In the darkness, only the blind can see

But when your in the half light

It is not you I see

You lived a half life

But you only showed half to me

I don't like the half I see

Because that half is me...

In the darkness, only the blind can see

But when your in the half light

It is not you I see

You lived a half life

But you only showed half to me

I don't like the half I see

Because that half is me

"We all go a little mad sometimes." Jay whispered. Looking up his eyes held sadness."Haven't you?"

Ruth tilted her head a little, favoring to stare out the window. Ruth was silent for a long time. "Yes."She said. "But sometimes just that one time can be enough." Her voice held the same sadness in Jay's eyes but also with a hint of something unexplainable.

Ruth's breath tinted the window as she drew absent-mindedly. "We all are in our traps, clamped in them and none of us ever get out." She said as she sighed. Turning to look at the boy with sky blue eyes, her eyes raking over him knowingly. " A-and sometimes we deliberately step into those traps." Ruth's eyes were soft, not with pity but with understanding and a thick layer of hurt.

Jay's face was wistful, his features yearning for something, perhaps for something he's never had. "I was born in mine, I don't mind it anymore." Jay said. His voice sounded montone, emotionless. As memories flooded.

Ruth turns back towards the window her hands ghosting over the cool surface. Her eyes watering slightly. "But you should. You should mind it."

Jay chuckled at nothing in particular, "Oh, but I do..." Hey says as he looks down fiddling with his fingers."But I say I don't." The room became eerily silent. Jay finally sighed. Turn his head he looks at Ruth, her brown skin shines bright against her maroon sweater. "Do you hate me?" Jay whispered. The question sounded loud even though it was whispered. Silence continued, Jay assumed that Ruth didn't hear him and opened his mouth to repeat the question that is slowly nawing at him.

"I don't hate you." Ruth said turning around. Her movements graceful. "But I hate what you have become."

Jay's head hung low as tears threatened to fall. A smile graced his lips. "Heh- that's funny, because I hate what I have become too." He said as he whispered the last part. Tears falling down his face.

Ruth knelt down to where Jay was on the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Ruth shushed him as she hugged him. Her own tears mixed with his that had fallen onto the carpet. "But it's not fair. Because how can I hate what you have become when I'm just like you?" She said quietly.

And so both of them sat there embracing each other, hating who they have become.

They say that there is a small line between life and death.

But in reality there is no line.

Every waking day,

Every choice,

Everything you do,

tips the scale further,

towards death, or towards life.

Death toys with life, giving it hope,

and for a while there is peace,

But then death lean over,

and the weight slips,

and the pressure won't release

It may be slow,

It may be instant,

But death bores easily,

so the outcome is always the same.

And once the scale has tip

your life is death's to claim

This relationship is a toxic one,

Life can barely breathe

Death leaves poisonous kisses

Slowly spreading his disease.

There's something in the water calling my name,

So I wade deeper, and deeper into a world unknown.

a fin here,

Some scales here,

Then beauty emerges.

And Im falling,

falling in love.

Actions speak louder than words,

but her words are drowning me,

In deep blue water,

pulling me deeper,

pulling me closer,

My lover caresses my face, clawed fingers drawing blood,

But I don't mind.

Even with my blurry vision, I see a goddess.

I open my mouth to speak, to praise, to worship.

but in goes the icy water,

burning my throat,

not a cool refreshing drink.

My arms flailing around gracefully, hoping to grab onto something,

My eyes pleading for my lover to save me.

but all she does is twirl me around, smiling.

To others it would look like we were dancing.

having the time of our lives.

My lover called my name,

But my lover didn't save me.

I know she loved me.

I know she loved me to death.

Κανένα σπουδαίο μυαλό δεν υπήρξε ποτέ χωρίς μια νότα τρέλας

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”

’Everyone in this forgotten town believed the way to achieve immortality was to have their names written down.

But not just by anyone.

Only the hand of a poet could determine your immortality.

Men traveled over the land, in search of a poet;

So they could boast of their fame, and good deeds.

But the poet’s paper stayed empty,

The poet spoke slow and clear, for his words were for all to hear;

“These stories do not tempt me.”

