The Opening from the Book of Spells

        In the middle, there were broken pieces to the beginning that ends. In the middle, I tried to defiantly distinct which parts were true, and which parts started the beginning. I lost my way countless times throughout the day. I'd empty my pockets with piles in change and I'd leave it there, unnoticeably so. There was so much to the middle that no matter how many times I retrace my footsteps, I cannot tell you exactly of the day.

Just a mere fraction, glimpses within from the outskirts have fallen from my broken head. In the middle, it wasn't beautiful or pretty, although if it had started like this, I would have never walked in. The middle was not beautiful, though it still could not contain the craving urge to put a pinpoint that would stop myself, from the desires of the want that came with more. I craved more like a dark chocolate truffle filled with moist cream, breathtaking as it dissolved inside of your mouth. I craved more like bath scrubs mixed in with honey milk, massaging exfoliators onto my hard pained tight muscles. I wanted it just as badly as the sensations that are fulfilled, while I overly rub my electrified smooth skin. I craved more like an overworked ambitious broke artist, tired from the empty orange bottle of sleeping pills, as a cigarette breaches your lips and draws in your first breath. I craved more like a homegrown basket of filtered fruits that rejuvenated my skin and watered my throat. I craved the middle without an end, for the soul purpose of the exhaustion, that just so happened to be exactly the reasons that reeled me in. I just could not stop myself from looking in. I knew it was wrong, I knew I should leave. I should be more focused on finding my way through, but the devils cake tastes better than food. I craved this so badly like pain throbbing my circulations, alongside my heart is clenching that reveals itself with a quivering mouth, that I can't stop myself from the drool. It felt so good; I wanted it so badly to openly choose to turn away. 

I craved more because I wanted to know more. 

     The truth lies into fractions, the painted picture is merely just a formality. The desired cravings were not about love. It was not about hope or peace, I wanted to seek within, oh but the middle, it is a dangerous place to begin. Smell and scavenge, you will find what you seek. That is why there is a cracked hole that spreads in your bones and splits in your cheek. I have been lost to the middle but there were pieces to the parts where I just graciously walked in. There are hidden parts to every clean sheet, secrets of the middle that travel back to the beginning, to fully understand where or if this will ever truly end. With each broken glass there is a fraction of the thin overcoat, thin underlying shattered. Truthfully unaware if the middle where the parts to the pieces have crawled within the spaces amongst the unseen. The truth lies between the days, a sudden change has abruptly become missing. 

     To be inside of the middle has to be the most scandalous place, I am sliced in half, fractioned between the life that I should choose and the life that I currently live, standing parted to the glass, inside of this two-way mirror. The middle in truth, had only parts of myself that I have known, that is until I stepped inside, and my feet are cut from the sharp glass. The middle begins and ends with a flash and a bang. This is so much overcrowded noise it is hard to block my ears, the overlooked openings into the barking nonsense. The cracked missing pieces I continue to stumble, chipped crumbles broke through as I save myself from the fall. The middle is an open field of cracked delights, that I have covered the scratched frame with obsessive perfectionist mild concussions. All this loss and all this suffering that I have continued to let slip through, only for reasons that I didn't know what to do. This day-to-day life has become unreconciled until I walked through and saw myself within. I couldn't see that I had become the reason, this bare-to-bare minimum was the reason for the cracks within. If I had walked in just an inch to the door I would have jumped at my own reflection. I have to change, I have to get back up, but this middle part has broken and cracked me, it is too hard to find the will or the strength.

     Faded memories please escape from my head. I can't take it anymore; I can't take what they said. I need to sweep this place clean, so that I can make room for a brand-new sheet, so that I can forget. I need to get out of here, I need to leave. I have not done myself right, the darkness still resides. Memories screech as they flash, there is an ongoing sadness with throbbing pain, it needs be relieved, the pounding fist that thumps through the halls. The middle is simply not that hard to understand, the middle was the opening of the course to who I truly am. Always painted a smile while the rest of itself has not been remolded. Always going with the motions although I am rolling aside unbagged and unprocessed. Half of myself lives beyond the dead, because I would rather die from a broken heart, than to live amongst the living to have only felt lonesome, I am always last and in wanting.  I have this strange feeling that leaves a strange bitter taste and the funky smells that never truly go away. This is the sadness that I keep myself in. The truth about the parts that you don't see, and the lies, well they have covered me. I am broken between the split if I should stay or leave. 

 

 

 

-Micah Vincent