dru
I'm not quite sure how often I will contribute work here. I've lost my muse over the years - to happiness, to lethargy, to "life" and the sick and twisted games it tends to play. My muse is a fickle bitch. She once lived in the back of my closet, thriving on my pain, picking at the hems of my dress and slashing at my ankles with her talons as often as she felt like it. In all of her cruelty, she used me to the point of aching fingers, hands and wrists - I would write for hours as a result of that blessed, beautiful pain. Now, she shows herself in other forms. A softer, more mature spirit, but also quite broken. The light may occasionally find her, procuring words that surprise me, but not often enough, which is why I cannot promise regularity. I can only promise to try.
Likened to abandoned theme park
Once fond memories cracked like abused porcelain
Affections taken over by invasive species
The fragrance and flavors once beloved, now poisoned and tasteless
My only want was to finally build a real home with you
A sanctuary
To capture a sense of pride and ease within the walls of our first attempt at creating this space together
To build something meaningful
To have a combined sense of accomplishment
What we are going through makes me think we do not bring out the best in one another
That we don't even like each other
That we are starting to become some angry sense of entitlement to our feelings instead of acknowledging the experience and skills we each possess and allowing them to be demonstrated
That incessant reference to one's opinion
Shouting from the rooftops just to be heard, right or wrong
The begging to just be
Respected
Cared for
Supported
Fought for instead of against
Overwhelmed by the demand for control
The chaotic pattern of pain
The bickering
The embittered, defensive replies to the simplest inquiry
The pushback against a simple difference of view
The lack of compromise because the war to be right appears to be more important than being happy
Sick to death of the exhaustion and sleeplessness and isolation
Happiness ruined by blame and selfishness
A creeping death, like a filthy air filter, will eventually have its way
So sick of contemplating a life beyond depression instead of living it
A life without a broken back
Without a broken voice
Without a broken heart
Starting to forget what it used to feel like to walk without the sting of these burdens around my ankles
Pulled into a stairwell of despair and breaking every bone on the way down
The constant ache
The stress from tiptoes on thin ice
The cuts from the shattered glass of the window pane
The threat of never recovering
Imminent with each misstep
Building upon an already cracked foundation
A landscape of burned out Earth, choking on the drought
Homeless dreams in littered streets
Dreams of you
A starving canine with your ribs showing, escaping reality by wandering the street for scraps
as I lie in wait, "slowly killing myself" as you look on
Past me
Through me
Those framed glass shards and their tattered curtains
Might as well be my body, my heart, and my soul
All in a seemingly endless, untenable state of disrepair
Scrubbing at the flaws until my hands bleed with no way to get the stains out
Gasping for breath with the hope of a new day
Stifled by the devastating collapse beneath the mountain of rubble
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
In the dream, there was a pit in the middle of the floor of a pitch black, empty room with peeling wallpaper of an indistinguishable color or pattern; charred fragments of paper floated on the hot air.
The pit was a giant, jagged hole in the weathered and blackened floorboards surrounded by smoldering embers. If you dared to look down, you could see traces of a winding staircase seemingly made of ancient, crumbling stone and black ash. The glow from the lava below was very nearly choked out by the ever-present black smoke that covered the walls and the floor...it filled the air in forked black ribbons.
I stared, terrified as my body hovered over the hole as if by some demonic, magical force that kept me suspended in the air about a foot above the floor. I wore nothing but a ***** tattered white gown, turned grey from the soot.
Barefoot and scarred, sunken eyes and a tangled, black mess of hair that met my ****** fingertips. I could literally feel my broken soul and my broken heart. They felt like brittle bones.
I was hovering over a pit of lost reason and lost purpose. I was ready to dive right in.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
everything is so great and so perfect, until it isn't.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
"Drained by the anger and grief
Fazed by the envy and greed
The secret cries for a release
The lucidity hidden deep in sweet pandemonium..."
- Ville Hermanni Valo, H.I.M.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
strings of stars
delicate bones
the length of her locks
kept her chained and at home
trapped in a tower
of silence and stone
tendrils of fantasy
once drew him to her
now cut short with defiance
and wicked laughter
here now is the truth
not the vision you held tight
cruel thorns pierced my heart
and blinded your sight
the innocence of fantasy
long lost in the dark
blonde locks stained black
and scars where there were sparks
think twice the next time
you wish a savior would come
a better way to save yourself
would be to use your legs
and run
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
"I taste death in every kiss we share
Every sundown seems to be the last we have
Your breath on my skin has the scent of our end
I'm drunk on your tears baby can't you see it's hurting
Every time we touch we get closer to heaven
And at every sunrise our sins are forgiven
You on my skin this must be the end
The only way you can love me is to hurt me again
And again
And again
And again..."
- Ville Hermanni Valo, H.I.M.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC