Hello. It has been sometime. I’ve been busy. I’ve actually felt not terrible. Not good, but not terrible. Yesterday I went to a beach clean up. A lot of people were there. Made me realize how difficult it is for me to be around other people. I hardly spoke, and could never look anyone in the eye. It’s pretty difficult. Lots of girls there. It was the beach so they wore skimpy tops and short shorts. Didn’t know what to do. Tried to stay as far as possible. When I was alone, it actually felt nice. Alone with my thoughts. It is actually starting to come back. It always comes in waves. One day I feel ok, the next not so ok. One week I feel ok, the next week not so ok. I’m just not fit to be around other people. It makes it worse. I don’t know what to do. Thanks for listening.
I can’t make it anymore. I always come back to the same point. When I’m alone, I see that my life is pointless and worthless. and I want to die again. Why? I try to live. I try to find the reason to live. I try so hard. But those thoughts…They don’t leave me…Why do I always come back to the same point?
But I feel like I keep finding myself drinking more and more as time passes. And that’d be fine if there wasn’t this ever increasing desire to just keep drinking. I mean I had a few drinks about a week ago and as the week’s gone on I feel like all this jerking me around my life does has me just aching for it. Something’s gotta give here… either the bullshit life throws at me, or perhaps I’m subliminally asking for it or something, I don’t know, or my will to not become like the rest of my family members is going to break. And I know how that goes, I’ve watched it my whole life. Once that breaks once it’ll sate you and you’ll be fine for a while before it breaks again. Before you know it you’re drunk 24/7 and shit just gets worse from there.
Blah, I just need to vent and hope I feel better after I just get it all out there… honestly I wish I wasn’t such a coward so I could just end this damned roller-coaster ride. Some day man… some day we’re all going to die, and I don’t want every waking moment of this life to contain that here one day gone the next up and down of happiness and sadness. I should just know by now not to try to be happy. The higher you get the harder you come back down to earth. And my head hurts from re-entry all of the time.
I’ve just come back from a long late night walk [UK] on a Saturday night [weirdo uh?]. Just to try and beat the massive psychosomatic anxiety for a while. I am incredibly lonely, the only people I talk to are my aging parents. The world is a terrifying and unforgiving place for meek people like me. The isolation is slowly sending me insane. My parents know I’m deeply depressed but not that I crave death. I feel I live in a world full of happy people who will never understand or feel the pain people like me do so they will never understand or empathize. The envy I have for their relative inner peace is total. You can’t help but take it all personally.
Why does it always come back? For awhile, things are okay…not as anxious, not as depressed, and then, like finding that letter you thought you’d mailed in your pocket…your heart sinks when you realize, you are standing in the same place you have already been… I thought I’d moved forward… Turns out, I was only dreaming
Hey everyone, sorry I haven’t been around.
Been having a couple of shitty days, mentally, emotionally and physically. Been abusing my meds and cutting again.
I’m in no place to be helping anyone rn.
Just wish the bus I’m in right now crushes.
I’ll come back to you later, if feeling better.
Love you all.
I feel kind of embarrassed for coming back here. It’s been at least two or three months since I wrote anything or even read other’s thoughts. I thought I was feeling better and didn’t need to come back here and I was going to delete this account and act as if I never belonged here. I’m glad I didn’t delete it. For the past few months things have been going fine. I finished a few online classes and been more social. Thing is, I still feel lonely. In the beginning of March my grade went on a trip and I bunked with three other friends. We talked and gossip like normal teens. Then one of them told me it was my turn to rant about my life and tell my so-called deep secrets. I told them I’d pass because I don’t trust them enough. Also it’s hard and they said it’s fine but I felt like I lost them after that. Yes, they are my friends but it’s hard to tell anyone personally what I go through and how I feel since in the first place I don’t even know how I feel about things. Anyways, this morning I had the house to myself and I went into my parents room looking for something but I found something else. My mom’s diary. I know it was wrong to open it. It was never my place to read it. I couldn’t help myself. I thought it couldn’t be that bad, because what could be so dark in my mom’s life? Turns out, she had a few secrets. There wasn’t many entries just a small handful when she meet my dad for the first time and when they married, how she missed her first two daughters from a previous marriage, the how she was pregnant with me. Then I read a entry about how my dad cheated and how he lied to her about it. I knew my parents has have rough patches and has had a marriage counselor because I found a business card and book in my car trunk once, they still have never told me about. Still I didn’t know he has done this before, before I was even born. It hurt. I never thought my dad would be that person. I never thought my mom felt this way and how she hates herself for the things she has gone through. I’ve told one friend how my parents have had counseling but I feel like I can’t talk to her anymore, she isn’t as close to me anymore. So I decided I would come back here and try and get these feelings out of me again. I read the last few entries of the diary and my mom said how she was happy about being pregnant with me and I started crying even more. Now my mom doesn’t tell me how she loves me and shows affection. But when she wrote it out I felt so many different emotions. Happy that she really does love me but then sad and angry how she doesn’t tell me it anymore because I feel like I need someone to really tell me that they care about me, so that I know I can still be here and have some meaning. The worst part was the last few words. It stated, I still love my husband and my beautiful daughter. I don’t know how long I have been crying now probably thirty minutes. I don’t know if I can ever look at my dad the same now. I don’t know what I feel about my parents now. Or even how I feel about myself. My mom’s life would be completely different if she never had me, of course. But what scares me, I guess, is that would she better happier if she never had me or meet my dad.
So thanks to anyone who spent their time reading this. I guess I kind of missed being on here to be honest. Everyone goes through things, they’re never the same but we all cope in some way or another and I know people here are kind and honest. I like that. I like it here. I think I’ll be back more often since I feel like it helps to talk to someone, anyone.
I can’t sleep once again. It’s been like this for a while. I just can’t seem to fall asleep. Staying asleep has just started to become a struggle. There is so much negativity in my life right and and all I’m able to do is sit here and watch. Rocketman, you are my official SP buddy. I’d like to speak with you, I found myself needing to come back here once again.
Heaven’s a possibility.
So is hell.
And so is reincarnation.
So is blackness, and so is every other theory that could be considered a theory.
When people talk about the afterlife, they tend to assume things, but what’s the point? We don’t know anything about the afterlife. The chances that heaven exists are equal to the chances that we’ll come back as Ikea employees. Just because the heaven theory is more popular, doesn’t mean it’s more right.
If you flip a fair coin a thousand times, and it always lands on heads, that doesn’t make the chances of it landing on tails any less likely. Does it?
So why do people even bother thinking about the afterlife? Does it give them comfort? As a sufferer from depression, of course I’ve thought about what’ll happen after I ever commit suicide, but about a month ago, I’ve realised it’s sort of pointless.
We have such little evidence for what happens after death. Our guesses for the afterlife aren’t even slightly controlled. Sure, we could hope for something, but the chances for any theory we have on the afterlife could quite possibly be some of the smallest chances we’re aware of, so isn’t hope a little futile?
Keep in mind, this idea of mine is fairly new and not very developed. I’ve been posting some of my other thoughts previously and I’ve been loving the responses I’m getting, so I thought I could quite possibly try handing over the reins on this one just to see how you guys all mould my ‘afterlife’ thoughts into something better. I suppose I just want to see how this goes.
Love, From, the Midnightcrisis.
Until next time.
