Blind Commitment

When there is no right or wrong answer, there is only convenience and investment.

A particularly free spirit could accommodate their own tendency to step off the plane of the world, pursuing a song true to their heart but terribly opposed to the status quo into oblivion at the mild annoyance (at best) of their loved ones.

Why cause a fuss, and die in the gutter listening to the aether when the concrete is so firm? Its purpose is to ground you, to keep you here, safe from what it does to those who seek to leave.

When there is no wrong answer, there is only pain. When there is no right answer, there is only pain. Spread your gentle, wax-paper wings and consider before beating them if you have enough room. The iron here catches loose threads. It pulls against whatever moves.

When you spend enough time around rust suspended in still water, everything begins to smell like blood. But then, after even longer, nothing smells like anything at all. I can’t guarantee a soft resting place here while you wait, but I am certain the stones will not yield to your body. You can expect them to be there in the morning, digging into the same places.

Our world is not without color. These slurry-reds, these bitter yellows, these sandy fleshy hues abound wherever the light manages to reach, and even the odd corpse will sometimes sprout up flowers of unknowable vibrancy in this place, then they are gone.

Everything that leaves here returns quickly, and with a thud. Everything that draws in the sand finds its fingers gone in the morning. Everything that sings is adored by the creatures here for the joy of what is done to them.

We have simple rules, and they are not right or wrong. The concrete is cold, but it will always be there. The smell fades the lower you go. The pain fades the more you sleep.

Lay down.