I used to say free will was undebatable. We all had it. I’m the master of my fate. Who would even think to question it? Then it dawned on me, wait a minute if that is so then riddle me this? Why do I have no say over my biology. It was predetermined. Why did I not chose my parents? The sperm egg in which I came, I had no say. What about my mental process. Ha, if I think I simply chose before my conception to be then that would make me a god. I’m no god. Every choice I made was a product of predetermined circumstances. My past like where I grew up who I lived around were preselected. If there’s free will it’s limited.
Everything I did is
Whatever I said
Somehow was never
a joke or it had some
Sort of double meaning
Because of course
There is an ulterior
Motive. There is no
Such thing as truth
Or expression outside
Myself. It’s sad that
Everything I say has to
Be explained. As if I
Owe everyone an
Explanation for my
actions or words.
I didn’t come to fight
Or destroy but thanks
To distortion of some
I have become a villian
There’s no changing
Their mind nor will I try
Because I’m done
In the end God is my
Rippling down my spine
In concentric patterns
Never the same
Sometimes changing shape
S or corckscrew
Standing up defying gravity
Never a dull moment
Voluminous and shining
While some hide their spirals
I embrace the beauty of mine
I lay in bed but the thoughts
In my head never rest
Tossing and turning. My
Mind is burning through
All the possibilities, memories
Am I asleep yet? I ask myself
Blinking at the ceiling, having
Trouble distinguishing between
Reality and fantasy too bad when
I do doze off, I’m met with
Nightmares. Should of done this
Wish I could go back, regret and
Doubt torment my mind. Ceased
By this insurmountable fear
What am I so afraid of? Morning
Isn’t quite here and I need to squash
This restlessness and beat my
Hyperactive brain, but to no
Avail the next morning I’m drained.
Glowing red embers rise and fade
Like my memories with each crackle of the
Bright orange flame. An dark ocean stretches
across the terrain, vast and deep.
The cool current drifting away like my dreams.
Warm sand slides between my toes.
My heartbeat In sync with the gentle pulse of the earth.
A cool mountain breeze encircles me quelling my fears.
There’s a freedom the wind
brings as I stand In paradise. Each second is therapeutic,
setting my spirit free.
Ever since a friend texted me a question my senior year of high school back in the spring of 2012, do you know what 1111 means, I keep seeing it? I’ve known of angel numbers. At the time I read up on it, learning that some believe it’s a sign of guardian angels trying to get in contact with you, watching over you, or you’re experiencing a spiritual awakening. It all sounded so new age and had little relevance because I didn’t see the numeric pattern everywhere.
Two years later another friend, this time it was someone I’d met online brought up the 1111 phenomenon and asked if I saw the numeric pattern? I said no, but afterward I saw it everywhere. I don’t know what it was the second time around that sparked it.
At first, I thought it was my brain picking up on the pattern because it had been made aware and every time I saw 11:11 I found it highly annoying.
As time went by, it wasn’t just 1111 I saw. Sometimes I’d see other angel numbers like 111, 222, 333, 444, 555, and so on.
Whether it was an average day, a great day or a tragedy the numbers would show up not only on clocks, but even when I rang up groceries, in addresses, and other various ways. I’d just glance up and there the numbers would be with no effort of searching for them.
When I got struck by a car on February 6, 2015 the time read 3:33 p.m. when I arrived at the hospital. Where the numbers omens or something benevolent? I’ve researched the phenomenon but no one can quite agree on what it all means.
Recently I haven’t been seeing the patterns, but in the last month I’ve seen a resurgence of the angel numbers. Especially the angel number 3:33.
She wondered who the first person was to get burned by fire. Whoever was unfortunate enough to experience the sting had a moment of clarity. If only humanity got a preview of the pain poor decisions brought. Maybe it would prevent heartache and tragedies
One minute her life was average. Not a wrinkle of tension. When she compared her mundane existence to others she grew dissatisfied. That was her first mistake, wishing for conflict. To her demise she got her wish. They say a good story revolves around conflict. As she learned, conflict is only fun from the readers point of view rather than the protagonist.
Once the drama started, the plot unfolded for all to see. Her thoughts on display on each page. Her actions studied and criticized by those who would’ve acted differently.
Here she was, caught in the crosshairs of a tumultuous situation. She knew it to be the beginning of the end as the main character of a horror story, but she had to keep it together for those she entertained.