I’ve been here for a few years now, but on and off. My life’s been a rollercoaster really and I’ve been through all sorts of good and bad things. Eventually I would hit a low point, where I really would feel like there’s nothing left for me. The triggers would be different every time. Things always change and that’s so stressful.
But throughout the years, every time I’ve returned here to share my feelings or read others’ stories; this site has always been here. And it looks the same now as it did on my very first day. And there’s something special to me about that. That font, the black background; it all comes from my memories of being in this horrific dark hopeless place of despair. But if I had ever let that swarm of depression truly consume me, I wouldn’t be here right now to tell the tale.
So although I hate to state the obvious, that I’m only here because once again I’m at my limits and really want to die, I also have this restored sense of hope that maybe I will still be around long enough to leave again and come back a few more times to get to meet more people and just ponder over things I need to think about/sort out in my head.
Thank you for listening. I hope you are all safe tonight.
I don’t want to be here anymore. I regret it everytime I come. If I ever helped someone with my words then great. I know what I did and didn’t do or say to the one I’m sad over. I still endure those feelings, but I did this to myself. Like I’ve always done before and relized it now. If I was thankful for not killing myself when I had the strength to, I would say it. I’m going to be something I loathe, a cut-throat type of person because I know I won’t find happiness like that again. I’ll either delete my account tomorrow, or just not come back.
I feel like I have to say something about leaving.
I know someone on here had a post similar to this but after you’ve had trauma attempted suicide are depressed anxious self harm have suicidal thoughts etc can you really come back from all that ? being the happy out going person u once was ? Or are u pass the point of no return the damage is already done kind of thing game over
how many people have actually won the battle to live a so called normal life?
and how many people have commit suicide what’s the odds I say suicide wins by far what’s everyone view on the subject ?
I want to go back. Change everything. There was so much potential for happiness in my life. If only I hadn’t been such a fucking asshole. But now it’s too late. Now I’ve become this thing that I can’t let anyone see. I can’t make a connection with anyone because I have to put on an act. Pretend I’m a decent person, not a disgusting oxygen-thief. Can’t change myself to become decent. There’s some things you can’t come back from. I’m not sure what the right thing would be from this point. I’m guessing it would hurt. A lot. Me, and my family. A whole heap of suffering. After which I can’t see anyone wanting to have anything to do with me. So I still wouldn’t be able to connect with anyone.
Maybe the right thing would be to kill myself. But that would hurt my family even more. That doesn’t feel right.
It feels like I should endure my self-inflicted misery in silence, at least until my parents die. But I don’t know how to live like that. I’m not a strong, self-sacrificing paragon. I’m a selfish asshole.
I don’t know how to get through the next 20+ years, while life keeps passing me by, and I keep yearning for what everyone around me has.
My tear soaked pillow mourns the absence of drought
The piles of tissues in the corner regret their existence
My heart begs to beat again and feel the warm embrace
The confusion sets in with unbearable force
If only I were perfect would you like me? Would you come back?
Would you realize that your words sting like sandpaper?
Or when I cry it feels like acid
If only you understood what really happened
If you could only listen
Hear my frail cries
If I were different
Would you notice?
Or would it matter to you if I wasn’t there at all.
I don’t want to feel this way anymore
But the war keeps going on
Last week I thought I was starting to get better. I started to let go of my depression, trying to live normally and forgetting about everything that cause my depression. I thought I was doing well. But right now, everything… everything is starting to come back. Everything is starting to fall apart again. Everything is breaking. I’m now being consumed by my depression again and I can’t control it anymore. Maybe I can’t ever be saved from my mental illness. Maybe this is my fate. Maybe life isn’t really for me. And I’ve decided, I’m going to end this fucked up life.
Day by day I feel like a sand clock seen the day pass by so slow that I can’t even breath.
Since my grandoarents died I feel so empty that I can’t fight anymore I’m sick and I hate all the treatments. My mother day by day tell how much she love’s my brother and that she doesn’t expect anything from me. I hate these pain that I just want to die.
At the university I met my husband he is my best friend he wanted to take care of me so we married on august 20, 2015 on the civil court but he never touch me is like having a friend by your side. I’ve talk to him about that and he tells mehe loves me but he’s afriend of hurting me he knows the cancer could come back since I had it 4 times and that he cant’s have anything with me, the he tried but he just love me and the fear of loosing me doesn’t let him.
I know is my sickness and the digosting felling of being with a woman that had been rape also. That’s why I’ve decide to take all the money that my grandparents let me and all the properties and business and make life easier for everyone when everything is done and is ready for him to take my place I’m going to rest.
There are some people that love’s me they are not my family but they are like family and I’m preparing some things that are going to help them on their needs and some letters. I hope they forgive me but I have to go and release this pain and aches so bad that I can’t pretend to be happy anymore my only happines is justice for the death of my grandparents and meeting with them.
Spent $250 today on supplies for my exit.
Have booked in a days leave from work in two days time so I have the whole night and day by myself to pull this off.
I have tried before & failed. It was painful and i dont want to go through that again.
The method Ive chosen this time should be painless if all goes to plan.
Thoughts of my family keep trying to push their way into my brain, but I keep pushing them out . I know they will be OK & I know I simply can’t go on being me.
I’m a good person but I’ve done some things I just can’t come back from, I’ve been shamed too greatly.
The countdown is on…48hours left..So scared but cant wait for peace.
I have done terrible things
Things to make you shiver in the dark
Things that make even my own skin crawl
I want them back, to take them away
I hurt others, so badly I cry
It wasn’t me! I scream
It was them! I can’t help it!
Please, you have to believe me
The things that lie in wait
To rip me apart
To make me rend and tear
As they watch
It’s the demons that lurk beneath the skin
The ones only freed by razors
Death is to begin again
They beg me to stay
I beg them to let me leave
I don’t want to hurt you anymore
I don’t want to make you bleed
No you must stay
You must endure
You must continue the hurt
No matter what
Do you like it?
Is that it? Do you like it you sick bastards?
To see me hurt
Or is it you that you like to see hurt?
I trusted you
You stabbed me in the back
I loved you
You loved me
Is this what it’s all come to?
Lovely red swirls
Going round and round
I can’t forgive you
You can’t forgive you
You can’t forgive me
I can’t forgive me either
Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it
Then I think of the times we shared
All of the kinds words
All of the times you saved me
I met you in a dark place
I met you with scars
Scars on both of us
Now where are we?
Right back where we began?
Or is it worse?
Can this ever get better?
I have to believe it will
She still loves me
She needs me
The last bird in an almost empty nest
Why’d you make me choose?
We were happy!
Why’d you have to choose?
I thought we were happy!
How could it end this way?
Nobody said it’d end like this
In public they kiss
A trap has fallen
The boy nervous he might miss
His heart has been stolen
The boy falls in lust
The girl sees her chance
He gave her his trust
Her lies pierced his heart like a lance
They last all night
Increasing the danger
Happiness never ends
Demons come in all shapes and sizes
A lie so bold
The boy believes
A truth never told
Another girl greaves
He wants to leave
She begs him to stay
She can’t believe
It turned out this way
Are there any monsters?
In the closet?
Under my bed?
In my head?
They want me dead.
Am I bad?
Of course not.
Then why am I sad?
I don’t have an answer hon.
Well I’m all done.
Done with what?
The battle is over, the monsters won.
What do you mean?
They’ve already killed who I was.
