My last words should I die tomorrow how I wish.
I'm just tired of feeling so hurt and lonely. The pain is far too much to handle. Depression is something I've struggle with for many years now. My many reasons to live were my family, my friends, but most of all my love. Even with those amazing people in my life the depression always hid underneath. Coming out to Barre its ugly teeth when I was intoxicated or vulnerable. I hurt the women I love most in this world. I can't stand to live with that. I'm tired of the many tears. I'm tired of the heart ache. I'm tired of ruining the good things in my life. Please remember me for the goodness in me and not my evil deeds. Rest assured I'm at peace now. I was rarely at peace alive. I hope everyone's dreams of an afterlife were true. I'd love to see those pearly gates or if what I did sends me to hell so be it. Maybe we are apart of gelatinous cube, one of my favorite ideas. If it wasn't I wouldn't have married it. I will never be entirely sure why you left me Alyssa but I love you and I want you to move on with your life. I was a destructive character in yours and everyone else's life. As you know, you're far better off without me. I made some big changes trying to clean up my act but instead it all just came crashing down. I'm glad I died still married to you cause that is how I would choose to go. Having had a loving wife who cared for me deeply. I'm wrapped in your favorite blanket, my head resting on a pillow that still smells like you. In one of my favorite places. Its a frequent of ours when we were stupid kids and we'd sneak out together. Little did I know she was my future wife. I just knew that I adored you. I'm holding the book of poetry you wrote me. I'd like to be barried with it unless Alyssa wants it. She can have anything she wants. You always were a sucker for a poet and I hate that you fell for cheap words when I would of bled right infront of you. You'll find a man with far less flaws and he'll sweep you off your feet. He'll treat you well and wont taint the memories like I did. When you broke up with me the first time. I cried harder then I had ever cried over a girl. You've found another poet in your life. This time when he dies or breaks your heart I wont be there to take you back. You were always my dream girl. My sweet love. My love was my name for you because you embodied every wish I ever sent to the universe. I just had some issues that we couldn't fix. So just hate me and move on. I know this will only push you further into the arms of another man. You were already there when you left though. I also want everyone to know that I want Alyssa to have all my belongings. She knows me better then anyone and she can burn it if she wants. I want her to have my life insurance money also. Please buy yourself something nice. I'm in the same place, in the same car looking over the beautiful lake remembering my perfect moments. When I still made you happy. I remember getting you to fall for me. I will never forget that unique connection we shared. We had so much in common. Our playful nature. The books we loved. The music we adored. How I fell inlove with your brothers. How I had to convince you Jacob was the greatest guy in the world and pushing you to make amends with Gille. I always tried to push you to better yourself and situations. I was off mark sometimes but Gille's your best friend now. You've come to realize how Jacob is an endless friend, a companion til the end. You were blind to so many gifts you were givin from birth. If there was any gift I could have givin you. It was to make you realize what you have. So go find someone better then me, don't ever settle for less then perfect or I'll haunt your sex life. They built a statue of us and put it on a mountain top. I want you to know I was endlessly lusting over you. When you thought the passion died. It was because I forgot what to do. I just needed a little guidance.
Yesterday brought me Tomorrow;
Tomorrow lacking Nothing-
Nothing and everything...
hahaha I just realized off mark
I don't want a kiss
On the lips
Nor the words I miss you
Cause we both know you don't
I just want one thing
P lay with words
O pen and honest
E ver so bold
T imes words must be heard
R eality of our world
Y ou know what I mean
It was a demon's night,
traveling alone in Cindar forest;
the wind pushes me forth
and steers me into madness.
Gripping at grooves in scarred bark,
my balance is constantly steadied;
my sanity constantly endangered
breaks at the seams for a swift escape.
Thrown about the foot trail,
bones broken with bleeding clumps of muscle,
in shock, resemble that of human
and little skeletons of hunted beasts.
My name is Francois Martyr,
a true monk employed by Christ's church.
Though the name does not interpret my resolve,
I shall not want, nor desire,
to accompany the souls of our deceased!
Reporting, now in the third month
of my extended travel in Germany's ranges,
feeble stories of the invention, Lycan.
Evidence acquired in short tales,
birthed from the touched tongue of the poor,
speaks of fanged savages evolved from man.
I, Francois Martyr, can assist
the church's needs in evidence of my own
having never suffered my eyes
to be that in nature of failing.
Deep within this enchanted wood,
wind filters out yonder screams
that seem to derive from cliffs that tower,
descending me into a darkened void that's terrifying.
My once sharpened mind
was once notable in reason,
always employing the rational narrative.
I fear the fisher
has become the shadow target.
In what realm of God should I deserve this?
The air is of great thickness in muggy mephitis,
clinging on my loose trails of cloth, soiled.
The stewy broth of sweat, death, and wrath
permeates a, now, threatened heartland.
Millions of full moons wane and wax
in the reflections of forest blood splatter,
like the landscape of hot wet garbage
primed in yellow, olive-green rigor, fanned.
A formidable spectacle in form,
silhouetted by the expanse of cerulean space,
with the threat now real; becoming surreal,
I am left with that, which corrupts my faith.
The putrid rot of congealed pus and blood
revealed itself in the chewing dissolve
of the menacing monster perverting
life's natural design, before me, in its voracious state.
I write with danger looming in my sight,
watching, waiting for something to ensue,
passing out deep breaths to the unseen mosquito;
echoes of bones breaking like snapped branches horrify.
How impressive of such imposing display
that this creature feared is of this world;
alien in disguise, damned by God himself,
coat of hair, bristled and black, matted in grand supply!
