It’s been ages since I’ve written anything or posted on here. My apologies indeed. I really do hope to remedy that in the future. In the meantime I just want to let everyone out there know that i am selling AVON and I could use some help. This is all new to me and I need customers! No business without customers right? So please stop on by the site, there is aways something there for everyone. If you aren’t interested then at least give my page a share and hopefully someone else will be. Thank you all!!
It’s got me going crazy. My words are hazy, I’m feeling lazy. Got me wishing I could throw out like Scorsese. Stories not films but just as impressive. One after another, aggressive and successive. Expressive of the musings in my head that the umbra has fed, they’re as heavy as lead, I’m immersed until they’re dispersed or at the very least escape through a momentary outburst, I’m cursed. I’m broken. Like a record that just keeps skipping, my sanity is slipping, out of my mind it’s dripping, it’s stripping, taking any talent away I possessed, I’ve digressed, and now I’m obsessed with a miraculous return, one so hot it’ll give you heartburn. I will rise up so don’t fret with your concern, I’ve learned where the passion sits and I swear to never be call it quits, regardless. There’s always a darkness that once wordless becomes paved with catharsis and lives. It breathes. And through the haze it seethes while you grieve. It heaves becoming my saving grace to once again show face with words that were once misplaced, erased, and misconstrued. I’ve been subdued, not lazy, maybe I am hazy for now I’m thinking if I can’t throw out like Martin, why not Swayze? Yeah, I’m crazy.
Im a rebel without a cause, or more importantly, Im a writer without words. Actually, for all intents and purposes, im not a writer at all. Im just a person that occassionaly decides to write. That doesnt make me anymore different than any other person out there. I have ideas so I suppose you could call me creative. A writer though? I dont even know what that is anymore.
I thought I had a passion like no other for writing. I even have two permaneant tattoos that grace my body that pertain to that passion. Some how though, even with my body donning those declarations, the most important tattoo of them all, faded. While it wasnt created in ink upon my skin, it was one I never assumed I would see go. The portrait of passion had been etched across my heart since I was a child. Now, The only remnants of that portrait is a scar left behind from being stratigically lasered out while I wasnt looking.
Some where, in-between different hobbies and family, I allowed myself to let it go. I allowed myself to cut out what I once envinsioned to be my most important tattoo.
I still think about the passion I had. Thats all I ever do about it though, think about it. The thoughts rarely become words and I go back to asking myself why? I used to say that I just didn’t have the time. Then I just said there wasn’t motivation to do anything. It was then I realized that the idea of motivation had more to it. That it was passion that fueled motivation. It was then, that I understood that the passion was gone.
I had already cut ties with other blogs I participated on and any other networking I was doing outside of my Twitter account. I knew it was fading then. I had no responsibilities to the writing world anymore except for those I created myself. It was actually freedom. I had one less thing to worry about outside of my every day life. That right there speaks volumes as to rather or not I still carried around the passion. The answer was so obvious. It’s still so very obvious. I have the scar there to prove it. And yet…
I still get that inkling. Just every once in a while. The ideas still pop up and my fingers become itchy. My mind roams and my thoughts land on writing. I still think about it. I still want to do it. But not always. Hardly ever. It’s still there though and it bugs the shit out of me.
I honestly wish I could erase the memories of the passion I had for it. How enthusiastic I could be when I was putting my ideas into the written word. I wish I could stop the ideas from coming. Since I can’t, it just leaves me confused.
What does this mean? Is the passion truly gone or just being over shadowed by life? Are the ideas just remnants of the creative bone that is now broken? Cause let’s be honest, I could never seem to finish a damn thing I worked on.
Am I writer on hiatus or just a person with a random hobby? Do I lack passion or motivation? Do I fight to bring it back or do I just let it slip all the way until it’s gone?
In all honesty, my confusion is due to my incessant depression that tends to loom over my head. Most days I can’t tell if how I am is due to that or if I just blame that because it’s easier. Is my lack of passion for anything because of that or have I become lazy and uncaring as life continues to move on?
It seems like a million questions without a single answer. I’m left with only speculation because even I don’t know myself well enough to give the answers. The only thing I know for sure is that at this moment, the passion, the life force that made my writing enjoyable and easy, is gone.
Drinking is my ultimate downfall. Some days it turns me into someone I’m not. Or at least someone I like to hide. It kills certain demons just long enough for others to emerge. For that alone is a demon in itself. One that gets stronger every time I give in. Every time I stop fighting is another step closer to a final demolition. An internal destruction. A battle that I lost long before it started for my strength diminishes with every taste of temporary bliss. It flees at a moments notice and cowers within the darkest depths of my soul. Strength, which I now know as a permanent weakness, will soon flounder among the ruins of myself that get left behind. The demons will soon feast on remnants to make them all but non existent. That’s what drinking is. It’s a killer and one that most days I still happily allow entrance. For a simple taste of death is all it takes to want it to be a permanent residence.
