Week 2: Godcomplex vs. Razah (RAZAH WINS 7-3)

[UnbornBuddha]

Every time Eleanor came to visit this grave of mine
She’ll place beside my tombstone a sweet potato pie.
Its heavenly aroma penetrated the soul, to animate the form
Of this worm laden corpse. As she and my baby mourned
I’ll awake and turn to face creation’s source. The matrix’s core.
Trying to pry free from this nameless place
That took away all the basic traits of my character: face and age
And most of the impulses from my innervated brain.
I became one with this stateless state. Fading away.
Forgetting the sound of my name. Debris like, the way I oscillated in space.
Yet, a fragment of the mundane remained. Somehow memories stayed;
The interface of all the sensory places mentally saved. Forever engraved.
Eleanor’s visits consisted of tears she hoped would remedy the pain
By washing away the sorrow that makes existence so deprave.
It's funny how she believed eternity awaits, yet was resistant to her own faith.
Instead of letting me transcend the transient measures of pain — pleasure inflamed;
The baby wept and it beckoned to stay, to endlessly play like the Nephilim race.
But, I’ve seen the angelic parade go awry, making the Nebula gray;
Countless winged messengers defaced. Birds set free from their celestial cage.
These existential chains of events make it hard to remain centered and sane.
Just for these two, I opened up a dimension and had destiny exchanged.
My flesh became whole, as life again flowed through my desiccated veins.
Resurrected, yet only I remembered my death…All their memories erased.

Everything was back to normal in our sun filled galactic world
Though, I often thought of the other side of the magic portal.
Eleanor smiled every day like she had a psychosomatic disorder.
I should be thankful I’m alive to be part of my child’s upbringing
And I love my spouse, but I grow tired of thinking.
My body always feels like it's plagued by some viral sickness
And I just want to lie down, and close my eyes for a long time
Letting darkness engulf the sunshine of those who love light.
I’ve somatized my demise because I unconsciously hate this life.
I don’t crave divine bliss; I just want to fade inside. Survival isn’t my basic drive.
All this is made clear when I taste a bite of her famous sweet potato pie
You see, I used to take delight in its exquisite taste profile.
Now, it tastes plain and vile! As if it was baked in bile.
Perhaps, the conditions of my return meant a sacrifice;
Life bestowed, but consequentially all my senses agonized
I can't bear it… Wife and child, I meant to say goodnight.
But, I’ll see your quintessence once you enter my side. Goodbye.
And so, every time Eleanor came to visit this grave of mine
She’ll place beside my tombstone a sweet potato pie;
Only this time, their cries from their voracious eyes didn’t scathe my mind
Nor did I crave to escape outside the walls of my shapeless shrine. Imagine the vaguest sine.
After all his searching the vagrant finds home has a vacant sign. Not a single echo remained inside.
Denouncing his bloodline, he grasps at his soul from the cave it hides
Pulling it out from his being, so he can finally ride the waves and tide.
The archetype of nothing and everything bears the same design.