What am I but a dream- a psychological and philosophical phenomenon that is nothing short of a beautiful disaster? I’m a mess of veins, a bundle of nerves, a heart, a brain, a single pair of eyes and lungs- I am a biological revolution. The finest of the finest, they say, but I digress.
I have a mouth, and words flow from it like water. My mind works relentlessly through all the shifts of the morning and night. My hands perform the most delicate, as well as the sternest, procedures. My heart beats, and lets me know I still live.
I’m still alive.
The coursing blood that warms my veins, elixir of my mortality, continues to flow; the oxygen I greedily take like a precious aroma is its motive. All that I am is wrapped in a shroud of porcelain skin that has endured even the harshest ordeals…
However, I’m still vacant.
Somehow, in some way, I’m vacant.
It’s a feeling nestled between my heart and chest- a chilled place that cannot be warmed by the blood that surrounds it.
It’s a problem I can’t handle on my own.
I am not a super being- my veins collapse, my heart is broken, and my mind gives in to the pressures that overwhelm it. My vision fails, my lungs burn with the dirty muck that I allow in them, and my skin is ruptured to allow the blood that keeps me warm to seep. I will succumb to death, and it will give me peace that this body is unable to feel when active.
I will be with the Father. He will fill in the gaps that are in my form and make me whole.
Only through death can I live.
My phenomenon in this life has been blown out of proportion- the revolution I am is nothing more than a hoax.
I am the flawed prototype.
Someday, I will be complete.