There Was A Boy And A Girl
There was a boy and a girl. The two of them in a world that does not forgive mistakes. The boy had just come to this place, a place unlike any other. He knew not what to do, what was expected of him, he was ignorant.
The girl had been here for far too long, longer than the boy could ever imagine. She had learned long ago this place was strange and could not be compared to others.
The boy came here with scars covering him, too many to count and too many to see. He knew pain, oh he knew it well. It was like a mother’s love to him.
The girl hated the pain, saw it for the poison it was, the way it tore through her.
The boy had met her a few times, fleeting moments in time, but he remembered her when they met again.
She had noticed him too, saw him in a way that was deceiving, painting him in a light where the scars were no longer visible. Then she had stopped. Stopped what? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t meant to. They had gone their separate ways, found others to spend their times with.
The boy had been happy, almost euphoric in the way he felt.
The girl had been the happiest she’d known in a long time. This continued for a time, this happiness, but it shattered for them both at the same time.
The boy had realized the other was not happiness, but he fought for it, for he loved the pain. Even now he loved it.
The girl, had seen her other for what he was, and, hating the pain, left. She found a new other, an other that would never let her down, an other that made her happier than she’d ever been.
The boy continued on with his addiction to the pain. Enduring every time when it got particularly bad.
The girl was flying, and she was certain this could never end.
Seeing through the pain, through all the lies he’d told himself, the boy ran.
The girl had seen through this perfect prison. Seen the pain that lurked beneath the surface. She could not run, no. This is too much to run from.
The boy was free but he was not happy, no there was no more pain to infect him with, but he felt nothing with the pain gone. His other had robbed him of the pleasure of sensation.
The girl began to hurt again, she had traded places with the boy and was beginning to love the pain. To love the thing that tore through all the perfection and the lies.
The boy realized he was a fool for never knowing her before. He regretted every moment he’d spent doubting her. He wanted her, and it was bad
The girl however, was in no position to reciprocate what she may have once felt. She had to say no, even as they pressed their lips together.
The boy felt happy, felt he had done good. He was so wrong.
She was back in love with the pain again the very next day. She told herself it would be different this time, it would be better.
The boy lived in bitterness from her rejection. He did many foolish things out of spite to her.
The girl sent him off to fend for himself.
The boy went through many changes, even partaking in the pain occasionally. He never did fall in love with it again though.
One day the girl saw through all the lies again. It terrified her to see it all so clearly. She called upon the boy to help her. To please save her.
Knowing what he must do, the boy did his best to ease the pain and suffering. He tried to help. He had gained her favor and her forgiveness yet again.
She was not ready to leave the nurturing embrace of the poison however, and the new friendship almost failed in that time. It was obvious what they had now was different than before however and it survived through it.
The boy saw what was happening, and made a bold move. He intended to recreate what had happened before. The electricity of their lips touching, two souls alone in the dark.
She pushed him away. It was wrong of him to try to do this, especially now. She explained why.
Having ashamed himself once again, the boy returned to his home. The boy continued his friendship, although it was greatly strained.
After she had thrust the poison away from her she regretted it. She wanted it back, was begging for it to return to her.
The boy wouldn’t let her though, he just couldn’t. He tried to help and he failed. He only made things worse in the end.
She could not forgive him for what he had done. How dare he? How dare he play the part of a god in her life? What gave him that right?
The boy left her, but the friendship remained.
It was a beautiful midwestern night, the stars shining in the sky like they only do in the country. The weather outside is unpredictable, as it always is here. A night that almost shakes with opportunity. A poor boy shares the time with his best friend. This night she is working, but he’s there talking to her anyways. They chat as easily as they always have, but something’s different tonight.
I’m not sure she notices that so much has changed, the way I look at her, the way my heart’s beating off my chest just being near her. All the small things, oh Christ. Just look at the way she pushes her auburn hair out her eyes, I’d never noticed this before but this minor movement is almost graceful coming from her. The slight curve of her wrist as she pushes the rebel hair back where it belongs. She’s perfect, I think it a thousand times just in one minute. I can’t help but look at her lips, so damn kissable. Perfectly formed to tempt a man to do anything just to taste them. I snap out of these thoughts quickly, that’s not what I’m there for. I’m there because when I talk to her she saves me, that when she smiles at me I forget that I’ve felt the worst of human emotion, that her laugh makes me remember the good times, however few there may be. God, I think, How could you ever take this for granted? How could you not tell her every minute of every day that she’s beautiful? This continues for hours, playful, casual banter being exchanged while I marvel at her. I’m just happy I’m not drooling on the floor like a dog, the thought leaves as quickly as it comes. I ask for a ride home, and she graciously agrees. My heart begins to pound like in the old Poe story, I swear she must hear it. However she drives me to my home in relative silence. She parks out front and by now my heart is beating so hard I think I have a bruised rib cage. “Good night,” she says. I do the last thing she ever thought I would do, I take her head in my hands, and I kiss her. Holy fucking shit, she’s actually kissing me back. This is no kiss fueled by teenage angst, no this is tender, sweet, and I never want it to end. She sits there, stunned, “Wow,”
“Do you believe me now?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
I lean over and kiss her again. After this kiss she whispers in my ear, “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’ve gotten myself into worse,” I reply. I step out of the car, trying my hardest to not let the biggest, most foolish, smile I’ve ever had show.
The boy sat alone in a dark room.
The world around him simply moved on.
The boy saw it happen, but he did not care to stop it
He had become a separate entity.
Something in the outside.
The outside was dismal, dark, crushing
He only returned there for the sick pleasure the pain gave him
He knew it was dangerous
He knew the risks
From the outside he watched home, and the world continuing without him
He saw it all and was almost content.
He saw it, hell, he looked down upon the world he once knew
But the part of him that belonged there.
It longed to be home.
The boy realized his mistake.
He was one of them
He did not belong outside
He could not survive
For outside was a poison
He saw what his time in this other place had done.
He was between the two worlds.
Neither held their original charm.
He had poisoned himself.
Eaten it like candy.
He hurt for a time.
His hurt came from the outside
He felt happiness
Happiness came from home
Could he still call that place home?
The boy felt as though he was beyond “home”
Not that it would take him back
He was kicked out
Like a problem child
For the warmth it once gave him scalded his skin
The light blinded his eyes
A lost child in worlds that did not forgive.
One day he met a friend
This friend was from the outside
The friend smiled at him
Lured him to the outside with the promise of a new home
This new home was a lie.
He was more torn than ever
He realized his friend was more demon than ally
He ran from the demon
He never truly escaped it
He returned to the in between
The boy of course met other travelers
He did not trust these strangers
And they did not trust him
For all the travelers had encountered them
And justly feared them
A cold and dark place
With only an unnatural brightness to show the way
For the boy it was a tower.
Others an asylum, a farm, a city, or an infinite number of things
It was the dividing
Point of the two worlds
An odd place for a nomad such as he
Perhaps he could have made it his home
But stability does not favor this boy
The tower, like all things do, collapsed
The boy returned to his old life as a traveler
The boy feared little anymore.
His life had become directionless
He feared only one thing
A life of solitude
He found another friend
This one much more persuasive
It told him to return to the place he still called home
The boy, suspicious yet weary agreed
He felt joy for the first time in years.