I had a diary once. The only problem was, I never used it. There was no one, or no thing, to contain my thoughts. My fears, my wants, my needs, my hopes, and my dreams, were all sealed within my own soul, my heart, and my head. Eventually, because I could not take advantage of the diary I had in front of me, everything that was kept within began to become too much. The tomb that I had created within myself was actually starting to burst at the seams. A slightest crack in the foundation that I had manifested had begun to creep into further areas and rupture the membrane that supported the tombs structure. Slowly, and then all at once, every thing that was once kept inside was now in the open. It was now sitting in front of the world for them to see and begin to critically judge. The reasons for my actions and for who i was had finally come to light but yet no one could see past the initial fabricated facade. The damage had been done and I was only left with a single decision. Did I allow everything to remain sprawled out before me or did I pick up the pieces and cram them back into a half ass fixed tomb that was bound to break again some day?
I had a diary once. It was neglected and left with empty pages. It begged to be filled and I ignored it. I ignored the outlet that was bestowed before me; because of that I have broken the only part that used to be whole within. To allow the contents to remain in front of me, my hope is to finally compile them within the given pages. To put them forth where they may be seen, instead of stored in the darkness. I reached for my saving grace to no longer find it there. My broken tomb has broken my outlet and thrown my chances away. My negligence has cost me all of the options I once had. Broken inside and alone on the out.
I had a diary once. Now its nowhere to be found.
When Brick returns home from his latest trip away, he is greeted with far more than he bargained for. Instead of happiness to be back home, he is left with a deep seeded need for revenge…
Driving home from his most recent assignment, all Brick could think about was seeing his girlfriend’s face. They had been apart longer than he would have liked this time, and then on top of his extended traveling time, his flight home had been delayed. He had been hoping to originally catch Genie before she had left for her shift at the hospital, but he knew, after calling her from the airport, that she was already on her way out. Instead, Brick was hoping to at least have something special waiting for her when she returned.
As Brick turned on to the long driveway towards his home, he felt a rumbling beneath his car. His Audi began to vibrate and he could feel trembling through the steering wheel and into his palms. He would have chalked it up to a minor earthquake if he hadn’t also heard an explosion and began to see flames spring before his eyes. He realized then, that his house would be no longer.
Brick drove down the drive as far as he could and then proceeded to climb out of his car to watch the remains of his house crumble. He silently began to thank his lucky stars that Genie was already at work. At least knowing that, he could breathe calmly.
And then he heard it…
At first it was faint and he figured it to be nothing. Then he saw it. A shadow within the bedroom window. Then a body slamming into the glass. Pounding to break free and screaming through the smoke induced coughs, Genie was starting to succumb to the disaster she had been caught in. The house was toppling down around her and the flames were breaching the barrier she attempted to create inside her room. Genie knew it was over and calmly stopped fighting. She glanced out the window and banged on it one last time, while cursing it for always being broke. She saw Brick outside of the window and gave the smallest of smiles, and then while staring at his face, She embraced herself as the flames came closer and her screams filled the air once more.
Brick watched her burn in that fire. He stood there, his mouth agape with her screams flowing through his ears and piercing his heart. There wasn’t anything left that he could do. Even if there was, his body was too much in shock to even move a muscle. His eyes couldn’t even be averted from her flame covered body as skin began to melt from her bones. He was scarred, every part of him. He knew he should have been the one in that fire and even though he wasn’t, It was almost as if he was; for most of his soul had just evaporated with hers, as her body turned to dust.
Falling to the ground upon his knees, Brick just stared upon the flames whilst the smoke began to limit his breathing and ability to see. He barely even noticed the sudden restrictions until sirens began to fill the void of silence in-between the crackling noises of the fire. With both Genie and his house gone, there was only one option left for Brick. He had to flee. The sirens were getting closer and he couldn’t afford to be found alive. Someone had wanted Brick dead and he was going to give them that. At least the illusion.
Once his enemies had fallen for that illusion, he had every intention on shattering it. By any means necessary, Brick would have revenge. He had a burning heat building within him now; one he cared not to control. That heat inside had taken his soul and he vowed to have that heat take theirs.
Two more pills and another day complete. A whirlwind of medications just to stay standing on my own two feet.
A force fed mixture with only one single purpose and goal,
Is my deadly cocktail that’s meant to commit encroachment upon my very soul.
