Pre-midnight contemplations of existence.
Desires once buried, now coming back to life.
Is it the music? Am I becoming a slave to words to someone who may not know how I feel?
Am I an ignorant puppet of such a poet who can unearth my dead memories?
Help me please.
My unspoken desire, my supposed “dead memory” refuses to die again.
It‘s hurting me. My state of nirvana is being interrupted by a zombie.
A zombie of a pre-midnight contemplation.
Nothing can kill this zombie. No shot to the head. No stake through the heart. No bullet of silver. Nothing.
Unless…
What if the creator of this zombie was to act against it?
What if the contemplator is the only weakness?
Or what if the only way to kill the zombie is to give into it?
But wait! This zombie made of desires and memories was buried for a reason.
What reason might that have been?
Did it hurt you like nothing before? Or what if it was too good to be true?
Maybe that desire/memory and you had something special, but it was too much/too little for you?
Damn this is getting to me… And I’m sure to you as well.
Maybe one more time won’t hurt?