Blood Diamond Platter

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To betray myself — to abandon my truth and morals, and draw forth the venom of self-loathing — is a fate more wretched than any betrayal this world could inflict.

What is existential abandonment? To be forsaken by the sky and gods above, or by mortals cowering below the firmament?

Or is it to abandon oneself; to serve one's own head on a blood diamond platter, jewelled with the wages of self-obliteration, trading one's own flesh for a pound of belonging and social validation?

Could you ever truly belong if you severed the umbilical cords to the womb of your nature, exiled as an orphan among the cosmos? Sealed in a tomb of Babel stone, wandering as a spectre, loved only in your mummified guise?

Do you rely solely on another's consciousness to affirm your own existence and right to exist?

Does your identity exist at all if not embedded as a simulacrum in another's psyche?

Is the ghost in your shell truly so brittle, so vapid, so spineless?

These questions linger in the tomb of my beloved solitude, whispering like spectres amidst the shadows…



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