Who am I, I don’t even quite know. Maybe just a shell of a human now with nothing left inside to bestow.
Unrecognizable from the inside or the out, there’s no questions left, qualms or any doubts.
The path of bottled help will keep you sane and subdued, but in the end it’s only the real you, you elude.
Alright ladies and gents, I want to try something new. If you have noticed, I try to find a picture to go with most of my postings. Now, what I would like, is for you to participate in what it is I write about. I would like you to find a picture (Please keep it appropriate) and send it to me. To go with the picture you send I would like it if you could request either a poem, short story, or even a small excerpt to be written to match the picture.
I feel like I have been losing some inspiration lately and what better way to get back into things then to listen to those around you. Please participate. I will be very grateful for the help and interest and will also respond to everything that is sent. Thank you so much guys! I look forward to seeing what pictures come my way.
Email me at: email@example.com
or fill out the below form and add a link to the picture you find
Her eyes were usually a smokey bluish gray but now with tears forming I could see them change to a glassy ice blue in an unusual way.
They gleamed in the light and shined with pain and as they stared at mine I could see through them into her eternal thundering rain.
Her moans were getting louder and my ears were catching it all; every single sound pierced my heart like an urgent siren’s call.
I wanted to help her but I had done all I knew that I could, if only that small bit of sentiment was enough to comfort her as I wish that it would.
So I lay her head on my chest and held her body tight, knowing the only thing I could do was to stay with her through her fight.
Hopefully my presence alone would be enough to dry her tears, so those icy blue eyes could turn back to their normally colored, grayish spheres.
It feels like months and yet it’s only been a week. I haven’t felt like writing a single thing nor have I even felt like messing with any social networking on behalf of my writing either. Does my lack of motivation make me any less of an author? Does it show signs that maybe a writers life is not one that’s meant for me? Am I meant to be doing something else just because I’m not chomping at the bit with every spare moment I have to scribe words into existence?
I don’t know the true answer to those questions but the answers that I feel within me say yes to all of them. I feel as if I am a mere shadow in the writing world when all else is corporeal. I’m no one and nothing in the scheme of things because I can’t produce what I feel is being looked for. When every day turns to night it yells to me even more. It makes me realize where I don’t belong because I’m constantly fading away. It seems so simple…
When a shadow is in the darkness it becomes non existent while all else shall remain.
I’m a shadow.
A heart as dark as onyx was thought to be abandoned to the pits of hell and lost forever. There were rumors however, that it could be found. Even if it were though, it would be so undesirable that it could never be repaired. It would never again pump the flowing red blood that it was made for. It would never pulsate within ones chest. It was blackened for eternity and it would never feel again. It was a rumor started of uncertainty. A myth to scare those from the chances of darkening their hearts to each other. The fear of never again to be allowed to feel had made them distant from one another instead of the closeness that they had once desired. No one dared to cross another in hopes to keep their hearts pure. Those who thought they were pure though would never understand that the purest of hearts were the ones that had once been a victim of the darkness. No one knew that the onyx hearts could be saved for the myth spoke their truth. A blackened heart turned pure red once again though, was the sign of purity. It was the real sign of hope and love. Coming back from the pits of hell took strength and courage. It took the love that they all sought. Instead of ever knowing this, the majority remained aloof in their world of distance. Instead of risking the dark to have happiness and love, they lived in the shadows of uncertainty and mediocrity. There were very few that risked for love and only they had discovered the truth in living.
Where were you when my tears were falling and my heart was breaking.
Where were you when everything within me could only feel aching.
Where were you as I thought your name within my head.
Where were you as I lay alone within my bed.
Where were you when the times really mattered.
Where were you when everything was shattered.
Where were you when I inhaled my last breathe of air.
Where were you, that’s right, you’re never there.
That was the straw that broke the back
My back to be exact.
For the hundredth time, at least it seemed, I let forth my worries, my loves, and my dreams.
You, my knight in shining armour, laughed and ripped them at the seams.
Now a paraplegic with emotions of the heart, and the pain of being immobilized that has torn the rest of me apart.
I’ve been put on bed rest for an undisclosed amount of time, the back you’ve finally broken now no longer feels like mine.
My knight, my love, the one I called my own, the pain you’ve caused is searing and has left us now with moans.
My moans, my pain, my back that is broke all because of the one straw you continued to envoke.
He continued to speak but all I heard were gasps of air.
His words were no longer audible for I knew he didn’t really care.
His lies were strong and easy to believe
But it was I who would be the one to decieve
He thought I was fooled, a helpless dumb chick
Through it all though, I knew every little trick
It is what it is though and I just let it all go by
I wanted you to know though, that I do see through his lies.
