Beyond Desire – Halloween!

A rustle in the wind.

A predator across the land.

A silent killer from which we stand.

 

Something in the air.

Something spreading like a fire.

Something burning upon that great pyre.

 

From the place which they come.

From the black of the moon

From the days that come too soon.

 

We try to stand tall.

We craddle existence with all our might

We hope one day to gain the sight.

 

Might we come to love our life.

Might a person see our youth.

Might that day come to proof.

 

Eerie

Diary Deconstruction and Darwinism

I write in my diary, journal… whatever you want to call it, on a semi-regular basis. I started probably just over a year ago. And I would say that it’s helped me greatly with… being myself, dealing with anxiety, and depression… life in general. A place where my thoughts exist without them actually being in the ‘real’ world. Much like this blog. I suppose it is a form of evolution. Diary Darwinism.

Anyway, some of the things I write in my diary:

  • Letters to people, only seen by my eyes.
  • Rants about anything and everything.
  • Writing ideas and general writing madness.
  • Massively private confessions
  • Things that wouldn’t translate to spoken words.
  • Things I wish for.
  • Musings on the world.
  • Incesent ramblings about people.
  • Self-improvement plans.
  • Self-hatred.
  • Things I neither approve of nor understand…

So, yeah, that’s it. And now here I am. My new ‘diary-kind-of-thing-blog-thing’ on here.

Diaryism!

You get it. I’m mad.

Tiny Stories – Always With Me

Always With Me


“Take it!” She yelled, flailing her arms around, and pulling funny faces as I pointed the camera at her.

I hold that photo in my hand now. A reminder. A terrible heartache. That’s what it is to me. A tear drops onto it… not this again, I curse to myself, shoving the photo of her back into the drawer from where it came, from which it always comes. I slam it shut, wanting to forcibly rid it from my past, to erase it from existence altogether. But it’s the one thing I have left of her, and I cannot. No matter how much I try, I know it will always be with me. Always there pinching at little parts, reminding me of my shortcomings, of my utter failures.

Slowly I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. Heading to the bathroom, I don’t bother to shave, not today. Instead, I stare at myself with contempt in the mirror, wondering how I have become my reflection, pondering how my life has turned into this.

I tell myself it was her, I tell myself everything is because of her. And yet, I know I’m lying, the biggest lie of all time. Because everything was me. Absolutely all of it. This is a realisation that’s all too hard to admit. So, I cast it from my thought and try to push on.

Sipping cheap instant coffee, I stare out of the apartment’s window, and across the city. This place used to be my whole world. I had a good job, a happy life… a great life. I used to be respected. I used to respect myself. Now what am I? Something else entirely… I live in contempt of everything, cynicism filling every orifice of my being. And for what? For her?

I muse, peering into the windows of the coffee shop we used to visit on the cold mornings. The coffee was to die for there, not like the rat piss I drink at the moment. However, the coffee was not the best part, her smile was, her eyes were, her everything… Nothing else ever managed to come close. All those places we used to go, we used to enjoy, are now off-limits. To step through their doors would be more harrowing nostalgia than I could endure. But I can at least look, and I can at least imagine. My mind returning to those moments. Back to the bliss that I felt for every second of every day. I see her sitting there, across from me, sipping a cappuccino, wiping away the froth from her top lip…

I shake my head… No! I can’t go back there. I can’t let it all flood into me. It is a scary thought. Of all that returning, incapacitating me like it has done so many times over the past year. And for what? Nothing changes afterwards… nothing ever changes in this stagnant existence I have passively come to accept, come to bear.

I glance over to the door where my suit hangs, creases spreading across it, in dire need of a wash and iron. Going to work on days like these seems so monumental, so unachievable. It is enough effort to just open my eyes and peer into this world that has left me behind.

So, I don’t. I close the blinds, blocking out the city. Blocking out the images of her on street corners, and in windows of shops I know too well. Her eyes, always staring at me, perpetually demanding to know why things went so wrong. Why things ended as they did.

Sitting in bed, cradling my knees, I look into the next day, and the next, and the next – for something that resembles change, maybe even happiness. Yet, all I see is her face, her beautiful face.

I don’t know… I don’t know anything… How can I change? How can I manage…

The Luxury of Compassion

Sickening, it sickens me.

All the way to the bone.

What I’m seeing, and all that I know.

Retched, putrid, fully alone.

This place, it is cold.

The luxury of compassion, gone.

I strive to see its forgotten foe.

Destruction, is all that it knows.

From one window, the world turns.

Inside, with the cacophonous mind.

Seeing, without doing.

I wonder how I survive.

 

 

A Day In Limbo

Today I went to the ‘city.’ I use city like this because I live in the mesmerizing countryside of the UK. I have for all of my twenty years. And it is something I like very much. All the unending commotion of city life is not for me. But for a day it can be bearable – well to some degree, anyway.

People in every angle of my vision. People bumping into me. Crossing the street to avoid the endless streams of leaflets and advertisements. Maybe it isn’t like this for everybody, maybe people actually enjoy the bustle and hustle. Though, for me, with my anxiety and my introversion, it can be hugely tiring, demanding. So much so that after a few hours my limbs feel heavy, a dull headache arises, and my vision loses its clarity. Just physically being in the same space as that many people, that many faces, and that many voices – it drains me.

Of course, I am not normal. Or… at least the way in which my mind works isn’t.

Maybe this is beyond comprehension for someone who doesn’t ail from the same things I do, someone who’s mind is made and wired differently. I suppose in the same sense that their actions seems preposterous to me.

Though, I like to look for the silver linings each day, the things that make the bad bearable. Obviously, it was the book shop, no competion even comes close. The sprawling, huge, book shop. I envy people who can spend more time trawling through their mighty sci-fi section. Believe me, it was a truly glorious sight.

Today’s purchase: A pretty hardback edition of Farenheit 451.

I can’t imagine anything better than a quiet room, a comfy chair, a book, and plenty of strong coffee.

The city – it’s something I’m not made for.

Willing You

From the black, you drag me.

Through that impossibly dark forest.

All across the haggard land.

Bringing me to a place where I can stand.

The words, they might seem tiny.

Insignificant to their high creator.

Though they mean considerably too much.

Willing me to dream as such.

A bridge across the world.

A humble time spanned between you and me.

Throughout this I will you to see.

All that has brought me to one knee.

 

Bridge