sleep is a prison

eyes closed

vulnerable

in the dead of

              x night x

IIII can’t break out

wishful thinking

How much longer will I spend

dreaming of sanity

and dancing with my demons?

Slowly fading away into nothingness until there’s nothing left

but an empty shell;

a chassis with nothing to live for.

Phony smiles and obligatory laughter.

Life has become tiresome.

It’s time to retreat into myself

and become what I’ve always been doomed to be.

remembrance

faint lines scattered across the sidewalk

signs of better yesterdays

chalk washed away by present realities

the unassuming rain that falls around us every day

ridding the world of everything said and done

the storm crashes around us

decimating everything good that used to be

what is going to happen now?

the only thing to do is flee

from the pain of today and tomorrow

or to pick up and try again

to make the world a better place

than this

undeath

this craving for flesh consumes me. overtaking each and every cell in my body.

what do I do what do I do?

this nightmare will never end.

or  will it?

put me out of my misery. take a shotgun and blow my brains out. or use an ax, I don’t care. I just want this to be over.

Consumed

This nightmare never ends. I’ve been running so long I no longer see the light. Hell creeps upon me like a black cloud in an already void room. Suffocating. I am suffocating from the sudden lack of air. Gasping struggling hanging on by a thread. Why didn’t I relish my life when I was in control? Nothing has any meaning anymore. Nothing. What is nothing?  I don’t know anything anymore. Everything has turned into nothing. I am nothing.

fallacies

What is a dream if not a delusion of finer things? When it comes into reality is it no longer a dream? Why do we bother wasting time on uncertainty? Human nature is a funny thing. Always wanting something bigger, something better. What use does that even have in the end? It only causes disappointment and strife.

Life is what you make it, not what you want it to be. Yesterday is dead and the future doesn’t exist. Only the present can be swayed. There is no purpose to living in the past or future, only suffering. What could have been or what could be; the thoughts will drive one mad.

With the end of existence comes regret. Wistful memories and painful ones. If only it hadn’t mattered. The soul would be free.

serenity

the saga of my broken heart beats no longer. amidst the hazy daze I wander to the end of my days. life is such a maze of useless moments that mean nothing in the end. not living for yourself is a waste and you have to know yourself to live. to be mindful is to know yourself. only with this can you cure your selfishness.

paradise

the sounds of the mountain flow through me like the blood in my veins. being one with nature is an indescribable feeling. letting the world shape you with its colorful energy.

the sounds of life are whispering and singing secrets to the wind. ones only understood with reflection, if at all. the cool grass tickles between my toes as I step forward into the realm of truth.

truth I can’t comprehend with my mess of a mind. the breeze fights against my bare shoulders. my mind has wandered to where it is now. believing means nothing without knowledge. knowledge is everything.

the messenger

The bricks surrounding the old, run-down house were crumbling apart. The faded red was still bright against the grey shutters and broken front door. No one had gone inside for ages. It had turned into one of those neighborhood ‘haunted’ houses. You know, those ones that the kids always gossip about and adults never talk about.

Something weird happened.

The precinct got a phone call around 3 a.m. All the lights in the abandoned house had suddenly turned on, according to Mrs.Jones. They startled her when she had awoken for her early morning cigarette. Something she’s apparently done since her 20s. She was telling me this as she went on in my ear about smoking for years and never getting cancer.

She paused for a moment, finally giving me an opening. “Ma’am, about these lights…” There’s a light intake of breath as she began to apologize for rambling on.

Then the phone on the other end went dead.

meditations

my thoughts are never coherent. jumbled into a tangled mess of brooding and musings. they used to be sprinkled with joy and naiveté. I’m not sure which one’s worse.

everything travels uselessly, circling over and over. again and again, until it drives me mad. resistance is futile so I give in to the chaos.

pensive moments are never simple for me. only when I fly am I able to breathe. finally stopping the commotion roaring in my head.