I wish my words flowed when I wanted them too. It’s been days really, since I’ve had anything worth putting in print. I still don’t have anything and it’s frightening. I’ve been reading during the times that my mind has been empty in hopes of triggering that spark of inspiration that I need to continue my own work.
I have multiple stories that I have started but not a single idea on how to get them to progress in a manner that’s suitable for me. It’s been a rough time for my words and I, but I hope all of you continue to stick around to see what eventually comes forth.
In the meantime, I would love for you guys to check out The “Wanted” Needs. It’s a creative writing blog that I contribute my writing to and it also includes similar style writings by other extremely talented authors.
Water falling, petals falling, all on a mild spring day
Wind blowing, air flowing, all through the windows upon I lay
The beauty outside has become my beauty within
For looking through to nature is where inner peace should begin
It’s been a busy few days and I haven’t written much but I feel I should post a little something. So here is a small excerpt from something I’ve been working on…
“Should I continue to ignore my own heart for the sake of others? Should I constantly fight for what is right for other people while all the while im the one dying inside? When does it get to the point that I do something for me?”
“I dont believe you were put here on this earth to live for yourself. I believe that you were specifically put here to be sacrificial. That sucks, but every now and again, the world needs a savior from the dark underbelly. If not, the world would surely go to hell.”
“What if I just let it?”
“Let what? The world go to hell?”
“Yes. If the world can not save themselves why should I?”
“Unless you have forgotten darling, you are apart of this world too. If they all go to hell… So do you. Then we can all be fucking miserable for all eternity, together. Im ready babe, go for it. Condemn everyone to hell because you’re too damn selfish. See how well you do with that guilt verses the pain you think you feel now.”
I just stared at him. I couldn’t make myself do anything else. He was right on multiple accounts. I was being selfish and if I allowed myself to continue doing so, I wouldnt be able to survive the aftermath of guilt that would be swimming around in my head. Even the thoughts of only helping because I personally wouldn’t survive the guilt is just another form of my selfishness. I just couldn’t get away from it. I was a lost cause to this universe. I couldn’t even begin to fathom on why, someone who didn’t want to see past their own self, was supposed to fight for everyone else.
You were the light in my darkness that helped me find my way. You were my beacon of love that I followed everyday. You were the glimmer of hope within my despair. You were the stitch in my wounds so they’d no longer tear. The strength to my weakness and the beat of my heart. My muse and my passion that inspired my art.
You were my everything. You were my soul. So without you now, two is the toll. Death is imenent when the light has been snuffed out. Leaving the darkness to fester and mingle about.
‘He was right. I was broken. There was no denying that fact any longer. I couldn’t even hide it if I tried. The only problem was… I wasn’t just broken any longer. I was shattered.
There wasn’t a glue in the world that would be strong enough to keep the pieces bound together. And even if there was, pieces were already missing. ‘
My mind slowly breaks as the noise within becomes louder. The walls become weaker as they are penetrated from the inside out. An explosion is expected momentarily from the pressure building up. Louder and louder and then a small faint cracking sound finds it way through. Slowly the loudness seeps out around me becoming an echo in the wind. A continuous stream of echoes make their way forth as the once small crack becomes a huge hole and the noise that was once apart of my mind is now apart of the world.
What happens when they leave. When your heart is hurt and your smile is broke. What happens when you are alone and lost with no one who understands. What happens when there is nothing left? When existence itself is no longer in sight. What happens to the pain that never leaves? It festers and then it eats away at everything that is you, from the inside out. It destroys. Any piece that may have remained intact will now be disintegrated into ashes. All of it, eventually, will be nothing. You will be nothing. Absolute blackness will eventually engulf everything there is to you when you allow it. It thrives where it is least wanted. This is what happens when you lose a part of yourself, you lose it all. No amount of trying will bring them back so going with them is your only option. Slowly, painfully.Desperately.
My heart aches to think of you. It cries forth with pain. As the tears stream down my face my hearts blood does the same.
Drip by drip the pool expands. higher and higher with haste. it overflows as it grows over the max, blood haphazardly displaced
Drowning. Drowning. No will to tread the seas. Sinking to the unknown depths with sheer determination and ease.
Lost. Forgotten. Pain bubbling and searing. Blood congealing, no healing causing any humanity left to start disappearing.
Now being encased in coagulated remnants of my heart just proves my innards were always meant to fall apart.