Perhaps he had truly returned
Scars remained from the demon, however
The boy realized he must leave, if only to spare his friend from a fate such as his
As he left his friend changed
Not to a demon
This friend was some horrible abomination
A joining of the two
It held him captive in home
And the scars shed blood once more
The boy, growing tired of his existence
Fought the abomination
The boy was horribly outmatched
Yet he won
For he fought with no regard for himself
Perhaps he would die
Death was too stable a fate for this boy
The boy walked on.
His only companion were the glowing footprints all travelers left behind them
This place was his lifeblood
Without it he would be dead
With it, he could not truly live
She knows not her true beauty, it astounds one to know that this magnificent beauty has no idea she is near angelic. Her skin a golden brown from long hours in the sun, her muscles toned from hours of exercise, soft auburn hair, and a face fit for a princess. This woman’s beauty permeates to the very depths of her soul, although few have ever seen it. A kind word from her is enough to intoxicate most men, and they often fall madly in love with her. Some men even revere her as a goddess
Yet she refuses to see beyond the scars she swears ruin her skin. She is right, however, these scars do exist, but they are on the inside. It’s a tragic scene. Her chasing the knife that gave her those scars. It’s as if she enjoys the pain it gives her. She thinks she is in control but she’s at the will of a real demon. She lives on a razor’s edge, and some days she leans towards heaven, others, hell. Very rarely does my muse achieve perfect balance.
This demon comes from the very depths of hell, a place where it is said even the devil dare not witness the atrocities committed there. This demon had once been human, but after its time in the pit it became the foul thing that infects the beautiful woman we see before us. It was not just tortured in that foul place, no, it was taught to torture as well, to inflict others with pain akin to its own.
The woman remains unaware of the intruder inside her. Ignorance is not her bliss, for as long as she does not know it inhabits her, it cannot be expelled. Her only salvation is to accept she has been possessed and expel the demon on her own. My efforts to help her have been fruitless, for the demon deafens her ears to my pleas.
As you may have guessed dear reader, I am in love with this beauty. She has captivated my heart in a way no other woman could. My thoughts always return to her, and many of my waking hours are spent contemplating how to attract her fancy. Now that she has been possessed however, I have noticed her losing weight at an alarming rate. She has also become more and more irritable and less sociable in this time. It saddens her suitors and I, for although this demon does not affect her outer appearance, it is rending a bloody path through the beauty her soul once held.
She loves the tranquility the water can provide her with. She is more at home on a beach than in any castle or estate. She has a love for the sea, yet the demon has poisoned even this. It makes my heart ache to see her in such pain. She can no longer find true happiness in anything she does, the demon has taken that from her.
I attempted to save her, begged the demon inside of her to strike a deal with me. It was a foolish move and now she has payed the price, for the demon did not appreciate my actions and apparently enjoyed its current home. Instead of leaving her it dug itself in deeper, rooting itself in the very base of her soul. As is did this it tore through her, wounding her worse than ever before. All I could do was watch in horror as the demon devours all she used to be.
Perhaps you expect a decent ending, and perhaps you deserve one. Sadly, I cannot give you one fit to sate your appetite. For this story has no end. It continues on even as I write this line.
She is beautiful. Oh she is not at her best at this moment, no. She wears no makeup on her face, her hair is simply pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, her nails with polish peeling off, and her outfit a menagerie of the most comfortable items in her wardrobe. Yet this woman is stunning. Her kind smile flashes quickly and easily, her hair still soft and flowing in the wind, her hands warm to the touch, and her clothing albeit unusual simply compliments her body. Her body tempts men, begging them to get up and do something, anything. The smile that lies only a moment away at any time lights up a man’s soul and makes him wonder how he ever survived without such a divine light in his life. Those hands warm men on the coldest of days, not only their bodies but to the very core of their existence. Her lips, oh God her lips. The are perfectly curved and a man almost regrets when they are hidden or forgotten by a smile. They look simply perfect to kiss, like they were made for that very purpose. Few have ever kissed those lips, for she does not give away such gifts freely, it must be earned, not taken. I know, for I have kissed those lips, felt them against mine. These kisses were nothing to laugh at, they were driven by an almost insane passion deep within me. Of course that was only once, and a long time ago at that. She is beautiful for all she is, more than just her body. The very soul of this woman is kind, nurturing, and radiant. If you need help she will be there. If you need a friend she will be one to you. If you need a word of comfort she will give you more than just one. She astounds me, her kindness continues although I have done terrible things. Things that keep me up each night. The kind of things that make one believe in monsters, not those that lurk in storybooks, no. The monsters that lurk in each and every one of us. Those are the ones I now believe in. They are not gentle, they do not care if it hurts, and they do not enjoy your pain. They hurt for no other reason than they can.
The Life Of A Lone Traveler
There is, and always has been two worlds, and in the centuries man has existed, very few have had the fortitude to walk them both. This is the story of one such traveler.
The boy was alone in his room, the lights off, and his shades drawn. He loved the intoxicating darkness. He knew that to be here was to be ready to go to the other place. This other place is only two steps away when he’s in this room. He took the first step.
The Outside was dark, but he knew it would be. He preferred the darkness; it left him feeling cold. There was also the force, an almost sentient thing that pressed in on him on all sides. The Pressure pushed down only hard enough to cause discomfort, for it did not want to cause its victims pain, no, it wanted to lull them into a false sense of security, like a poisoned lullaby. This almost dreadful pain had become his sick pleasure. He knew that one day this place would draw him in and he’d never be able to leave, but he continued his visits regardless.
In The Outside the boy thought up things that would make the average person’s blood run cold in their veins. At his tender age he became the deepest thinker of his time. His thoughts were colors in this other place. The boy loved the freedom this blank canvas left him. Instead of drawing upon a white slate this boy worked on a black surface to make it all the more vibrant. He became used to the cold of this other world and when he returned to Home he always felt feverish, even the coldest day in Home could not match the bone chilling cold of The Outside.
He saw the beauty of Home, for it was a warm place where even the most horrible of men were swaddled in the deep, nurturing, love of a mother. Home was also stunningly beautiful; almost no shadows existed there, a place that existed almost without fear, pain, hunger, or famine. The average boy felt immense joy in this, a joy akin to euphoria. Our boy instead felt disgust at such a weak place, a place where intelligence was greatly ignored and innocence was the norm, not the exception. He could not stand the naivety of it all.
He continued his visits to The Outside, drawing great masterpieces of thought while he was in the darkness and cold. He understood things that the “adults” of Home had been fighting over for as long as man had existed. He uncovered vast, hidden, secrets. Whatever god there is in that dank, cold, and lifeless place had obviously touched this young boy’s heart, and frozen it in his chest. Perhaps he could have been saved, if he had just waited longer between. Instead his visits increased in frequency and duration. Damning him to a fate worse than death.
One day the boy took the steps necessary to go to The Outside. He had just returned to his sanctuary after a day worse than most. His father had gotten that glint of rage in his eyes- the glint that only comes when he’s on one of his benders. He grabbed the boy and threw him into the nearest wall, causing dust to fall from the sheetrock. The boy had taken it, with no emotion in his eyes, which only infuriated his father to a point beyond measure. ¨What makes you think you’re better than me you worthless piece of shit!?¨ He had screamed. Even in his normally sobering rage, he had slurred his words. His father had slapped him and returned to his stupor. The boy went to The Outside, but today he felt none of its normal comfort. He only felt the true horror of this place, and for the first time questioned his motives for returning to this place. He no longer loved the Pressure, instead it terrified him in all its monstrosity. He knew he had to leave; this place had poisoned his heart, he had to go. NOW. He took the first step and almost took the second. He saw Home, in all its splendid glory, but he also saw all that was wrong with it. He looked behind him and saw The Outside, a stark contrast to the heavenly scene in front of him. He took a step.
