Spearing the Spectator

I was playing guitar with my eyes closed, lulled by the steady vibration of amp and bass drum. Before we hit the chorus, I was torn from the music and locked inside a den of contemplation. What was it that struck me so deeply as to invoke this image in my mind of the betrayal faced in youth? I pushed it aside yet in reflection I was to remain until I could find my way out.

My face became twisted and tight as fading memories trickled behind glossy eyes. There was a person, and I could remember that they chose to teach me a lesson. The lesson had been conducted and I believe it taught me well. This is the most absurd reality to face, the fact that my betrayer has contributed to my growth, and yet I see what they truly are; a faceless specter that howls against self-proclaimed injustice and pounds at it until it is buried beyond their perception.

So what am I now to this liar? They have already buried me, so what must they see now in this revenant? The question has long kept me at a distance from any form of reconciliation between myself and past acquaintances. I do not recognize my past self. I cannot remember who I was to those people, and yet I must remember who they were,

On some days I find myself kidnapped from peace and thrust into a world of chaos where I am to bring order to a small piece of it. Like a disturbed voyager, I stalk the chambers of my past, pressing my ear against ancient doors that have been locked in my hasty retreat towards a new life. However, there are answers that exist beyond the present and I must never falter under the fear, the depression, that envelops me each time I visit the chaos. Let it be that the day I take on the apathetic voice and cease to purge myself of every cleverly disguised falsehood be the day I perish.

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