Aching. Crying. Falling. It’s all over now. Options that a lost humanity chooses to disallow…
*I always liked this one but I never did really give it a proper finish.*
And as the night was nearly over and the world had turned its head, it was finally time to lay in my already made bed. It was made with pain and heartbreak and a side of fear, for it held my every single dropped tear. It held my dreams of the future, my present, and my past, every single little thing from the first to the last. Now as I lay here, it holds my last breathe tonight, for there is no longer anything that’s worth the effort to fight. My eyes will slowly close and dreams will ensue and finally every single one will finally come true.
I would love nothing more than to be able to say that the tears that stained my shirt were justified, but they weren’t. Not even close. There was no fathomable reason for a single drop to be shed. And yet they just kept falling. The sadness I felt had no roots to even plant and yet some how it still managed to flourish. It overtook my ability to resonate with any current situation and instead found the power to drown me in its growing and disturbed beauty. One tear created a million and though there was no initial cause, in the end there will be a reason for all that had fallen. In the end, everything will be clear once again.
I had to swallow my pride to speak the truth. There was only one revelation and it would be the end of my self preservation. Realization that i alone would never be enough to make my world remain afloat as it sat in the depths of the darkest pits in the furthest galaxy. I needed your strength to become the gravity that keeps me grounded. I needed your smile to become the brightest stars on my darkest nights. Your arms to provide warmth when my seasons need a change. Your tears of joy and sadness to become my rain when my own is merely not enough to sustain life. I even need your anger, pain, and determination to feul the storms that my world so desperately needs to continue its natural cycle. Recognition that my world is nothing without you is the only way I could survive. Your love alone is what Is needed to keep revolving and pride is just a minor causality compared to the lose there would be otherwise.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
By far one of my more favorable quotes that once came from Hemingway’s brilliant mind. It’s a daunting truth really. Writing is simple. It’s pure passion. It comes from within. What makes that a hard pill to swallow is when people shy away from what you write. When they think your blood staind on the paper isn’t enough. When, to them, there is too much blood to see a message, not enough blood to seep through or just having a non compatable type. To bleed with no acknowladgement is how a writer dies. Once it flows there is no stopping and soon there will be nothing left but a hollow shell unless there is someone willing to donate their own blood to the cause. I believe that most writers are victims in need of transfusions. Passion for passion. Those who crave to read and those who bleed to write. One does not simply exist without the other which in turn makes writing far more than nothing. It makes it challenging and frightening. It seems like no work at all to slice a vein and let it bleed, and in reality, it’s not, but when no one knows how to make it stop, or give you more… Death will be emanant. Writing is tretourous and it’s a hard thing to handle.
There is no love in my heart. It’s as cold as ice and as hard as stone. There is no light left upon my soul. It is as dark as the night and as empty as the shell of the body that surrounds it. There is no life but a memorial. A spec of rememberance that still hides itself within. A shriveled piece of hope that refuses to be snuffed out by the icy darkness. It holds vigil daily and never gives up. It clings viciously to the outskirts of the horrid internal black hole. A lone memorial, fighting. So even though there would seem to be nothing, there is still everything.
A writer and his dreams are nothing to take lightly
It no longer mattered. There was no one there waiting for her to feel better. They had all left when she needed them most. She was too much for anyone to handle and now she could no longer even handle herself. It was only a matter of time before it had come to that really. It had already been some time since the tears were able to be contained within her body, for her soul had managed to form a hole that could not be patched. The inevitability of this situation was beyond predictable from the beginning. Now a reality, at least she could say that something finally went according to plan. Now the pain was finally snuffed out.
I have a serious love hate relationship with words. I have a tendency to live by my words alone because sometimes that’s all I have available. I put everything I have behind the words I speak and I always mean every one of them. So of course, id like to think the same for the words of others. That’s where I go wrong. Unfortunately, not everyone has the same relationship with words as I do. As much as I adore reading, and the creative writing aspect of words, I should have realized it was a poor mistake. It is far too easy for any one person to just put words together without them speaking of any truth. It is far too easy to lie with mere words with no one the wiser. I have been fooled too many times to even count because I have given clout to words from people that were undeserving. So even though I put everything behind the words I create, coming from others, they are just that. A creation. Maybe they are a creation of truth and sincerity but how will you ever really know? I guess that’s where faith and trust come in but ive lost all of mine. There are days though that I know something that is said is a blatant lie, but I still devour every word because everyone wants to hear those words that just secrete absolute beauty. The words that make you feel good about yourself. No one ever wants to believe they could be a fabrication because the moment you do, everything crumbles. Lets not forget all of the obvious hateful words. All the ones you wish were a fabrication of creativity but never turn out to be. Yea… words. They can become pure bliss but also such a pain in the ass when you cant figure out what’s worthy enough to be believed in. My secret… believe in nothing.