This step took him directly to his left, for he knew that those two worlds were no longer his to walk. He looked behind him and almost screamed when he saw the glow. He looked closer and saw it was in the slightly deformed shape of his feet. He walked on, believing he was now ready for the surprises that awaited him.
He had been walking for a time, perhaps it had only been a minute, perhaps days. He had no way of knowing if it was day or night. The boy had originally been terrified, but had quickly realized that this place, a place he had begun to know as Inbetween, was outside of either worlds’ time. He simply dragged on, his only way of knowing that he’s progressing was seeing one foot go in front of the other. He had noticed the floor for the first time since he had begun to walk the endless plains of Inbetween, that the floor was a gritty, sand-like gray material that was displaced with each step he took. There had been times when he thought he had seen a huge figure in the distance. He quickly dismissed this as a hallucination from the exhaustion he must be feeling. It must be fake, he told himself, nothing but shapes made by my tired mind. Only, he didn’t feel tired, hell, he didn’t feel anything really. He ignored his momentary discomfort and kept walking ahead. One foot in front of the other.
After a great many steps the boy saw that the looming shape in the distance was growing, which disproved his earlier belief that it was simply a hallucination. He made it his landmark and he began trudge his way towards it. As he got closer he realized that what he had been seeing was a tower that kissed the sky of this desolate place. With each step he took he uncovered another secret. First that it seemed to go on forever, second it was made entirely out of a stone that is black as night, and third, that it looked as though it was nearing the end of its existence.
He arrived at the tower with growing anticipation, perhaps he would find someone to share his time with, or maybe a terrifying monster. Either way, he believed he was prepared to face what awaits him inside. Walking up the stone steps he noticed that none of the gritty material that makes up the ground of Inbetween had found its way onto the stone. He approached the great wooden door, a door so large it should have taken six men to push it open, but when the boy pressed upon its surface it swung open on well-oiled hinges as if it weighed no more than a feather.
The interior was dimly lit, the light seeming to come from nowhere. The stone was oppressing, making the boy feel true claustrophobia for the first time in his life. He enjoyed it, for it reminded him of The Outside before he had realized the pure poison that world is. The tower was not furnished, it only had small alcoves from time to time where one could rest. The boy felt the stone and it began to steal his heat almost before his skin ever touched it. He knew what this place was, he knew it was the anchor for the two worlds, a place that has certain characteristics of each of the two worlds. As soon as he entered the tower he had felt an almost loving embrace, not quite that of a parent, but that of maybe an uncle or aunt. He was weary of this place forever, he had learned his lesson since The Outside and had no ambition to repeat his previous mistake. The boy spent a time inside the tower, again there is no way to truly measure time Inbetween, but knew to leave once his heart grow cold.
Making his way away from the tower, and the footprints he had left behind, the boy contemplated the existence of such a place. He wondered silently if it could fall, surely not, if it fell the two worlds would surely be doomed to collapse under their own weight. He knew however, that the tower had seemed to be on its last legs, and worried for the future of the worlds regardless of whether he inhabited either any more. It never occurred to him, however, that the Inbetween would suffer as a result of a collapse as well.
It was many steps later when he met the other. He had been terrified out of his mind when he had seen their shapes, for he now knew to trust his eyes in this place. As they neared one another he saw it was a man and a child, this man was obviously not the father of the child, but looked at it with love akin to that of one. As they neared each other the boy cried out, “Hey, HEY! Are you real!?” The man appeared not to have heard the boy for a time, but the he replied, “Boy if you don’t shut your damn trap I’ll leave the kid here and throw you into the darkness of Oblivion.”
“Is that what you call it?” The boy questioned
“The dark place, Oblivion, I call it The Outside.”
“Humph, good enough name as any. Now get away from us and walk, do your best to forget us if you can, and if you can’t don’t look for us.”
The man and the child walked away, and the boy noticed that their footprints glowed a different color than that of his own.
That was, and remains to be his only encounter with other people in the Inbetween. He stood there looking in the direction of the slowly shrinking shapes, he did this until the were but mere specks on the horizon. He slowly turned around and continued his journey forward into the unknown. Never to see the man and child again.
After a few steps the boy broke down sobbing. He had no warning it was coming, but at the same time he knew it must, for how could one not cry after all he had been through? The pure injustice of what had happened to one so young burned through his veins. The tears he cried burned like acid. His throat hitched, trying to force up the pain that had encompassed him. He almost wished for his father’s beatings, anything would be preferable to the solitude of this place. He lost what he thought what was all of his innocence while he sobbed. He was wrong of course, there is always a little more innocence left to lose.
The boy decided to return to the tower. To him it was his only home, his only constant. He followed his footprints, and noticed that he had been lazily creating arcs in the gritty material, like he had been drunk. I’m just as bad as Dad ever was, he thought, and I’m not even drunk. Shaking his head, he moved forward, impatient to be at the only place he believed he could ever call home.
As he grew closer to where he believed the tower stood he noticed that he could not see the behemoth. He became worried, and for the first time since he had begun to walk, he ran. The boy ran as if his life depended on it, like all the hounds of hell were at nipping at his heels. With each stride he grew closer to knowing what he already believed, that the tower was no more, that some terrible force had finally collapsed it, like a child with their toys.
Arriving at the stone steps he saw a large shape, yes, but it was not that of a tower, it was that of a mountain of rubble. Rubble that seemed as black as night, and that stole heat from the bodies of young boys. His face burned with fury. The only place that could have become a home had crumbled while he was away. The dust entered in his nostrils, stinging them; he welcomed the pain as an escape for this hateful reality. His face felt the unfamiliar wetness of tears. He wanted to scream, but knew there was no sympathy, and no one who cares in this unforgiving land of Inbetween.
The boy stayed among the rubble for a time. He does not know what compelled him to stay, but he obeyed it regardless. While he was there his entire body seemed to get covered in the dust left from the now crushed stones of the tower. His tears had long since stopped, and the only mark that they were ever there was the muddy trails they had left on his young face.
I’m terrified, no idea where to go, what to do. I don’t want these people to think I’m some loser after only a few days here, and to avoid that I have to find a place to sit, and fast. I think. Hey, there’s that Sidney girl I could sit by, at least that’d be somebody. So I go to sit at the table that seems to be mostly girls. I take a seat next to a girl with dark hair, and I’m kind of in the middle of the table. When I sit down I see a few girls, one with dark hair that’s kind of pretty but is a little big. A girl with what’s that color hair called? I don’t know, but she’s pretty and has glasses. There’s Sidney, with her stick thin body, large glasses, and familiar face. Finally there’s a skinny girl in what I think are yoga pants, seems like she’s a dirty blonde, but who knows anymore?
