365
One more 365
Come and gone
I tremble to know
It will be the same
Yesterday’s yesterday
Midnight draws near
My chair caresses me
Harmonies of the Eve unfurl
Vibrant embers dance across twilight
I gaze at the door
Urging it to open
Will you be there?
How many 365’s have I lingered here
Hoping to see your face
To inhale your fragrance
To taste your essence?
How many 365’s did we have
Before you walked away?
Seven, eight, ten?
My memory dims
Numbing compliments of
Johnny Walker Red
Are you with him now?
Has auld lang syne
Waught new memories
Of you with him?
Does he hold you on the dance floor
Promenading to our song?
Whispering hopes of a new year?
One more 365
Come and gone
Tonight, I will wait
Johnny W and me
My next 365 belongs to you...
I promise
A Night of My Childhood
Through dust I write
Praises to the act of aging,
Night
extending.
(On
On
On, she whirls
On)
It is dusted sight
Through which I write;
They say love clouds oneself.
(On
On
On, she whirls
On)
Night as black
As the ink on the pages
That dissolve into tired minds,
As bright as its white
It snares with.
We know the dusted nights.
We know the aged flights
Of the morning
Which we
Always
Repeat.
(On
On
On, we whirl
On)
Lucid
The human state of consciousness and mind, top psychologist Dr. Jason Taylor’s major. Recognised throughout the country and the world, a renowned psychologist that’s the top of demand. On the outside, he’s calm, collected and has the looks and wealth of every man’s dreams. But him? He has no pleasant dreams to speak of.
The fear that binds him together, the one that sparked his interest in hypnotism, in the hopes of making his dreams disappear. Dreams. They aren’t just dreams. They are nightmares.
The darkness that shrouds him, the blood that always drenches his clothes. The horrifying screams that reverberate around wherever he is. The bodies, the smell. It’s something he finds familiar, although it’s impossible in the terms of parapsychology. It’s not possible. People can be recognised in dreams, but not settings.
It only links with one thing. His past. His past is also darkness, his family, his friends. Everything before the nightmares are unknown. Memories never came back, even the name Jason? He made that up. His knowledge is the only thing that can bring back the truth, the memories. Because if he doesn't do that. He will be driven insane by the aspect that he has nothing. That he is just an empty shell. Although that's what the truth is.
Until, his goal is averted from his attention. A failed experiment. Another parallel world. And a past he has to uncover. The things he has to find. The fears he has to face.This book will bring you on an incredible journey of trials and tribulations.
Jason Taylor’s job? To find out the truth in Lucid.
~~~~~~
Fear that binds you, fear that protects you and fear that scares you.
Cowards stay cowards until they're forced not to be.
What do you fear?
Love Me, Again.
I looked around me, the familiar surroundings. Pitch darkness and a musty scent. It had not changed for quite a while. I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, my arms outstretched. It one of those days that I reminisce about the past.
It was like a dream.
Raucous laughter echoed throughout the room as we played together. It was just her and me. The days we ran around the lawn and the days we spent inside. The times we had fun till late at night and the times we just simply spoke. And of course, there were the times you hugged me with trembling hands while your parents argued outside. I simply accompanied you as you whimpered softly into the dark, dark night. It was simple, really. Me by your side. Enjoying our time together, not counting the minutes, not counting the seconds. When time flew by.
The memories went on, from the time I met her till since she abandoned me here. I looked at the floor my my side, a piece of my face just out of reach.
~~~~~
Time now crawls a second at a time, but I never stop hoping that she’ll come back here, and apologise. And we’ll go back home together, go back to the old times, and she’ll make my clock tick again. Tick tock, tick tock…
Children think toys are childish as they grow up. Something inanimate that can be thrown away.
The clocks ticks in the same rhythm as my heart. Irregularly.
The piece of me just lying there, as I imagine my face without it. I am broken. All toys are.
The hope that she’ll come back is fading. She’d probably already forgotten me. But the memories just keep coming back.
When the toys are thrown away, they all break. Each and every one of them. Just like me.
The future seems bleak as the light fades. As I know in my heart that she’ll never come back. Though, I just can't help hoping.
Hoping for someone to come and dry my tears and mend my scars from long ago.
The day that she left, not only my face broke. Something else shattered into dust.
Actually, you don’t have to apologise. Just come back. Come back to me.
My heart.
~~~~~
"Jane, Jane, love me again."