Fergus put his pen down, he looked down at the small excerpt he had written for a story. Pondering momentarily with his worn and calloused hands stroking the snowy white beard; his eyes crinkled slightly as he built a whole new world in his head. A few moments passed and he slowly picked up his pen, and dipped it in the ink, and continued on just as he was before. He wrote on and on as he drifted farther and farther from reality, from this world. Fergus was no longer a being of earth, but one of a different dimension.

A different world, one that he had created.

In this world the church bells never stop ringing,

A world where if you listen closely you can hear the dead singing,

'Is it to late to ask for forgiveness,

The man upstairs is our only witness and he doesn't sympathize'

Fergus recognized this world as his own creation.

His creation where everybody falls apart when it gets dark.

Where the buisness men step over bodies,

and the children are playing with ashes instead of poppies.

All of the characters were here in the land that he created with a pen and some paper.

All but one.

The poet.

Fergus had taken his role,

Determing who lives forever and who is forgotten.

Red roses filled the streets, as Fergus looked around at the chaos that ensued.

Ashes fell from the sky on this dreadful day,

While bodies all around were starting to decay.

And in the middle of it all a woman layed; on the soot colored streets, her hands tied with stems from roses, the thorns cutting into her pale flesh.

The womans body was bloodied and torn,

And in place of her eyes were roses, wildflowers and thorns.

Fergus’s father had always told him,

“A little bit of madness goes a long way, but just enough can make something beautiful.”

Fergus never made it back to reality.

He was found with stems tying his hands together and thorns in his hands.

And he had beautiful roses and wildflowers for eyes.

His pen was shoved down his throat along with a note.

'All of the greatest writers fall apart when it gets dark,

Their minds running uncontrollably.

In their work piece by piece you will discover dishonesty.

We are just puppest on strings

Fueled on the lack of creativity

Here, I find myself in this world I have created telling another poets story, all the while the roses thorns bind my hands and punturce my lungs.

But I regret nothing,

In fact I embrace it.

Here with me the greatest man who has achieve immortality, who has been trapped in a story forever in a time, he has told me “That no great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”'

Alison sat down a ways from her kidnapper, in a barely lit corner of the motel. Her eyes desperatly searching for an exit. Glenn’s eyes watched as the girl nervously picked at her fingers, and the rapid tapping of her foot. Alison couldn’t stand the silence anymore, she had to say something otherwise it would kill her if her captor did not. So she opened her mouth words ready to spill from her, words about everything and nothing.

“No.” The sudden sound cut through the empty air, just one word. The first word her captor had spoken to her. His voice sounded rough and gravely as though he hasn’t spoken in years.

So confused and in her mind the only thing Alison could give was a one worded reply back. “What?”

Glenn looked at her this time, his eyes holding an overwhelming emotion. Sounding more sure of himself he spoke, “No.”

Twice, twice now her captor had spoken to her. She couldn’t believe it. Alison scrambled for a response, “You can speak?” Twice now Alison has answered with a question and she had instant regrets. The man chuckles a bit. Alison jumps slightly afraid she has done something wrong.

“Yes.” was all he said.

Hesitantly she asked, “Why don’t you speak more?” Alison somehow knew she didn’t want to know the answer but she often didn’t think things through. Her captor looked at her under his eyelashes and smiled. Albeit not a full smile but enough that Alison somehow felt comforted.

Glenn shook his head at the poor girl. Lifting his arm up his long coat sleeve fell down to revel his left hand. His pinky and his ring finger had been chopped off and the tip of his pointer finger had been removed too. Most people at first glance would say a dull knife. But deep down Alison knew it was something much worse. Her captor looked down as though inspecting his hand, looking back at her he spoke, “My father said I talked too much.” That was all he said, just those few words and that feeling of comfort was gone. No explanation was needed for Alison to put two and two together. Lowering his arm he went back to his previous task, turning his back to her he smiled to himself, he knew he would have absoulte silence tonight. And he did. Alison shrank back into her corner and sobbed silently in fear, her hand covering her mouth just in case any sounds wanted to escape. Alison decided she would have to stand the silence, she learned that instead of the silence killing her, it would be her savior and perhaps her only friend.

