grieving an old belief system in stages

The tidal wave ensued tripping me blind on my own false security. And endlessly, it returned: over and over, the infinite lashes of loss and dismay disabled my cognition. The shock beat against me along the shores of fragility. Relentless and thrashing, my shock was soot in my throat. My lungs filled with bile, and my hope was cinder. Suffocating in my flesh, and growing raw against the rub. I collapsed, incapacitated. Too confused, I couldn't mourn.

But then I ascended. Elongated by the wings of my denial. To enforce the disposition of my weakness, I set to murder the walking dead. And violently, I was ready: I charged at the victims, nameless and without a face. Furiously reacting, I buried the coma of my fate. I drew a sword from my bowels, and facilitated war. To force my just penance on cause was my only resilient affect.

Then my warrior grew weary. I stumbled through a trap door, and a new path from the hurt was revealed in its game. It was a smoke-filled room with a roulette foundation. I took a chair at its table, and the dogs dealt me sins. I began gambling mad for odds with dead-ends. In exchange for my chosen return, I offered my pulse. Working harder to win, I spun the wheels of Houdini. But wth the finale inverted, reason left me broke. I was a rat on a wheel tied to a circular track. Consulting to escape, and seeking the solution to a maze. But its puzzle was constructed by ghosts.

I vaguely recall when I fell into the bottle. Darkness enveloped me and I lost my existence. It corked me into some whiskey, aging my blood until black. I tore my veins from my flesh, and weaved my own noose. I resigned to my failure to alter the past. And at the bottom with razors, I carved misery deep. My blurry self-talk and disgust built me a shelter of poison, and faith was a jester overseeing the grounds. My sadness mocked back, poking fun at my heart. I was worthless and useless, reflected only in mirrors smeared by brown felt. My face was a stranger, haunted and desperate, I abandoned myself until I was alone.

When I finally surrendered to what I had treasured all along, I realized I'd been holding onto nothing at all. Air is intangible, and so was my control. Falsely birthed from neglect for the truth that I knew. My belief in nothing, and its meaningless life, died and I mourned it until the lie lost its strength. There was more to this life, with its purpose and answers. I fought inclination until it won, and it looked back with celestial light. Baptized through the consciousness of life everlasting, I was reborn to understand humanity as faith that never dies. I buried my projected autonomy, and rebelliously weeped for my nihilism. I didn't want to let go, but my grip finally unraveled. I accepted there is more, and, on my exhale, fear was released and hope resurrected.