5.21 free write- Reasons

My body is broken and old before it’s time

All my faith has today run dry

I once was a child

But now I’m just alone

And no one knows the reasons I hold
Been so many places

Tried so many times

Remember a thousand faces

All I’ve left behind

I’ve always come and gone

But I don’t know if this one

I can come back from
The impossible’s before me

And my hope is gone

The fire’s at my back

And I’m about to jump

God please catch me

And forgive me what I’ve done

But no one beside me can feel these reasons
Every day it’s a little more weight

And my bones already crumble and break

I cant feel anything but pain

And I don’t believe they understand

I don’t believe you’ve seen what I have
Been so many places

Tried so many times

Remember a thousand faces

All I’ve left behind

I’ve always come and gone

But don’t know if this one 

I will come back from
The impossible’s before me

And my hope is gone

The fire’s at my back

And I’m about to jump

God please catch me

And forgive me what I’ve done

But no one beside me can feel these Reasons.

5.20 free write

It’s on my mind and in my mind from the first thought when I awaken to the last moment before the sedatives kick in to draw me to a fitful sleep. Most of the time the gnawing is there too, as some dark entity bent on not my destruction- as it very well knows I crave- but my torment. They say I should not be overtaken by this constant suffocation, and I am not by the account of mechanical compliance and routine. Company in this midst is a futile endeavor.  But I still hear it and feel it every second in between. Nothing can drown out the screaming fact in my head that it’s been another few years since I set out on another vain quest to find a new bandaid for my gunshot wound, or something to serve as a replacement for coping mechanisms cruelly rendered useless by the penetrating eyes of time. By which every safe place, every drug, and every blood sacrifice expires in its use and I stand where I started years ago, but with extra burdens that all add up in a manner I cannot- nor care to articulate to anyone at all. 

Everyone says there’s no such thing as a problem without answers- even if the answer lies in the serenity of acceptance and a kind of denial. Yet for a struggle I’ve heard not another having dealt with, I have tried and done to such extreme lengths what no other I have ever heard has done. But it fails and fails again, and laden in so much shame I could never tell anyone the true depths to which this problem lies as a slow death sentence to me only metaphorically and spiritually, for I was not granted the favor of death- though against all odds, few can explain how I still stand having foolishly put myself through such rigorous abuse in my pursuit of relief for solely the present day. I have become what I never could have imagined, compromised in the ways I thought was only of the weakest, most ignoble souls, and have accumulated the ever increasing debt of my decisions I thought were best at the time.

They say I am had by a devil, but I don’t know how much it really concerns me in the given circumstances. I neither believe the lies of shadows that death is the end of this suffering; even I know better. That would be far too easy. Angels and demons, but I know only one and of which is no light felt. Thousands of swift years and they’ve all plenty knowledge of feeling trapped as well- this we share in common perhaps. For it most often has appeared that the laws of nature have bent themselves to oppose against all reason. 

Thusly, In the time between reconciling all of these; I leave my marks, never in knowledge of if I will return.


They throw these words around so goddamn easily

I don’t think they know about what it even means

Are you standing on a street corner now

Not remembering at all

How it came about

Or where you are

After driving in the dark

You can’t take a breath

And holding on so tight

Just to draw one more in your chest

But then you lose your eyesight

How can you fight

How will you ever get home now

But nowhere’s home, you’re by yourself

Just wanting to stay on the ground

But you’re floating up and looking down now

Just wanting to be touched

Just wanting to be saved

But you can’t let yourself

Need anyone or thing

When you’ve gotten so far away

And can’t find reality

Someone’s lips are moving

But you can’t hear anything

Longing just to feel

But floating too surreal

The terror and pain inescapable at your heels

Just wanting to be touched

Just wanting to be loved

But no one can make you whole

Because you’ve lost your fucking soul

We throw these words around

And I know we’re lonely now

But how can one get out

When no one can pull you back down?