The creature has applied fell eyes upon me,
seemingly wary of the cross I bear,
with eyes rent and fired in their sockets;
a profane mastery of evil incarnate!
This death dealer of a life discarded
has attended a baying at the Hunter's moon,
dripping, spitting, shape-shifting from wolf to man;
Wait, he has seen my face!
I have been sentenced to my mistake!
The man, from wolf, drilled his stare
and upon my presence, growled the words to John 14:6
John 14:6= “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
The hand he didn't hold,
The lonely boy filled with regret
And the girl who never showed interest.
Its what they'll never feel.
They didn't take the chance
Saw it pass by
And now regret comes back
When the memories flash behind
And tears fall down.
Cause all they had to do
Was give an acknowledging look
Instead of looking down
Now it can't be taken back
But hope will never die.
And he believes
Someday he'll press rewind
A picture brings back memories
A picture makes me hurt
A picture tells a story
A picture is a chapter in someone life
A picture sais a thousand words
Because I'm never given peace.
They grab ahold of my heartstrings
And tie them in knots
Around my lungs.
I think im suffocating
So they pull back my flesh
That seemed too tight against weary bones.
But my tongue swells
Like a corpses
And my words are
Trapped by choking noises.
there are some mornings that i
can't get out of bed. it's much safer
underneath the covers, and even if my sheets aren't
white like they are supposed to be
they are the only things that still feel clean
because every other inch of my room
still tastes and smells and feels like you.
it was 12:07 when i saw you again
for the first time in months; you didn't know what to
say, so i said it all for you by saying
nothing; it was just enough for both of us.
later i told you that we should talk, but
when the time came, i couldn't find my words,
so instead, i just decided to cling to you.
you thought it was maybe because i was trying to
tell you i missed you, or maybe i was leading you
on- you were wrong on both accounts.
i was just scared of letting you go because you
make bad decisions when you're alone and i didn't want you
to leave the room feeling cold.
there are some nights that i
can't get into bed. when i'm awake at least i can
control the number of times you get into my head;
but sleep scares me now because every time i
close my eyes it's like you're still here and
no matter how hard i pretend that your company is easy
it's always unsettling- the honest truth is that
ever since i let you go, i've watched you become a ghost.
Let your mind flow.
Let the thoughts swirl.
Let your words come out of nowhere.
Out of nowhere.
But somewhere something happened.
No cliché figurative flickering fluorescent set you off, no slight nudge sent you snowballing; no, you've been lit on fire. You don’t know it, but you’re burning. But that flame is not the one nestled neatly in your grandmother's fireplace, nor the uniform petals licking up at underside of her tea kettle. It is a forest fire, raging and impatient, intent on turning over and devouring every leaf of your inspiration until you let it out. From far away it might appear to be merrily orange, but underneath it's blazing blue and white.
Maybe you can feel it. A burn like that would leave a mark.
Those stories that crackle from your tongue are going to tear this world down and replace it with one of their own. The energy they create is irresistible. It will consume you like old newspapers in an autumn bonfire.
Yes, it will consume you, just like the search for the perfect word. Remember? That tickling on the tip of your tongue that will not go away, not in hell, until you can name it. You’ll wrack your brain for hours, sometimes days, as though it were a cluttered attic and in the most hidden corner huddles your word, grinning impishly when you stumble upon it. That quest that devours your mind again and again is only the beginning, the end, the in-between, the pinpricks of color on your canvas that make up your painting, your masterpiece. And it will be a masterpiece. Your beginnings and your ends and your in-betweens will become a wonderful whole.
But, a warning. The window to your mind is not the lens that everyone will look through. Those whose opinions distort their sight will tell you your beginnings are simply weak scaffolding, your ends have loose threads that remain unsewn, and your in-betweens are only the unoriginal fluff of a muddled mind.
Their words, however, are only kindling for your fire.
Watch them burn.
They will learn to respect the writer.
"Listen to the Book!" they say,
"Listen to the Book!
It tells you all the answers,
So go and have a look!"
So I went to see the Book,
The mystic creature of old
And all I found was dust and stone
And pages lying cold
I asked the book a question then
Its only answer silence
I looked for the switch to turn it on
In hopes to find some guidance
"How will I live,
How will I die?
Will I be rich,
Or poor and high?"
"How many things
Will I get this year?
How many women
Will I buy a beer?"
"Will I have kids,
or several wives?
Will I live a long
And happy life?"
The Book just sat
It had no answers
I lost my grin
"This thing is stupid"
I thought aloud,
"It has no answers!
That man was a clown."
I walked away from the Book that day
The book of knowledge and thoughts
I walked with anger at this silly Book
But my imagination it had caught
I wondered about that Book
And the answers it had kept
I could think of nothing else,
My curiosity it had swept
When I was old and humble
My mind still filled with Book
I decided one more time
To go and have a look
I approached it slowly,
This time unsure
It seemed different this time,
Its knowledge did lure
I peeked around
Its rotting bind
In hopes it bring me
A peaceful mind
But all I saw were words and words
Words on pages, not there before!
But weren't they there?
So long ago?
Did I even look?
Was I ignorant so?
I read through the pages,
All slowly, but at once!
It was glorious and terrible,
How could I have been so dunce?
I found them all,
All the answers I need!
Not to the questions before,
But to the questions I need!
I must go, and tell a young soul
This is glorious and awesome,
They all must know!
"Listen to the Book!" I say,
"Listen to the Book!
It tells you all the answers,
So go and have a look!"