A Sporadic Pen
My pen, the creator of stories, the revealer of secrets and truths, sits in the dark of my drawer. She waits, waits to be lifted up into the warmth of my hand and onto the pages unto which I speak unspoken words. The pages come alive, alive with so much emotion and an ungodly clarity comes to life. But I have no control of when the pen chooses when to write. When she writes, I am not here. I am away, so far, far away. She knows many languages. Cursive, Block, Poetry, she is a woman with fine tastes. But why she writes I’m not positive. Maybe to clear my head of the troubles of life. Perhaps to let the fantasies that roam my mind to come to life before the eyes of the world. But as the days pass, she becomes useless. For my new journal is alive and breathing with its pages taking in every ounce of emotion I feel. I know the Pen wants me back, gliding her across the maps of the horizontal lines she yearns to touch once more. She wants me to write on why I stopped writing. This is the first time I’ve written in about 2-3 months, so the Pen is dry, ink barely slipping through and scarring the page with her silent screams of the solitary mind behind it. Her sisters and her have come together in a night of writers block. They each one by one, enter my life, forcing themsleves into my hand so I write of my days. The days are a variety of colour. Love is a dominant subject but angst and anger undertone all seen. She doesn’t mind, as long as she’s in the hand of The Creator, she smirks. All she wants is one more story, the one to surpass all stories, her Creators, his friends, her own. It’s time to “write” the wrong and start the beginning of the end and the start of the final story.
Are you tired yet? Tired of trying to up everyone up, looking good to the people who don't care about you, the stares people give you when you just aren't enough to sastisfy them? No? ....I thought so. Your belief in yourself blinds you from the harsh reality that down to the core, your this expendable thing, meant for nothing but a trail of emotions that you dealt to yourself. You can be angry at the people who threaten your friendships, taking every opportunity you chose not to take, making those connections that you lost because self preservation and maybe a little bit of self pity clouded your wants that were highly possible. You've forgotten who you are throughout the process of trying to make yourself likeable. Why can't you be yourself? Why can't you be enough? You try too hard and love too much. Well sorry to tell you but love has run out. Think back to when you this little kid, this perfect little being with empathy and all. Seems like a distant memory doesn't it? Though what you want seems impossible through the walls you punch and the words you scream into your pillow, the tears that roll down your cheeks as you fall asleep in what seems a foreign place. You yearn for the childhood to come back, when you were friends with everyone and lunch was $4.50. Faith is one thing that has stuck with you since you started believing. The words of 3,500 years ago reverb in your soul. An unknown perspective coming into light and showering you with what you could call grace, a tender whisper that you will be okay. But the truth is, you don't want to be. You are only okay when the people in your life are doing good. Their happiness is the true swan song to your joy. But you do put these whispers in a jar, kepping them when you feel alone. But even these whispers eventually turn into bitter shouts. I wouldn't say to keep acting as you are, petty, loathing, aggressive. These do you no good. There is people who are there, willing to be with you. You just choose to ignore the ones who put in the effort. But for Gods' sake, stop limiting yourself. These inhibitions that you carry, they are weights on your mind, haunting every waking step. Will you let these weaknessess define you, or will you face your pride and humble yourself in the eyes of the world? That choice is totally up to you, but when you choose, that damn second you choose which path you take, stick to it. Leave it all behind. You are no longer that. You are anew, alive with no definition.
Mind & Heart, Partners in Crime.
Hello Fredo, it's us. You know, all those chances you never took, the unspoken words that were at the tip of your tongue. We are all the words you bit back and emotions you balled up in your fists. You should have acted when you had control, when you could have fixed what would've happened. Well now, we endow you with our shackles and throw you into the deepest parts of yourself you didn't reveal. With you in the shadows where we once dwelled you are blind, powerless, nothing. We're coming for what you stole, words and body available at our mere whimsy. Now don't fret, We're only doing what's best for us. Mind will become yours, the thruth of your wants will become clear. Heart will beat with your hidden ideals now engraved on the surface, for all to see. We're in control. Now get ready for what's to come. Twin reapers like us are like any others, wanting what's rightfully ours, the right to act, the need to act. You're time is done. It's our turn to play.
We all lose something. A friendship, a lover, a parent, trust, a will to carry on. But sometimes when we lose something, we gain something. Now, this isn't some vague letter to the things I know I lost. This is what I feel and if they ever got the chance to read it they'd know it's about them.