It’s maybe a month later, and I’m with Maria at the football game. My heart’s beating out of my goddamn chest and I’m happy as I can be. It’s a cold and bitter October night, and that little bit of a bite is really starting to hurt. We went to the dance, and that electronic pop crap was playing. I paid my two bucks to get in, but nobody was there so Maria and I decided to leave, along with Cassidy and some other people. We go to the playground that I’ve been to at least a thousand time, the worn tires gleam in the moonlight, and the wood is as dull as always. We start playing a game, I can’t remember what it’s called, or what the rules are, but it’s fast paced and my breathing’s starting to get a little bit heavier. We all grow tired of this game and meet up at what I’ve always thought of as a boat in the middle of the playground. Somebody suggests we play truth or dare and of course we agree, it’s a high school classic. Sometime during the game the girl with the hair color I still don’t know the name of, and a guy that’s probably her boyfriend shows up. Their turn comes up and the guy picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. A twinge of something, jealousy maybe? Shoots through me, but it’s quickly forgotten.
Another day, another stupid argument. She accused me of looking at other girls, and she’s putting on a nice face while we sit next to Hannah and Cameron. I’m so sick of this, but I’m putting up with it. I don’t know why, but I am. I keep stealing glances at Hannah. Of course it’s wrong, and a little bit of me hates myself for it, but I do it anyways. She’s just so goddamned good looking, and I feel something in my chest. I ignore it, and barely register that it’s there. The meal goes on like normal, but something’s changed.
Ah shit, spilled a little bit of my drink in Hannah’s car. Hope that piece of trash I’m covering it up with is absorbent. Maria’s to my left, Cameron’s sitting in front of me, and Hannah’s driving. Goodwill was fun, I think, Haven’t had that much fun with other people in a long time. We’re on our way to this place, Plaza Mexico. I’ve never heard of it, but we’re going, and apparently it’s my birthday. When we got there, I saw it was a pretty nice place, the outside really is deceiving. I order this huge burrito, and who knows what Maria’s ordering. I keep stealing glances at Hannah, I’m not even aware I’m doing it anymore. God, she looks good tonight. We have some of the most natural, and easy coming conversations I’ve ever had. It’s a good day. I think to myself, with a dumb smile on my face.
We go to Wal Mart, like any good double dating teen should. I’m feeling like hell, why can’t they just shut up about how terrible of a boyfriend I am? The girls are going off on their own, and all the while I’m looking at Maria I’m noticing Hannah on the edges of my vision. I don’t know how, or why, but we end up by the cd’s and video games. I wander off, deciding to go to the bathroom for a bit. I need a break. Once I get in there, I notice that nobody else has decided to occupy the cold little room with me. I stand, looking in the mirror while the water runs. I’m such a terrible person, why can’t I be like Cameron, why can’t I make this stop? I go outside, hoping nobody sees me. I’m walking around the cd’s for a bit. Well, maybe I wasn’t walking around, maybe I was hiding from the others. The little bit of solitude I managed to build up is destroyed once Cameron finds me. He says he was worried about me, and I almost believe him. We leave the store, my little episode obviously put a damper on the night. On our way home I decide to tell them, I have to. “I’m depressed, and that’s why I disappeared on you guys in Wal Mart, I was feeling down and needed to be alone for a bit.”
“That’s okay,” Hannah says, and I forget what she said after. All I know is I felt a little less terrible for a bit.
What am I supposed to do? I ask myself. I’m sitting on the white couch upstairs, and I can’t stop thinking about how I broke up with Maria. All of the sudden I get a text from an unknown number. It says something about how there’s a rumor going around that Maria’s pregnant, and it’s mine. When I ask who it is all they say is, “I’m a friend.” I wear them down eventually though, and I find out it’s Hannah. Why would she help me? After Maria hit her all I did was say terrible things about her. All I know is that I have one more friend in this world.
I’m walking up to Shell, feeling awkward because of the earbuds, the t-shirt, and the fact I’m walking up Main Street. I’m a little worried, I don’t know what I’ll say when I see her, or what we’ll talk about, but I keep walking. When I get there I’m not greeted, I even crack a joke about the terrible customer service there. We talk for hours, way longer than I thought we would. I end up walking back home because her shift ends after my curfew. I feel a lot better about how I’m doing now.
God it’s hot, and these fucking flies. I’m sitting with Hannah next to me, she’s kind of smiling but something’s wrong. I can see it in the way the smile’s only skin deep. Cameron shows up. Of course he does, can’t leave his girlfriend alone for too long. She knows how I feel about her, and I’m trying to avoid the elephant in the room. We spend the entire day manning the table and the cash. Well, I did. They wandered off for a while, found out later that they had a huge fight.
I just spent maybe the last two hours sitting on the counter in Shell, talking to Hannah. She’s giving me a ride home, had an early closing time today. When we get to my house something happens. I don’t know what, and whoever or whatever does is much smarter than I’ll ever be. I lean over and kiss her, trying to remember that she doesn’t like full on makeout sessions. I hold her head in my hands, trying to make sure she will kiss me. She kisses me back, and Goddamn does it feel good. I kiss her a few times, I don’t remember how many, but not enough. Right before I leave the car she whispers, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’ve gotten myself into worse.”
She’s coming to my house to pick me up. I think the feelings are all gone, and I’m surprised as all hell that she’s actually willing to see me after a few months of complete silence. I grabbed a second mountain dew for her, but apparently she’s quit pop. We end up at the park where this all began. It’s just the parking lot, but it brings back a lot of memories. Not all of them good. Sitting on the curb and talking feels good, ridiculously good. The feelings are back, of course they are. How’d I ever think they were gone?
It’s happened again, only this time she’s a few shades tanner and single. She’s coming over to pick me up, and we’re going to talk. When she gets there I see her little sister’s in the back seat. There’s barely enough time for me to buckle my seatbelt before we’re off, apparently we’re going to the “Blue Park.” When we get there, she sees Tatum and the next second we’re out of there. I don’t know where we go, or how many different places there are, but I do remember that we talked. We talked about all the old pains these places brought her, and I feel guilty for how badly I want to kiss her.
Hey you! Yeah you! Wanna know something before I continue on with this thing? You don’t? Well piss off, I’m doing it anyways. This is going to include more than just her, it’s going to be myself as well. Maybe a deviation from my usual style, but maybe that’s a good thing.
Her hair is pulled behind her hair in some sort of braid. It rests perfectly behind her neck and trails down the back of her blue shirt. She’s ignoring me right now, but that’s okay. At the moment she’s manning the register and she’s doing something that I’m confused just looking at. This menial task, something that no beauty or grace should be found in, has been turned into something of an art. Something perfected after being performed more times than one cares to count. It’s almost soothing to see her work, the way she’s totally comfortable in what she’s doing. Those eyes, usually so captivating, have been captivated by the bland task ahead of her, and I love it. Something in me snapped a long time ago, and now I see her here, just working, and it makes me happier than anything has in months. Maybe those clothes she is wearing are meant to be bland and unnoticeable, but when she wears them they become the single most beautiful articles of clothing this world has seen. They seem to compliment every slight curvature of her body. Their colors work with the natural tones of her own skin to create the beautiful picture I’m trying to depict. It’s not the clothes that make this change happen, it’s her. The simple aura she seems to exude, an almost palpable thing that can either lift your spirits, or break your heart. She raises you up when all others thought you were irretrievable, she makes a man contemplating taking his own life think about why life is still worth living, and most importantly, when she smiles, you smile. Sadly, or maybe luckily, she doesn’t realize that she can have this affect on others. Doesn’t seem to see what just her presence will do to lift the pressure off the backs of those around her.