1.22 Free Write

Don’t know what my issue is

I’m either sleepless or sick

Perhaps it’s imbalance

Or maybe it’s madness

But I’m probably just a bitch

I’m sick of my own shit

With all of these excuses 

Despite that they’re true

I get real tired of them too

Of all of it- all the fucking time

I think that I should just pack up

And quit my life

I’m running out of options

But not wanting to be so obvious

Dejected, always a bit nervous

When again I’ve had enough

I get just a little bit more fucked up

I know deep down

I’m trying way too hard

Just to end up in the same place that I started

Or maybe further behind than before

But I’m no longer qualified to determine anymore

When everyday feels the fucking same

I’m sitting with a book of matches

Just one toss away  

I’m either twisted or manic 

But I’m probably just a bitch 

Who’ll admit

It’s as good as it gets

And I’m sick of my own excuses

In all of this hopeless uselessness.

Jump or Burn

Locked up, a danger to my self health

Meanwhile denied the feeling

Of A death so appealing

I had a friend instead who chose to hang from the ceiling

And we cry; but most of the time I think that I 

know what he must have felt inside

On that night

Having tried 

Everything for fucking nothing

As The time ticks and life slips by

stealing the years gone by sick

Along with the all the locusts

Being so desperate

So done with all of this shit
But I wonder where do we go?

So do you really wanna know 

what’s going on?

Behind the worn thin, old Visod?
I’m was gonna stop the clock

A quick fall A swift stop

To let it drop

Once and for all

But then I saw…
Guess that’s one thing we got to look forward to 

Born to pay your way once but more is still due

So very much to fail to do

And I think they know my name

I think they own my face

Though Pain has its place 

it’s one thing that’s can’t be sated
Flames at your back, or jump from the ledge to death

It’s jump or burn
Jump or burn so slow

So you wanna know 

the truth, do you?

Behind all the stupid things I do?
I was gonna stop the clock

A quick fall, A swift stop

To let it drop

Once and for all

But then I saw 

That hell never stopped

At the bottom of the fall.

Through My Eyes~11

I had more than enough sense of him to know that he was a man of no intentional deviance, so I picked up the red seed first and gulped it down. I looked around the room, anticipating the moment it would take effect. Moments passed and I glanced back at the man, with a minor twinge of nerve. I looked over at the clock. It was 3o’clock sharp. I was shocked; for according to the shrouded sun, I had arrived around 6pm, and our conversation had not spanned 9 hours. 
It was then that it occurred to me that perhaps everything they had said about me was right- 

was all of this just in my head? 

Was I dreaming? 

I had heard that in dreams clocks would most always be either absent or indiscernible. But I was clearly and consciously reading 3o’clock on that wall.

Was my body physically still back in the Asylum; my mind gone off into the oblivion of delusion that had been forewarned me- but I then so vehement that I was not? I remembered that crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy- they can’t see it. So there really was no knowing either way on my behalf. I had always Feared deep down that my grip on reality was far more precarious than I could ever bear to accept. I’d been called many things, but perchance there was a reason I so intimately loathed being called ‘crazy’. Was reality ever subjective-such as those who are colorblind- or was it fixed, with only one right way to perceive and react to it?

Before I could ask anything about this strange time inconsistency, to affirm or deny my paranoia- I saw it. 

It was a familiar sight- but nevertheless one that seldom failed to raise every hair on end, steal the air from my lungs, crawl on my skin, and through my bones. Standing back behind the old man, in the shadows of the room was a gaunt, towering figure 9ft in stature. Not surprisingly, it was cloaked in black robes, a near perfectly unification with the shadows of which it inhabited. Yet the unmistakable stark white of its long, hollow, fleshless skull was clear as it always had been- set with petrifying eyes bearing no Iris, no pupil- only the white of its penetrating sclera. Yet I knew it to be looking straight at me, because I could feel it piercing though me- as it always had long before I would turn to look or open my eyes. This being wore a skull resembling that of a cross between goat and wild canine- though it was much longer, with extended eye sockets. 