For the friend,I'm sorry. For everything. Going months on without talking to you, having an actual converstaion with you, laughing and fucking around with each other, all the tussles I knew I always won. I'm sorry for closing and completely closing you off from my life. Sorry for making you feel like shit and knowing I made you feel that way. Sometimes I would make the excuse that it's what you deserved. You changed, you aren't the same as I knew you back then. Too different for me to handle. At first, I thought I was able to handle it, but as the hours turned into days, the thought of dealing with it led to anxiety and disgust. After about what, 3,4 months of not actually ever hanging with you or talking to I think I can take it now. But knowing me, I can change up in about .5 seconds. But in those months, I found my faith know you don't believe in that "crap" but with no one else I turned there and found a calling. Cringe all you want, you changed so so can I. You probably think I hate you, but I don't. You were, are, my best friend. We shared so much so I can't throw that away. You saved me multiple times from alot. Myself, my dad, "friends", the world. I learned a lot about forgiveness and acceptance but it will take a while before I can apply that into my life. But I'm still here, I still care. I think I always will. So if you ever need to talk or just sit in silence with the others presence like the good old times, that's okay. We can do that. That's what I'm here for. I love you.
For the Lover, Fuck you. From the moment you spoke to me I knew you were trouble. I didn't care becuase you tried to become my friend when no one else would. Your smile and light hearted jokes lit my dark skies. Snapchatting until 2,3 AM with you were some of the best memories I will always carry in my heart. When I cried, you were there, a warm embrace that shrouded me from the rest of the world. But, after our secret was out you took me out of the equation. I was heart broken. I lost my first best friend, in the time you were supposed to stay by my side you left. We're now Juniors and it's still wierd but I miss you. I miss your friendship, the fact someone actually cared for me when I first got here makes my heart happy. I found closure and I hope you'll be able to forget about the past and come back to me.
For the parent, you were required to love me. Protecting me should've been a maternal instinct, apparently it wasn't. But not only did you break me, you broke my older sister, the girl who understood me the most, who defended me in the midst of arguements and unpalpable situations. You broke her emotionally. You got her sent away, away from her life, from me. I can't see her or ever be able to hug her again. She's gone, in a faraway land, atop a dragon guarded tower. Other than the us two, the other 5 children you have hate you as well. You despise our happiness, our success in life. You want us to be like you. Not all of us want to be an alchoholic or a druggie being sent to prison until we're about 28 and then date and marry people to become gold diggers. But I hope you found your gold at the end of the rainbow, maybe you can buy yourself a chance that we'll actually listen to your bullshit excuse again.
To the things that have changed, Oh my god where do I start? I think I'll start at myself, beacause as of now, you only put one person in front of yourself, and that's your faith. The fact you were able to find something other than another best friend to subconciously rub in their face you went to faith. Faith had answers, a wisdom hidden in plain sight. It gave you a chance to live, to begin again. Faith brought friends. Those friends adore you. Don't ever let them ago, they are young fledglings but they will grow into fiery sparrows in the skies one day. The friends you met changed you. You are strong, analytical, goofy, and empathetic and more caring then ever. Opening up to these people was surprisingly easy, which must mean they'll take you somewhere special in life, a land of glory that wasn't known of beforehand. Let them lead you to greatness, you are stronger with them.
The clock reads 23:52 but I'm wide awake, I have a lot to say but will wait until the time is right to explain in detail. For now, fall asleep knowing you are loved, you were told multiple times today. Smile knowing that you'll wake up and these little fledglings will teach you to soar their skies like they do, Spinning, singing, flapping, but most of all, living.
Crtl + C & V
It’s a copy and paste type of love, the lowest most basic kinds. A simple smile and a one armed hug. But throughout time, love can change a person. I don’t want that type of love. I want the love that comes from the depths of hell, consuming every cell in my body, scarring my insides with the smallest signs of God like affection. I want the love that can scream through the hate and struggles of the day and brighten my soul. Let your love harken to me so that I may go supernova in a cataclysmic sized exodus of the feeling of not being loved. Let your eyes be my windows to the world, your smile be my sun, and hands be guides, tracing the possibilities of what could be onto my own hands that are intertwined with yours. I’ve clicked ctrl+x , I’ve set you free. Don’t be afraid to love who you want, when you want. Set your feelings free and be you. Stand before the world and show you are different.
It claws, it tears and completely shreds what little sanity I have. My mind, a wasteland of possible scenarios that could have went down between us, the ones that seem most plausible hanging on to their last chances of hope. My fingers twich and squirm, they want to be around your torso, pulling you in closely. Your scent like a calming drug, a biochemical Aderall if you will. In a crowded area my eyes analyze every corner, every inch of the room, skimming over faces that aren't yours. I'm driven to the point where you're all I think about. As little we have together, it brings me much more joy than what I've had the years prior. Sometimes I think I already am crazy. I feel your eyes penetrating my darkest parts of my being, not exposing me but healing what's been broken for far too long. An arm that skims me sends chills down my body. My mind is that of a schizophrenic, out of tune with reality, the voices of my mind ushering my actions into being. The crescendo of voices screaming that I need to act before the opportunity is gone. My voice, my subconcious knows that you won't leave. You're here with me, in my life, right now. Your silky words lull me into a dreamscape like no other. When I dream, being insane is okay. In the wake, insanity hides behind the mischevious eyes and covered smiles. But thankfully, either awake or asleep, you're still here. Maybe you're real, or the meds I haven't taken unleashed you from your cage of my mind.
