Pardoned Absence (Prose)

Pardon my absence, but a break was highly necessary regarding the extremities of my depression, my longing for a different life, a different vessel without a single crack in its armor…

Because, every time I feel as if I’ve made a break through, something wicked is slung toward my direction gluing me back to what I now call Death Row. Just, sitting on a chair by my lonely as I inject my soul with a veil of smoke my eyes can barely see past, withering away in a pit of flames only I can set. And, no matter what I’ve attempted, each attempt was a failure at best.

Recounting the past few weeks, though, a part of me seemed to have died while sitting on that damn chair one night I had conversed with my mom through a flurry of text messages. “Just go for it, I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” is what she said after telling her how I truly love Poetry. Although I’m still riddle by my terrible weed habit, that part of my mind where demons lurk while trying to convince it how self-destruction is an answer has been silence. I may hear an echo once in a blue moon, but they leave my thoughts once I place a pen in my aching hands.
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As I’ve been reborn with a mind where demons never dare to shout a single hex into fruition, I see things in life differently enough for me to take every step possible towards change. Distance was necessary to break free from chains where the pieces were bound to scatter and ricochet off of everyone’s head in sight. The last thing I wanted to do was to bombard anyone any further than I have for the past several months when asking for any sort of help that’s as rare for me as finding a golden copy of Nintendo World Championships for the NES. Surely enough I’ve been tripping and stumbling along the way, but I’ve made it far and never do I even dare quit my journey to salvation.

Nonetheless, I digress. What I yearn more than anything is to be as close to God as I possibly can while serving others with love and compassion through my own writings of redemption. I can’t do that while keeping a blunt or joint in hand in place of a pen and pad. It just, doesn’t make any sense after all of the pain I’ve had to endure because of it. It’s time for a new day where I rise to the beat of my own drums instead of each voice echoing from a past slain by a future God intends for me to live…