When I see her, my heart beats faster in my chest, the world slows down a little. Then it happens. My head seizes, along with my muscles. I want to release that tension so damned bad that I’d nearly break my fingers to be rid of it. Yet I want to feel this every day for the rest of my life. I want to see that face I know so well every day, even if it brings on the worst agony I’ve ever known. I can’t tell you why I want her so bad. Maybe it’s something I control, maybe it’s something above any mere man. Either way, I am at the whim of my desires, and I’m trying desperately to fix what chances I once had. The chances I ruined when I became entranced with that smile, the way it seems to light up the room, no, the whole damn world. When I saw that hair pulled behind her head, her face perfectly visible to any available eye, I was a gonner. I’ve had dreams at night of being closer to her, just being able to talk to her like I once did. Maybe that’s all they’ll ever be, just dreams, but I can’t accept that. I can’t live with thinking that I really don’t have a chance. Not when she’s saved me from my lowest lows, and brought me to my highest highs. Not when we’ve shared our deepest secrets. Especially not when my heart still beats like it’s about to burst out of my chest when I think of the time we kissed. I can’t let go, and I just don’t want to.
I look at her through a veil. This veil does not impair my vision, instead it improves it. It improves it so that I may see every damned beautiful part of her there is. I lied, it does impede my vision. It keeps me from seeing all the imperfections, the flaws in her. Her soft hair cascading down her back, nothing restricting its movement. Those eyes, staring deeply into your soul, while somehow not looking at you at all. The way her lips made my entire body sing. How they made my mind forget all of the horrors I hold within myself. When they curl themselves into a smile that seems to light up the entire world, but most importantly, they light up what I call a soul. Nothing specific about that smile can be called perfect, every little thing, along with the imperfections, is what makes it into the beauteous thing it is. I swear to God she never wore a bad outfit. Every single thing I’ve seen her wear has complimented her completely. The way her hands seemed as though they could make all the pains, all the scars, all of the goddamned tears disappear. Being near her could make my soul stop its pitiful screaming and realize the true beauty of this life. the demons that lurked beneath the surface that anyone who didn’t know her would swear weren’t actually there. How they once tore her apart. Made her something like me. I’d love to be the one to banish those demons, to make all of the hurt and pain be gone from her life, even if it cost my own sanity. Thing is though, that what you’d love to see happen is so very rarely what happens. It’s the truth in this case, I can’t deny that. She still goes on feeling her pain, and I can’t do a damned thing about it.
Alas, it is over. there is no chance for redemption, not anymore. It is nothing that I have done, no great transgression or offense. We’ve simply grown apart, as is so common with people our age. It saddens me, God, it almost breaks me from the immense sorrow I feel at her loss. Maybe it was never meant to be, and maybe I once had a chance, but those times are far behind me. I cannot, or maybe will not, place the blame solely on her or myself. I recognize that this is not solely the fault of either of us, and that the blame could be spread between her, some outside, unrecognisable force, and myself. I will say, that for a time, I loved her. I felt something that I thought would never betray me. I thought it would last forever, but as the old cliche goes, “What goes up, must come down.”
I see you through some kind of film. Something that prevents me from seeing the imperfections that are there. The most simple answer would be that it is the naivety that has caught men better than myself. A more complicated answer would be that, through some mix of emotions, feelings, and history, I have become stuck on you. Not stuck in the way that the demons within me prefer, stuck in a way that is actually enjoyable. To write about you is one of the pleasures in my life, and I honestly couldn’t ask for a better muse. Perhaps it is the film that makes you so easy to write about, that puts the words I need within reach. I’ve been told my writing has improved as of late, and this was by a close friend of mine. I’ve decided to write about you again, and to do my best to capture your essence in written word.
Walking down the hallway, with your eyes clearly focused on what is before you. You don’t wish to see whatever demons may surround you at this moment, and your wish is granted. The haunting memories that every step seems to hold, the faces that evoke emotions better left forgotten. Scars from the past exist outside of your body and mind. They stand out like an ugly bruise on the world around you. You want to scream for it all to stop, to just make all of these things go away so you can exist in peace. Is there such a thing as peace for you? Is it even possible at this point? Those eyes, which have seen so much pain and hardship, captivate my attention. It’s so dumb to be captivated by such a fleeting moment in time, but I can’t resist. Your eyes go right past me, and that’s nothing more than what I expected. This glimpse inspires thoughts of times when the pain seemed to be banished from my mind, and the scars erased from my soul. Thoughts like these have started to fade from my mind as time goes on, and I struggle to hold onto the memory of the way your auburn hair looked in the summer sun, with the wind running its ethereal hands through it. And the way your face looks when there is nothing to light it but moonlight and the dim glow of a distant streetlight. The bruise that sometimes shows up on your throat for God knows what reason. Your voice singing a song I fell in love with because you introduced it to me. Skin that has not yet tanned to the golden brown you were when you returned from Florida. Lips I’ve described more times than I can count, and thought of almost every day since mine brushed against them. But I am a Beast. Nothing more than a shadow made to look like a man. All this Beast wishes is that you can be happy.
A Terrible Apology
She stands there, a broken heart. A lone soul stranded in a sea of emotion. Goddamn if she isn’t beautiful in it though. Her hair moves gracefully with the wind coming in off the lake. Normally she would have tied it behind her, but today such formalities seemed unnecessary. Her eyes seem as if they are on the verge of tears, but she is still beautiful. She is almost more beautiful for all the pain she is in. Her skin has tanned from hours in the sun, and her muscles have become toned from the hours she has spent sailing and maintaining her boat. The world has stopped itself around her, the sun embraces her and the wind lightly tugs upon her clothing. Her shadow extends itself behind her, much taller than her. The trees dance in unison as the autumn wind travels through them, a few leaves fall from their branches and lazily drift down to the unkempt grass. Lake water sparkles with a light similar to the one inside of her. Waves lap at the shore below her feet, bringing whatever treasure the current drags in to rest mere feet away from her. The smell of unpolluted water drifts its way towards her. This scene of pure beauty does not ease her pain, no, this moment carries with it memories of days past. Days that were happy, and filled with laughter. The pain had been forgotten in those days, hidden away, but never truly gone. She had found happiness and fought for it with every ounce of strength left in her body. Yet she could never have guessed what would come next, the fights, the screaming, the tears, and the lies. Oh she is not innocent, no, but she is sorry. Begging for forgiveness and wishing to atone she had truly been wounded. When she was at her most vulnerable, her most trusting she had been hurt. Even the one who thought he could help, who thought he could ease the pain, had only made this pain worse. For that he is a fool, and paid for it with loss of her favor. No apology may ever heal the wounds he caused, but he wishes to take it back, every mistake he ever made, every wrong word ever said.
It’s hard, nearly impossible, to describe the way one feels when they are with her. It cannot be grasped from a single emotion or moment in time, but comes from knowing her. How when you talk to her, you can be honest, but you cannot be ignorant. Or the little jokes and common things that always seem to be there. A humor with the occasional sadistic twist. Difficulty to make her smile, even in the best of times. Her insistence on making everyone wear a seatbelt in her car, no matter what the distance may be. Something that isn’t quite being cold, but isn’t any form of warmth. The way that little bruise in the center of her throat always comes back, persevering on for some unknown reason. Her hair auburn color, that is so very rare in this world. Sometimes you can almost put a word to it, something to describe this feeling from the basest, most instinctual, part of you. Then it’s gone. Maybe it’s preferable to never know, to never have a name for what that is. But maybe it’s better if you know, if you can say, “Yes, this is what I feel and nobody can take this away from me.” Pain comes with wanting her, for she will never return the feelings of devotion and caring you do. It’s a sad thing, it drags a blade of heartache through your mind. It’s impossible not to want her. It’s impossible to have her, and maybe that’s a damned shame. Maybe it’s for the better when all you are is a beast, a shadow in the form of a man. The only question is, whose happiness is more important?