I see them. I see them all. Bright, exhuberant colors. The soft yellows and fierce orange of leaves that fall to the ground around the tree in which they grew. The sky of fading blue, wisps of clouds blown to nothing with the crisp winds, kissing my cheeks as it passes me by, like all today went. As the sun slowly drops itself into its temporary slumber the trees glow with what I consider to be a paint bucket spill, the true definition of Gods' canvas, doing what he pleases, knowing it's for the best. I look your way and see the Sun's light glorifies your colors. Dark hair yet there's a halo around your head. Eyes a liquid amber. The rays are gone now, replaced by the Moon, giving a soft white glow. Stars begin to twinkle and dance in the night sky. Birds tweet their last songs and the winds get more vicious, beginning to tear at all it grabs. The navy skies are full of clouds, giving the moon its place to hide. The time for colors are gone, save for the Christmas lights that glow in the meek darkness. I stumble inside and fall unto my bed and smile knowing as I close my eyes that when I wake up, it will be a new day and new colors.
I give a gutteral scream as the last drops of blood fall out of her bones. I need more. more, more MORE. My victim was a 7 year old. Her plump little red cheeks couldn't protect her tongue as my knife severed it in the alley. Now, her bones, all broken, lay askew throughout the room. I rapidly start looking everywhere, I'm going crazy, I start to hear these voices. "Kill yourself" sceams a unison of voices in my head. All looking and wanting for the same I am. Blood. I run out of the room and out of the house, away from my precious little girl, and my friends that are six feet under my potatoe garden, but as I leave the garden I pick up the mallet I've left behind on my last shopping spree. I slip the blood riddled mallet into my jeans, letting it hang loosely on the inside of jeans. I'm about two mintues away from the store. University of Rollipes. I slip a barren room with a large mirror and odd chairs with holes in the middles and wait for the workers to permit the produce to come in. After about fifteen minutes, it's finally time. He walks in casually, nothing to lose. As the sound of the zipper going down becomes audible, the sound of a skull concaving fills the room and he slumps to the floor, blood pooling onto the floor. I quickly fall to floor and lap it up, my insides glowing like a candle in the dark. I lift him off the ground and put my jacket onto him and lift the hoodie onto his head. Gotta protect the produce somehow. As I walk out with my groceries in hand multiple laughs and snorts can be heard by fellow produce. I walk out of the store and back home. My mind is wired, prepared to taste the blood that will drip from his fingertips, the ooze of his brain. I drop the body onto the floor and go to get my knife. As I come back to my fresh kill a slowly bend down and caress his face, he can't be more than twenty-two. Pretty healthy looking, I turn him over and know what I'll be taking first. My hands go into place and the sound of a broken neck fills my ears. I quickly make a deep gash into his neck and stick my tongue into his broken spinal cord. Mixed with blood and spinal cord fluid, I'm high off this kill. I fall backwards and dreamily look up into the ceiling. I lick my fingers for the reamaining blood and fall into a blissfull sleep.
Nov 13, 2009
My boy, my dear boy. I hope this letter gets to you. The fate of your happiness depends on whether you read this. There's this place of grandeur, hidden deep within the highest mountanous forests. Where dreams are a reality. faeries and elves roam in the trees, blossoming flowers and causing mischief. Great warriors of every kind live there, living in the shadows, all with the mindset of their creator. Finding this place has been an issue for all dream goers. They spend all their lives searching for this place, everytime turning bitter, losing the creativity that created their childhood friends. As they turn bitter, the darkness is their minds feeds on the happiness that made these creatures. These creatures writhe in pain as the darkness consumes their purity, turning them into horrible creatures, hellbent on destroying the dream paradise. If they can't find it, no one can. Now, Stories say if you have these three things, the location of paradise will be given.
A dash of reversing hate
will be in your fate
Save the happiest from sadness
naught you'll turn to madness
Take the forgotten locket
and place it in its handlers socket
With these, paradise will please
and your journey will go with ease.
This is the secret of getting into the Paradise of Dreams. I coud never find it, Now my bitterness has come at a cost. My grandchild, my boy Parker. Please find this paradise and tell me about when you see me again.
An Almost Midnights’ Summer Dream
The rustle of leaves
Of the winds of ten o'three.
Stars blink in the vast Nebraskan skies
In a place of corn, a look up can make you cry.
Nyx looks down, lulling you to sleep
Nights the best time to think deep.
crickets play their songs
Chirp, Chirp Chirp, Chirp
Since you've seen these skies, it's been a yearlong.
Wildgrass pulls you down, it's time to sleep.
one, two three, count the sheep.
You don't want to sleep,
You beg, cry and plea
The last thing you see is eleven fifty-three