Super Massive Black Hole by Crimson Quintessence
Pain – those who don’t live with it can’t possibly understand what it’s like.
How it pulls those who suffer daily with it into the super-massive black hole again and again.
How it rages through all of their minds and how they all scream, they cry while they all rage inside.
Some minds were designed by misfits, exhausted and cold but not near ready to fold.
Here they reside ready to accept it without being heard.
They’re not benign, although, some may think it.
They’re getting fired up artistically, thoughts are there, wanting to burst forward but not knowing how or where this should take place.
You, the fist in the boxing glove who verbally beat them and felt it was okay the way you made them feel small.
The thing is fate will guide them together and they’ll support each other in the absence of self-security
and help each one stand tall when no-one else will.
Thriving by helping each one they come into contact with realize that they are individuals who can stand out from the wall they’ve been leaning against for so long.
Though you madden them, sadden them and crush them inside these girls and boys fill each other with pride.
Once upon a time they were curled up and had almost fallen into madness or shriveled right up and dwelled in their sadness.
They’ll tell you always, they’re not ready to die that the super-massive black hole they were cast into no longer holds them down.
Collectively they have started building towers of spilled words so tall they stretch up higher than high.
Those who were not supportive in their adventures can now bow down to the written words and their raging storms as the writers live in their own world, far from your criticisms accepting that their light is the beacon that draws like-minded souls inside.
Blow you right open, the unconventional writers who glow by their own light, Angels raging, words flow during flight delivering prose with all of their might.
All bound together, willing to fight the good fight, all coming back at you knitted together with spilled ink.
Many paths cross for reasons not merely by dumb luck.
Be your lightening, be your rain, they get you through that super-massive black hole again.
They’ve learned to chuck the bullshit in the fuck it bucket and move forward as one heart, one soul with only one dream……..
to be heard.
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