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
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?”
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?
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.
Eyes that one could get lost in for hours, they bring warmth to any that look in them, regardless of the glasses she wears. The hazel color comforts you as you drink in her beauty, letting you be somebody that you thought was long gone. Her long, dark hair is manipulated so that it doesn’t interrupt the vision before us, but it is beautiful in its own right. Long and dark, it cascades down her back and moves gracefully with each slight movement of her body. She is tall, which one grows to appreciate, for it gives the eye more to drink in. The eye sees her, sees the slight perfections that are too quickly forgotten. It seems as though one could never get enough of looking at this beauty, for it is as close to perfection as one can get, and it shames one to think their eye had ever found another quite so beautiful. The face we see before us is a mere glimpse of the beauty that lies within her. Sadly, this beauty is hidden, smothered, by one who is so arrogant to believe he has the right to hide this away from the world, this work of art. Liberation from this veil, this prison, is only possible if the beauty wishes to. Nonetheless, eyes are seemingly forced to focus upon lips that attract attention regardless of any number of distractions, and one finds themselves contemplating how it would feel to press their own unworthy lips against them. The rough texture of your lips pressed against hers, the way it would feel like you were desecrating some sacred shrine, or piece of untouched and untainted land, but the feeling the desecration would be worth the unexplainable and inescapable happiness you would feel. The voice and words that flow from those lips bring a smile to your face because they are often kind. What truly amazes one is when her laugh escapes from those lips, escaping like prisoners that had been kept in confinement for far too long.
The Chronicles of Sammi
She sits in this place of learning, this place where the future is built. Her brown hair falls in a veil, encapsulating her head. Those piercing, blue eyes are unfocused from all the boredom. It’s necessary to be here, she needs to be here, but this does not grab her mind, does not exercise her mental machine. Clad in blue she sits, her long frame is still visible regardless of the baggy material, but her slim body is hidden from sight. The eyes wish to devour this scene, to take away those atrocious excuses for clothing and see her in the clothes she feels most comfortable in. It is not the eye that wishes to remove any ore than those, however, and one must make a conscious effort to keep from doing what its instincts so scream for it to do. Her body screams for it as well, maybe it is not recognizable in her mind, but her body seems to call for attention. What captures the attention the most, and what demands the friction of contact most is those lips. She wears no makeup upon them right now, she had found no reason, but their natural pink color begs to be pressed against lips belonging to that of another. Their fullness, their shape, and some undefinable, unseen force captures you. Once you are captured, there is no escape from that prison. Perhaps the best, and worst, part of the prison is that those within don’t wish to escape, only to continue to dwell in its walls in order to view her beauty as much as possible
Sammi’s sitting there, on a beat down old couch she got from God knows where. Her phone is in her hands, illuminating her face. The eyes that have captivated so many are lit up like never before. The light of the living is replaced by the artificial look of the phones light. The dog is curled up against her leg, new life growing inside of it. Her brown locks are pulled away from her eyes because how else could she enjoy Instagram properly? The normally long, slender body is hidden away for the moment, something about that couch, and the way she’s sitting steals her height. Those long, sensual legs are pulled up against her breasts, Thank God they aren’t huge, she thinks. She is warm right now, but she has felt the beginnings of winter and is preparing herself against it. Those lips, so damned kissable and beautiful are being ignored by everyone besides myself. They catch the eyes, and awaken something I thought was long dead.
She flops down on the bed, too tired to even think her normal, fuck today, fuck work, fuck everything except me. Her bright blue eyes are happy to be hidden away from the world, for more their own sake than anyone else’s. Of course there are other beautiful things to look at on my muse. The eyes trace her body up and down, of course focusing on a few places. The slight swell of her breasts beneath some random band t shirt, her long legs in those jeans. She looks so small when she’s on the bed, her slim body being devoured by the covers and sheets around her. If we gave her more time we might come back to her wrapped up in them, her face only exposed so she can still breathe. But for right now we still get to see her, her brown hair fanning out across the bed because fuck actually trying to style it. A smile is on her lips, but she doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s from the fact that here she is, when nobody, including herself, ever thought she could make it here. Either way, I am thankful I can see that lovely smile.
She has not always looked this way, no. Once upon a time she was an innocent little girl hugging a stuffed animal as she fell asleep. So what happened to her to bring her to this soul we see before us? What made her lose that sparkle in that little girl’s eyes? The trials and tribulations she has been through stole away the little innocence she had left, even after she lost the naivety all children are born with. The innocence was stolen by all the little lies told to her by others, and even the ones told by herself. It was stolen by all the dreams of kissing razors. Of letting all the demons that plagued her escape her from cuts made by a shaky hand. Innocence was stolen by her one-time lover, a man she thought she could trust with everything, including her future. For a time his loss crushed her, but one day, she saw it for what it was. Not a loss, but an opportunity. An opportunity to lead a better life. The author would like to apologize for not know more about what happened in between then and now, but his muse is tired tonight. She slumbers now, all the cares of daily life are gone. Her face is relaxed, and it is one of the few times one will ever see it this way. Tonight no ghosts haunt her dreams and she sleeps peacefully. Her tall figure is laid out upon the bed, her hair is in a halo around her head. Whether she is an angel, or the future ruler of hell is yet to be decided, but seeing her hair this way makes her more desirable somehow. To see her when she is not trying to impress anybody, including herself, shows you her true beauty. It brings men and women alike to regret when she must cover this naked beauty with what this world and her own mind say she must wear upon her face. Her startling blue eyes, normally so piercing it seems as though they look through any man looking to capture her attention are closed, and the eyes that look upon her at this moment are sad to see them hidden.
Sometimes it feels like I’m coping, maybe even okay.
Then I’m back to anxious and sad and missing my ex so much my chest hurts. I want her to be missing me. She probably is, but it doesn’t feel like it. At one point she’d said she was planning to contact me a few months after the breakup, because she missed me so much and still wanted me in her life. I think all that’s over. She wasn’t planning to leave the state then. Now she has. Maybe she’ll come back, but…
I feel like she’s done with me.
I feel like I’m the one who has lost more, even though I can see how I’m actually setup to “recover” better. I may not be as smart as her or socially skilled, but I don’t have ptsd. I thought- we both thought- that she had dealt with her ptsd more than she has. She may never have the family relationships that she wants or may always struggle with them. It may take years for her to feel like she can be in a relationship again. She had said she’s afraid she’ll never be able to fully open up with someone, since if she couldn’t do it with me then with who?
I fully believe she has to ability to recover and have and do all the things she wants to, but it’ll take time. And it’ll take time for me to recover as well, but I think she’s right- I am stronger than her- and my depression has already improved from TMS and may improve even more as I continue to take Metformin.
I know all these things logically, but it doesn’t help me feel it. It’s hard to not feel like I failed- I failed to keep my relationship together, failed to be the person she needed me to be, to be the person she would fight for.
We were so close and we promised we would be there for each other — no matter what. If you are reading this: please come back to me, I love you.