Ah man, me again, I know, very sad. Either way, here’s some stuffs I wrote about what’s been going on with me lately, if ya’ll care to read it.

A Beast

A beast with a silver tongue

A heart of fool’s gold

A body covered in scars

A mind full of pain

 

Lies hidden behind pretty words

Pain hidden behind false smiles

Eternal loneliness

These are what the beast lives with

 

The darkness questions

Where’s your strength

How dare you feel this way

What gives you the right

 

The darkness says he deserves it

Maybe he does

After what he has done

Does he deserve forgiveness

 

His soul cries out

Begs for the darkness to leave

Anything, as long as it will leave

The darkness only digs in deeper

 

Escape is all he wants

There is only one way

It is to lie down in a coffin

And that’s the way the beast likes it

 

I Don’t Know How Else To Say It

I can’t help but want to scream when the memories of this day flash through my mind, as if they were not memories, but annoyed spirits. They fly around inside of my head, touching every aspect of my mind, looking for the slightest excuse to gain control and make my life a living hell. They seem to be a sentient thing, a personality outside, and yet within, myself. Made specifically to destroy me, and gruesomely efficient at their work. Perhaps, if they truly are sentient, they enjoy their work, and that is where their almost deadly determination and efficiency originates from.

They hurt by reminding me of the moment where I crossed a line, it was no huge gesture or act, but simply taking for granted the privileges that had been given to me. One too many cutting remarks, normally forgotten, but now hold their place of infamy in my mind, sitting upon their dark pedestal. It could be argued that I have no reason to feel the shame and pain I do upon remembering this, but the objections are futile when the thoughts take control of me. I hope against this sea of hopelessness and darkness that my apologies and attempts at solving the issue are successful. Perhaps this hope is simply naievity within myself, a traitorous part of a mind already taught to misbehave. These feelings are amplified to the recentness of the events, along with the loss of what may have once been a budding friendship.

Wars behind the eyes that stare out so passively, so seemingly innocent. These have always been there, and took place in my mind before today’s events were even a possibility. Like any war, the causes are varied and diverse, but some can be seen through the murky waters of my troubled mind; heartache, caused by one too many lost loves, rapidly decreasing self-esteem, derived from a misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the norm, and doubt from all of my past failures and misadventures. Questions nobody should have to contemplate on such a consistent basis fly through my mind more times than I care to admit, or count. “Do I feel for her, or is it simply a lie from my treacherous heart? Does it matter if I want to live, as long I am alive? Do I truly stand alone in this unforgiving world?”

 

Who

Is it you?

Is it me?

Is it some god?

Or is it simply the fault of chaos?

 

What is responsible for this?

This pain one feels on dark nights

Pain that seems to bite

To gnaw on tender hearts

 

Stabbing at your sanity

Destroying the foundation of your own mind

Replacing deep-rooted certainty with doubt

Decaying your values

 

Is this pain knowing?

Knowing of how it hurts

If so, does it take pleasure in it?

Or does it perform its duties accidentally?

 

Is that why songs are sung by razors?

Songs performed in secret

Does it not wish death of anything but itself?

Are we simply victims in its own internal conflict?

 

Answers are too far away to grasp

Yet close enough to see

Questions, or Answers?

Which hurts the most?

 

Moi

He stands there with his eyes looking out at the world. His hair moves as the wind runs its ethereal body through it, causing an eye to be covered. To rid himself of this minor annoyance he raises his hand to brush it away, an act that has become a common occurrence in the recent weeks. As his hand moves the rebel hairs we gain a glimpse of his eyes, green, bright, and intelligent as they look out upon the world around him. We take our time in studying his face, the slight stubble on his chin, scars and pockmarks from years of being plagued with acne. Some of these marks are hidden by the freckles that have adorned his face for years. His nose has not escaped these freckles and scars, and is possibly the most insignificant part of his face to be seen. A jawline is hidden by some of the excess that comes with youth, but each day it grows smaller and the haggard look is more apparent. The short, slender, frame that he will most likely have for the rest of his life does nothing to alleviate the look of age upon this young man. It adds to the effect, giving him a look that many attribute to frailty and not a tendency to be lean. The clothes that hang off of him in some places are a pair of well-worn jeans with worn-out knees, a sweatshirt that has seen one too many days without a wash, and a t-shirt that he grabbed at random while preparing in the morning. The sleeves of the sweatshirt are rolled up for some unknown reason revealing the mark that has set him apart his entire life, nothing entirely unique or special, simply a rather large birthmark on his left forearm. The skin on the inside of his forearms is not tainted by the troubles he has seen in his life, which is all too common with those that have afflictions similar to his own. A light scar, already fading, can be found further up, on his left bicep. We return to his face and see a scar that’s existence is sometimes forgotten, and other times all too obvious, it resides just above his lips and is thankfully short in length.