Soulmutt
Nothing’s been the same since you
died
no matter how I slice it
no matter how I see it
no matter how much time attempts some bullshit move to heal it
You were in my blood and you will stay in my
blood
until my blood stops
and dries
your love and roots and every
bit of fur haunt me
no matter where I run
no matter which continent
or bar or highway
your little ghost
sits, sleeps, rides shotgun
your eyes the faintest of blue
looking wise in the sunshine
across the parks and ponds and lakes
and coasts
your little heart beating big enough
for my own
your belly against my palm
in all those shitty rooms
in shitty towns
or in the beds of
shitty women
you always knew I had
guts when nobody else
did
and you always knew I’d
pull us up and out of anywhere
we despised
closer to me than any human
will get
deeper under my skin than
my own bones
so far into my heart you’re still
the center
and though
your daddy was in jail
when you had to die
and though I don’t believe
in angels or anything beyond
carbon
you came to see me the first night
you were gone
and I held you on the slab in
the cell and fell asleep with my
hand on your stomach one last time
before you went off
to do something greater
than I could ever imagine
I want to take this afternoon
to tell you that I love you more than
anything
and no sacrifice I’ve ever made
to keep you
could hold a candle to how much
I still love you
six years past your
death
and I want to tell you here
that because of you
I know what unconditional love means
and if you were here now
I’d buy you the best of everything
even though you wouldn’t have
any idea what that means
but your little brother is almost
eleven now,
and he’s happy
and I still talk about you
and his tail still wags at the mention
of your name
and there’s even a little
girl in the mix now
she looks something like you
which is why she’s here
and while it’s true she doesn’t have your
shrewd, moody genius
I know you’d be proud that
I gave her a home
and on days like this
when the whiskey’s half gone
and I’m lost out on the road
while I wait for things to come through
while I cross my fingers and hope
things start to make sense
while I wait for the spines and brains around
me to grow
while tricky assholes have
siphoned my money
while I either do or do not
wait for eminent failure
or success
the Sun sits high and warm
and shines a beautiful
orange across the desert
while I sit in a hotel and
drink whiskey
to disappear back into
the days when you were
here
when I was alive
and we watched each other
swim
anywhere we chose
to swim
and while I’m sitting here
drunk
and staring into
darkness
I want to take this
moment
to tell you
I still love you.
Prologue
The wind chimes rang, the tinkling sound they made brightening the day.
There was a little girl. Playing her keyboard, the day ironically beautiful. The sounds emitted from the keyboard were astoundingly light, carrying the sounds far away. Note by note the song went on as if it had no end, an infinite melody.
The melodious sounds was abruptly cut off, replaced by the muffled screams of the girl. She struggled in the arms of a man, lean but extremely strong. The cloth pressed against her nose slowly did it's work as her limbs went limp. Her struggling slowly ceased and all there was, was the sound of a van leaving the driveway.
~~~~~~
The cellar was dark and terrifyingly quiet. There was nothing she could do. She looked down at the bloodied red line across her palm as she listened to the steady breathing of the man in the corner. He would come with a cane every time she cried out or tried to escape.
As she hummed to herself in the absence of her instruments, a tear ran down her dirtied cheeks. The little girl was afraid. Petrified.
Not of the darkness, not of the insects.
Not even of the man in the corner.
But of the silence.
~~~~~
Years later, the little girl had grown up. Through countless trophies and countless certificates in music, she had changed in many ways. Two things were the same. Her love of the sounds of music.
And that fact that she was still afraid.
~~~~~~
The girl screamed and yelled, but she could not hear anything. She could see mouths opening and closing around her, but no sound came out of them. There was only silence.
Finally, she gave up. No sound came to her ears. Silence engulfed all. Only a void of emptiness and an abyss of infinity lay before her.
The girl's breaths became short, haggard. Dizziness overcame her as she collapsed in a heap on the bed. Bile rose up in her throat as she gagged. But there was still no sound. She knew the truth of what had happened to her. The truth was the truth and it did not matter whether she believed it or not.
But this time she believed it wasn't the end, as a pair of arms hugged her from behind.
~~~~~
People spoke of appreciating silence. But it was what the girl feared most. For it represented her darkest nightmare from a long, long time ago.
Most couldn't fathom how silence could be loud. To them, the idea was just... paradoxical. But she could. The shadowed man she couldn't recognize and the silence she couldn't stand. She feared both a long time ago.
She had forgotten and put it back into the past, though she still avoided silence whenever she could, more like, she always avoided silence. No matter what, she would make sure there was always sound around her, even if it were just the sounds of people chattering around her.
No one can run away from her past forever; it always finds a way to catch up to her.
Now, when her past has caught up to her, what will she choose? Flight or fight?
The silence that comes with darkness is the one to fear.