The whiskey felt as if it were seeping through my body and into my bloodstream. I may as well have hooked up an IV straight into my veins as strong as i was receiving the liquid. My head was quickly becoming incapacitated and i loved every single bit of it. My thoughts were no longer even my own and that aspect alone had me giddy with the notions of outlandish possibilities. My thoughts, They belonged to Mr. Jack. He controlled what started to spew from my mind and the words that were sprouting forth from my fingers. For I knew that once i woke in the morning i wouldn’t remember any of it. All i would have was my written work to remind me of what kind of drunken human being i was. Hopefully an amusing one because god knows i need to have some sort of talent. If it isn’t depth than i surely choose laughter as a second. Which was good since laughter was the only audible sound to be expelled from my numbed lips. The world in itself had just seemed to be filled with hilarity and absolute obnoxious, yet realistic, properties. Nothing would bring me down from my short lived internal high. If it tried, I wouldn’t let it anyway. I needed to disappear and let someone else take over the reins for a bit and if Jack chooses that responsibility than ill let him. At least there will be a part of me that will be in complete bliss. Complete happiness. Absolute utter irresponsibility at its best and I didnt give two flying fucks. Inebriation was all that mattered and all that could be depended on to be a constant. Relishing in my bad judgments has just made life more interesting as my eyes begin to flutter and then clamp shut for their final time. The only thought that gleams through my mind is “beauty”, as my mind disappears behind the liquid that was flowing through its passage. “Pure Beauty”.
You were self destructing, unwillingly falling prey to your minds deducting. It was reconstructing every bad memory it recalled. It made you appalled an allowed you to become enthralled with the idea of not existing. Despite my interjections you were insisting and constantly resisting to the point I felt useless and lost. You were beyond the idea of coexisting with your minds view that your life began to go askew. I wish I could make you see, this didnt have to be you, there were other options you could persue. Renew yourself and not erase. Take your pain and fear and let me replace it with my embrace. There is no reason for your self disgrace, it’s beyond misplaced. Lean on me and allow me to help you see, there are other options to set your soul free.
Sometimes talking to you makes me feel idiotic and down right neurotic My seriousness is never matched and instead disregarded. There’s a solution for that and it’s to officially have my feelings discarded so that I’m no longer bombarded by the pain that’s pumped through my body like a narcotic. my heart is now permanently safeguarded and has lost it’s ability to be quixotic, it’s comatose and will only awake with a healthy dose of its antibiotic. Thats symbolic for your heeding. I’m so tired but please, one last time, I need you to stop my bleeding. No more disregarding, I’m pleading….
My eyes can see and yet they are blind
I have ideas and yet I know I’ve lost my mind
My heart it feels even though it’s been bled
I hear sounds even though my drums are dead
You have no idea how my mind works.
Behind every corner something else lurks. It’s dark and dreary and it’s blind to the world. Ideas floating around in it’s own little dreamworld, being twirled in a colossal tornado. whipping through with no place to go though. I don’t know. Either do you. My minds an enigma times two, so fuck you. Stop trying to get me. You won’t. If you keep trying there’ll be things you’d wish to unsee, so please, just save face, just back off and leave me be.
I’ve got these thoughts swimming in my head. To be alive or to be dead were the ones that were mostly said and force fed to my soul. With those thoughts, my soul turned black and permanently formed a hole that began to take toll on any light that was left. With the overwhelming darkness, the answer had become clear and without fear i shut down my body with only silence left to hear.
Everywhere I look, I see hearts. Red hearts, pink hearts, damn near every color of the rainbow hearts, and I have about had it. The only heart that matters to me right now is the one that’s broken to pieces and bleeding within my chest. Even that heart, I wish I could forget. I wish I could rip it directly out of my chest cavity and either find a way to mend the broken pieces or finish the job by throwing it in a blender and setting it to purée. At this point, I’m leaning more towards the purée option because I doubt there is anything in this world that could fix the damage done, or the pain that I feel. I’d rather destroy all that is left of myself before I let my heart beat, ache, or break again over Grant.
Maybe I should look at things differently though. Maybe it should be Grants heart that I decide to rip from his chest. Ground it into a liquid form and then slowly force feed it back down his throat. Just envisioning that kind of makes my heart thump with enthusiasm instead of the pain it’s been forced to feel.
So I guess that’s the answer to this silly holiday this year. It won’t be flowers and chocolates, or stuffed animals and colored candied hearts that make my own heart flutter with passion. It’ll be Grants heart, within my hands, taking its last beat that will bring me pleasure. To mend my own heart, I’ll need to use his. This valentine’s day I’ll be the one to create the butterflies within my own stomach, to fulfill that longing ache in my chest. There is nothing sweeter than delivering some much overdue revenge.