I had borne many past experiences with these usually nameless, But It was still always the kind of chilling presence that dropped the room to the sudden iciness of an energetic black hole; There is no peace, no joy, no hope, humanity, nor rescue in the air of these beings. Practicing neither mercy nor cooperation with even those of their own kind- they hide themselves behind any unnerving skulls they can find- favoring goats, horses, and humans. I had been pursued by those with and without cloak and skull- both equally terrifying, and a formidable test of my Fear; it was as if they were always lurking, following, watching, waiting, torturing, pushing- pushing with everything they had to push me over a ledge of unknown origins. 
It simply stood there first watching, to intimidate before moving in closer. I wasn’t sure if this instance was real, the red berry, or both. I attempted to shake off the instinctive freeze reflex so as to defend myself. I knew I could never be physically as strong as these inhumanly sadistic beings, but sometimes if I reacted fast enough I could drive them away for a time. 

Before I could figure out what to do, the figure appeared to begin moving into the light towards me – but the further it advanced ,the more expansive grew that choking darkness with it; until the room was without light, air, or the old man.

Most Often I’m Numb to Consequences~4

I scoured the corners of my mind for what else she had said. Much to my surprise, concertedly thinking about it brought back much more than I had expected to remember. One thing that never changed despite all I remember seeing- I’ve always been a skeptic until proven otherwise, and rightfully so.

Yet somehow throughout the ages I had often ended up in the company of various kinds of mages- whether they were called witches, mediums, psychics, or what the twenty-first century’s New Age “awakening” eventually deemed an Intuitive- they had always told me the same thing, of which I never paid much mind to for all that it mattered to me at the time. More than a few of said Intuitives had told me that I had another past life of which I did not consciously remember.
The past life part was obviously of no surprise to me, and neither was the not remembering some blurred details or periods of time.

Some things got lost in the transference altogether, while other events had always remained crystal clear in recollection throughout all of it. The missing parts I recognize by the vague, inexplicably knowing feeling I would often get about people or things. Not recalling an entire life however, was of some surprise.

These people had each only briefly glossed over the details of its relevance, recounting something about being a “Warrior” who had spent most of my life alone, wielding nothing but a spear for battle and defense. Wandering for nothing, looking for and fighting for something I could never be sure of- much less remember. I had never thought about it again since. It sounded like some fantastical bullshit. I had to stop and laugh at myself, because then again I suppose they must have thought the same thing of my much larger claims- resulting in my being thrown in the Looney bin, again.

Yet if it were so- It must have been too long a time ago to remember, considering that time had always progressed in its normal order, before now. This time around sure didn’t look like anything along the lines of being any warrior- quite far from it in my ripped cargos, equivocally ragged black tee, and somber disposition. Was it supposed to be some kind of patronizing, symbolic jab?
It then crossed my mind that perhaps I had actually gone forward- but pondering that quickly brought me to question that any amount of time or magic could refill the train tunnel that had been bored through the mountain.

I realized that I was sure wasting my time musing about something of little relevance to the fact that I now had no idea how far from food or shelter I found myself. The violent winds had blown a chill right through my thoughts-and my bones.

I had been accustomed to being cold and hungry- nearly numb to it- but not to its eventual effects. It had already been nearly a day since I’d had anything to eat when I decided to just head to my favorite place, where I knew I could clear my head for a while. Nothing quite like jumping in front of a train to clear your head. I briefly felt a twinge of guilt, hoping that it had only been a cargo train.  I’d always been on the lean side, so it never took long for me to start to feel the ache of my body eating itself- and it had already begun to scream and threaten with tension and pain in every muscle. I guess all the time I’d already spent starving up in the mountains would finally pay off as being customary. The fog in my head however was much thicker than that shrouding my vision- and much harder to work with.