Shades of night are creeping

Willow trees are weeping

Don’t sit down, turn around

Run right out of this town

This town where the people have scars just from living

Silver stars are gleaming, and all the while I’m scheming

Scheming to get you out of there

Out of the place where everyone is heaving with corrupted lungs

and where they set their insides on fire for fun...

Just hang on a little longer...

Can’t you just be a little stronger...

It won’t be much longer...

if they offer you a mask, politely refuse

its just a ruse to confuse you, and change your views

be careful, everyone pretends that everything is fine

but they would slit your throat for a dime.

I’m coming for you, don’t lose it all,

Don't become a lifeless face that I'll forget

These people are searching for happiness

They're looking for it

They'll kill for it

If they even have a hunch that you have a bit

They'll open you up no hestation

Doesn't matter if you flat line four times, theres no problem with the population

Be careful

Don't be surprised if you turn around and you're face to face with a gun

They will laugh in your face and tell you to run

Be careful

I'm almost there

I'll get you out

At this point Im not sure if you'll be alive

I can't say I didn't try...

“Papa can you tell me a story?” The little girl asked.

The worn man sat down on his daughter’s bed, it groaned softly at the extra weight.

“And which story do you want me to tell you?” He says as he scratches lightly at his beard.

The girl’s smiles eagerly and bounces with excitement, “The one about the God, papa!”

The man chuckled softly, he already knew which one she was going to pick, she picked it everytime. “All right, settle down little one.” He looked at her, an ever growing silence forming as the girl got comfortable. “You ready now?” a hint of a smile graced his face.

“Yes papa!” she beamed.

“Ok, where do I begin...oh yes.” The man cleared his throat dramatically. “In the begining, there was not a God on earth. Not a single one in sight. They were all up above in the clouds, lavished in gold and wealth. They did not want to go down to earth. They said any God who went down never came back the same. It had been so long since a god had come down that nobody knew if it was true or not.” The man paused as he saw the girl wiggle in anticpation for the next part. The man shaked his head slightly and continued. “But then a God was formed from the Northern Lights. It was a magnificent sight.” The mans eyes were glossy as though he was far away from here.

“He said he had come to change the tides.”

The girl interupted, rasing an eybrow the man looked at her expectantly. “Why?” she asked.

The man pondered for a moment before answering, “Because he wanted to have a purpose I suppose.”

The little girl nodded her head with her hand on her chin as though she was seriously comprehending his words. Waving her hand she motioned for him to keep going. With that a small bark of laughter escaped him as he obliged. Clearing his throat he continued,

“The God kept his wits sharper than a knife. He was never a God that was so torn between fame and adornment that he loses his sword. So he shot the fame down. He struck down Gods that opposed his decision to live on earth. He has killed armies and has stood up on top of a hill of bodies. He has slain every enemy. He could put up both hands and make lightning come down. His reputation got so big it blocked the sun out. He was known as the King, the Legend. But over time he became worn.” The man stopped as the girl eyes flutter closed, and her breathing evened out. The man turned to look out the window as the moonlight came through. He looked back towards the small child and smiled, as he continued in a hushed whisper. “Over time he became worn...Because he was living in an age where everything was staged, where all people did was fake their feelings, But he was a god so he couldn’t be vunerable.” The mans eyes became glossy once more, but this time a tear slipped down his face his voice becoming shaky. But he was determined to finish. “The God was scared to be vunerable, so he put on a smile and saved the day, over and over again, day after day. But it was never enough.” The man’s voice cracked as more tears flowed freely. ”...And no one ever asked the God if he needed saving from himself.” The man so engrossed in his mind he didn’t notice that the girl had come up and was wiping his tears away. Startled he jumped slightly.

Looking into her fathers eyes the girl spoke.

“Who is this God, papa?”

Looking right back into her eyes he searched for something unexplainable. A moment later he looked away and spoke, “The God I speak of, the King, the Legend, the hero...” The man, paused. But with trembling hands and a shaky voice he whispered those last few words. “That God is me.”