I barely heard the faint voice coming from in front of me but it was enough to bring me back to the here and now. I looked down at the counter where the customer had sat her belongings that she wished to purchase. Among them, of course, were cards declaring love and heart shaped odds and ends. It was enough to make me want to vomit right on top of them.
It was always a happy experience for me working at Hallmark in my spare time. The holidays brought me joy. Watching people come in with smiles on their faces, happy to be purchasing objects for their loved ones. It provided me with a sense of elation that I don’t think I would have felt without seeing the love within everyone’s souls first hand. I no longer felt that.
Just something else Grant has taken from me. Now seeing the smiles on their faces just makes me want to carry out my venomous ideas on them as well. I could only hope that once the source of my pain was eradicated I would be myself once again. Someone who wasn’t filled to the brim with anger and animosity. Someone who used to love the people of the world instead of wanting to murder them all in cold blood. I could only hope. Until I made something happen I was forced to allow the world to see a face that was no longer exhibiting an ounce of truth.
“Are you ready to check out miss?”
“Did you find everything alright?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I scanned each product and placed it into a bag, all while keeping my fake smile on my face and my vomit from coming forth. She swiped her card and I handed over her holiday oriented purchases.
“Have a nice day” Even though what I really wanted was for her to have the furthest from that. I was becoming such a misanthrope and soon it would start to show.
I managed to fight my way through the remainder of the day and decided it was time for me to decide just exactly what I was going to do with Grant. It was time that he paid for his indiscretions. I could no longer live with the pains that he had created.
I made my way back to my dorm room on campus. My roommate would still be in class so I would have some extra time to figure everything out. I don’t know if I’ve seen too many movies or read too many books but I had a plethora of ideas floating around in my head. My anger did not know any bounds and my imagination was beginning to run wild. I knew if I was going to do this that I should be smart about it and think everything through. The more I thought though, it seemed that my biggest concern was on how I would find a way to be alone with Grant.
I hardly looked in Grants direction any more, yet alone talk to him. He’s going to know something is up if I attempt to do so now, I had to figure something out or everything would just fall apart.
Hours went by before I even had any suitable ideas for luring floating around in my head. Its not that I was having second thoughts about my abrasive decision but I had to go over every single possibility to make sure it was done right. The last thing I wanted was to end up in jail just for getting the justice I deserved. Plus, ridding the world of Grant would be more of a civic duty. No one else needed to fall victim to his debauchery. I didn’t realize that I was capable of such inhuman qualities. I guess that when the devil decides to touch your heart, it’s not easy to keep him from taking full control. I have definitely proved that. I have welcomed the devil and his demons completely in with welcome arms. I have given them a permanent home to reside in. One filled with plenty of pain to feed upon to fuel the demons dark desires.
I was staring up at the ceiling when the final plans flashed through my mind. The ideas were there and it was finally time to turn them into a reality. My plan had boarded insanity, for the longer I thought about what I wanted to do, the less I thought about being caught. Eventually it came down to pleasing the demons within me, anyway possible. If that landed me in jail or dead in the end, I no longer even cared. My mission relied solely upon a gruesome revenge under any and all circumstances. My hunger for self-preservation had died the moment I allowed the devil full access.
I decided that the only way to get Grant anywhere alone, I would have to first find out if he already had plans set for Valentine’s Day and with whom. Two days to go and I felt like I had more than enough work cut out for me. I no longer spoke to anyone within Grants circle so I wasn’t entirely sure on how I was going to accomplish that. I would though. I would find a way to make it all happen.
Valentine’s Day arose, and at 5pm I was standing in front Grants room ready to start. I was wearing a blond wig that I had left over from Halloween and a shit load of makeup smeared across my face. I wanted to resemble Grants current flavor of the week as much as possible to cover my tracks and to ensure he would open his door. Grant had a single room so worrying about roommates wasn’t a problem. What was a problem, was the short amount of time I had allowed myself to finish everything. With the schedule that bastard led, I had no choice but to work around what I was given.
I stood for another second and then decided it would be best if I could just sneak up on him. I had a syringe filled of Suxamethonium waiting in my bag that I slowly began to pull out. Once I had the syringe in prime position, I began to turn the knob to his room, praying it was unlocked. It was.
I scanned the room for any signs of Grant but quickly realized the room was empty. I stood still for a moment and could faintly hear the sound of running water. Perfect actually. Grant was taking a shower. I crept in the bathroom and slowly opened the shower door without him noticing a thing. Grant had no idea that this was going to be his last moments.
