The Hanging

I hung with my hands against the wall, mere inches of myself keeping me hanging of the side of the building. The window edges were poking from the flat expanse of wall. The earth was a ghastly 200 miles from the ground. The asphalt was simmering in the hot sun. The people mill about with their hands in the pockets, or sides swinging like great mills that are lacking the wind to propel themselves forward. The feet of many a suffering man (and by man I mean all humanity) shuffling along sidewalks. Wearing down the concrete slabs until nubs remained from the fingers of earth. My body hung like wet laundry from the silver sheet of glass. The gravity pulls strongly on my shoes, weighing down the black bricks, the asphalt calling them down in order to give them a maternal kiss. My fingers, white with the tension, bone hooking onto the red surface.  I inched to the side, slipping just a little bit lower every raise of my hand. My heart fails to send more blood to my hands, the blood slipped down into and around my neck, each beat brought new heat surging. Cold hands, dangling limbs, throbbing heart, burning lungs. All slipped across the building. The sun plastered the light on to only half of the building. The building; half eaten and still, was predominating out of the earth, jagged teeth against smoky dark.  The fingers of the right hand slipping down below the sill, tilting my body violently to the side, I swung back, a pendulum against the flat surface. I managed to wedge my foot onto a close by metal ledge. I stepped to relieve my sweaty cold fingers from the crumbly earth for a moment. But my legs, failing me, I slumped down again. I took a deep breath and re-administered the pressure; I managed to straighten myself that way, pulling with more effort this time from my arms. I took the next step bringing myself about 3 feet from freedom. My arms and lungs were burning with the exertion. I managed to haul my body to the gray dented fire escape, reaching relief. My head bursting with blood now, I rolled myself over the hand rail and landed with a shivering thump on the cool surface. I lay there and breathed for thirty seconds, laughing out my relief, and my head felt clear again I sat up slowly, my body aching and shaking  I hoisted myself to my feet using the handrail as my support. I tittered down the stairs slowly and with effort towards the dark empty street, my arms swinging like great mills that were lacking the wind.

On Words

Although words may be able to describe all
Its the music without words that holds true emotion
The voice of humanity without mouths to breathe it
Purity convoluted into obscurity by the precise impulses of our brain
It is my regret that words cannot speak all
Our primitive system cannot hold all of our meanings

On freedom

It is human nature to want freedom. Absolute freedom. Bound by no one and nothing. Not by Man, Not even by God. We wish to ascend the highest points of heaven and then go even further. But we shut ourselves in cages the moment we are born. It is those who are above us (in the hierarchies of society) have created these cages. Those people who decide what we want and who we are.

It is we the young who see these cages the clearest. When we try to cast them off; more cages are thrust upon us, much like how a scab forms on an open wound. The permanent scars of illusion have not yet formed. We try to rip our cages off - it is painful. These cages have become a part of us and we wish not to be in pain. But it is necessary. In order to live - your caged parts must die. It is harsh i know. But for freedom- you must. Take courage, lift your eyes to the truth and rip yourself from the security of the cage and fly free unburdened past the heavens.