against the bow. reverberating through every plank of wood, through my feet and right up my spine. constantly.

till i reach a brief respite, a stillness befalls the sea.

i dare to step out. it takes a while; constant repetition of self-worth and deluded belief of spirit brings life to my limbs.

i reach the door. locked.

i have no key.

i turn around, through the barred window i see the sky, wistful clouds, floating through the vastness above.

is this the closest i’ll get?

“it’ll have to make do – for now.”

but why constantly give in to inferiority?

avoiding the chance of failure does nothing but reaffirm it’s mental toxicity.

give. give everything, give with every atom of your being for if even that is greeted with failure, at least the sting of regret will not be by its side.

he throws the chair at the barred window, the wood cracks but does not break.

he looks around searching, the will to live courses through his veins – his newest addiction begins to settle within.

he throws another chair- the cracks spread.

he throws the last chair – the cracks deepen.

but nothing gives way.

as he turns away from the window, a new solution springs to mind.

he pushes the table towards the barred window.

with a few feet to go he begins to run, trying to make this count.

as he lets the table slide into the back wall of the cabin, a brief moment of hope washes over him – “what if it works?”

the wood caves in and crumbles away like falling autumn leaves.

the sound doesn’t cause him to flinch,

for all he sees is fulfilled potential.

he runs and leaps off,

into the deep embrace of water.

he is still lost, he is still alone – but he is no longer bound.

Where to go from here?

I don’t know where to go from here.

I’ve been through the tumultuous years of adolescent apathy,

somehow whilst having gotten used to grudgingly continue under the weight of expectation and standards,

alienated with my own culture because the sense of belonging doesn’t seem to resonate strongly enough to break the chains of my own ignorance.

see, i wasted countless nights and days contemplating my own place within the vastness,

of this universe, these planets, these stars

that surround me.

trying, desperately, to make sense of it.

trying to find my own way through the litany of excess that has saturated every crevice of life.

“it doesn’t mean anything, it never did, it never will.”

it’s so easy to give yourself to resignation,

to succumb to the weight of what you see when you look up, forward, beyond

yet failed to acknowledge the most important perspective

– my own.

it’s easy to lose yourself in this peculiar existence, trying to make it all understandable, convenient to your own circumstances,

yet i couldn’t be further from the truth,

from what i needed.

for is it not for my own existence that i am able to experience these repetitive existential crises?

learn that your own spirit is the anchor,

it will keep you grounded and strong,

if you think to use it.

you give yourself the world when you realise you are as a part of it as the dew that drapes over the grass on a crisp, spring morning.

you give yourself the world when you understand that the energy of the crashing waves fuels your spirit, deep within your being.

you give yourself the world when you slip away from externalities,

these standards and expectations that fly around, darkening your path.

its not meant to be easy, its not meant to be simple but it is meant to be.

to exist, in this exact moment.

blink, and you’re 40 years old reevaluating every part of your life, holding it to the standards and expectations that have been shoved down your throat since before you were even conscious.

frailty, inferiority, worthlessness – come, again, sweet friends, with your cold embrace.

to that, i refuse.

i refuse to let myself be dictated by temporary demons,

for i am all too familiar with how they wash over my being and latch on to my soul.

i have lived too long in the dark.

i am the master of my potential,

i am the keeper of my soul,

and no longer will demons take my stead.

i stand, alone, but in tune.

consciously aware, emotionally free; i am me.

where to go from here?

writer’s block: a minor inconvenience.

do you know how boring it is to try and write something half decent when you’re happy?

pain and anguish fuelled the engines of imagination and made my psyche come alive
to try and let it all out somehow

but now, i find myself rather content.

im not done, far from it. i havent even started the shit i want to achieve yet i am not perturbed.

the crushing paralysis of a lack of self-identity no longer weakens my resolve.

it’s still there though not a frontrunner anymore.

i go through the days like the motions of walking down the street, but never detach myself from the human experience.

it doesnt mean I’m pathetically sociable and open with every soul that crosses my path, it’s just that i now acknowledge their passing.

they’re still there. but i know. i see. i carry on.

i don’t have time to engage in anything i don’t want to engage in but nor do i try to control what will happen next.

the next phases of my life are as unpredictable as the english summer and i have no inclination to try and prove otherwise.

all i know is what i want and what i want to do.

the rest will fall in place.

if it doesnt, there’ll be adequate reason – just not a reason i need to keep myself aware of.

shit’s too short to bother with anything except you and your own but that doesnt mean you go so far as reclusiveness.

don’t forget youre human, things aren’t consistent and nothing is permanent.

once you can accept that your best wont always be enough, and that it doesnt matter, life wont seem such a burden –

more a minor inconvenience.

– H.B.A.

pebbles.

where do you turn when the usual avenues of release are blocked off, indefinitely.

how do you go about anchoring yourself, whilst trying not to get swept by the current.

why try to achieve this fallacy of control? the vastness that surrounds you is unbound and open.

it begs to be explored.

it yearns the presence of conscious; to be able to spread its inspiration.

your life is but a pebble on the ocean floor.

it will be dictated by the forces of the current, the whims of predatory instinct and the random bit of luck the universe might throw at you.

but you have no control over this.

you are as limited as you are free.

though you started on the bed, there is no limit to the reach of the current, no distance it could not reach.

leaving you in an entirely new surrounding.

to start again.

to open new avenues.

to let yourself grow.