I jabbed the syringe into his back and watched his body as it dropped to the floor. His eyes were still open and I knew he would still be aware of everything that was going on even though he couldn’t move a muscle. Somehow that made it even more appealing.
Maybe I took the easy way out by paralyzing Grant first but seriously, there was no way I could have fought him off without it. He didn’t deserve a chance to fight back anyway because that’s something he never even gave me.
Grant and I dated for 6 months. We were very serious in had declared our love for one another but had yet to consummate the relationship. I had a horrid past to overcome that he said he respected and loved me enough to give me whatever time I needed. I once thought that was the sweetest most caring thing in the world. Until Christmas when all of his Belligerent lies blew up in his face.
After giving me a gift with another’s initials upon it, Grant confessed to juggling multiple girls. Girls I even knew. Things had become heated. I was broken but I also knew that we were done. I turned to leave him but he did not allow it.
“I didn’t just waste 6 months of my time and mounds of money just for you to walk out on me.”
He grabbed my arm, spun me around, and then threw me against the wall. My head hit the molding that surrounded the door hard enough to cause blood to form and dizziness to occur. I was so close to falling unconscious due to the impact. Every day I wish I would have. Instead, I’m stuck with the memories of being immobile and unresponsive underneath of Grants body. He got what he wanted and then all I remember after was blackness. I passed out shortly after he had finished. Not only had he broken my heart that night but he broke my spirit. I loved him and he treated me like I was nothing. Regarded me as if I were his little whore he could control.
I awoke the following morning and immediately went to the police. The bastard was slicker and smarter than I would have imagined. He had cleaned everything after I had passed out. The destruction, the blood, the cum. There was no trace that anything had occurred except for a minor scrap that was left on my scalp. Not enough to prove a thing. Grant even managed to create an air tight alibi leaving me to even begin second guessing myself.
I knew what had happened and there was no one who believed me. What made everything worse was that when I looked at him I still felt a small pang in my chest. Just a sliver of love that was left over from what I had once felt for him. He killed every part of me that night. Destroyed every ventricle of my heart. It was joyous to know that the time was now for me to return the favor.
I stared into his eyes for a moment before I reached back in my bag for the cleaver I had brought. The cleaver felt unbelievable within my grasp. It felt like it was always meant to be there. That definitely did not bode well for my psyche. I could tell that the moment I decided to do this, there would be no turning back. My soul, what was left of it, would be lost with the rest.
I chuckled softly to myself. I no longer controlled that choice and it no longer mattered to me either. I had a gleam in my eye and a smile on face. The pain within my heart already began to lift the second I allowed the tip of the clever to touch his chest. I never imagined I could feel such a rush of exhilaration just surge throughout my body. I knew at that moment there was no doubt in having to do this.
In one swift moment, I no longer saw the cleaver. It was now completely embedded within that bastard’s chest. I cut just enough space to fit my hand up under the rib cage. Enough room to yank his heart right from his chest. I didn’t even flinch, I didn’t even care. I cried tears of joy when I saw Grants heart emerge within the palm of my hand, still finishing its last beat. I then laid it on the floor and stabbed the clever through the middle of it. My pain dissipated completely at that moment and was now being emulated by the scene that sat before me. Best Valentine’s Day gift ever.
At that moment, I didn’t care what happened to me anymore. If I was caught and I had to spend the rest of my life in jail for this, then that would be okay. Even whilst behind a jail cell they would never be able to take the freedom away from me that I just gave myself. No one or no thing will ever be able to accomplish that again. The demons I have awoken will now make sure of that.
Though around me there was white
All I saw ahead was a red just as bright
And though my skin had been frost bit
The pain I felt was from the fires that were lit
Instead of the fluffy white snow that was here
I found myself standing alone in a blizzard of fear
The flakes became my scattered thoughts
Surrounding me no matter how I fought.
The realization had finally occurred
The scene in front began to blur
For it was hell that I was truly in
Paying for all my past and future sins
My mind tried to create a sweet escape
Alas though, it just came too late
The walls had crumbled as the flames reigned high
Scorching my body with every little lie
Gone are my beautiful snowy dreams
Permanently ripped from my mind at the seams
A helpless, fearful soul, wandering alone
With silenced words and force fed moans
The devil, my friend, began smiling with grace
As he watched my own smile being burned from my face
His laughter arose through the depths of hell
As each and every part of me turned to ash and fell
What was inside, now no longer lives
For dust in the wind is all I have left to give
Reduced to nothing by my friend
Kept here for his amusement until the end