a story nonetheless, as are others. i prefer tintin

with snowy a dog. this year you have not told me,

confided. i have the little things that could mean

much.



not about money, more about family. it may

be time you told them.



it is time to regrade

christmas.



sbm.

My chains are clasped around my wrists
As a bluebird sings me a song
For so long under this tree
I've been imprisoned

The sun has long since bronzed my skin
And my eyes are used to the glare
So many seasons pass me by
Yet time forgets me still

I am friends with the animals passing by
And this tree shelters me through all
But people left me here all alone
The price for my evil crime

I sometimes believe that I deserve this punishment
But truly, this was far too harsh a judgement
My flesh has scarred from the chains
My mind has snapped in two

Cause darling when I'm with you, even my demons get ready for dinner and *behave

I used to play a game where I'd try to see how much blood I could fill into one of my dads whiskey glasses, I never managed to fill it as much as I wanted to
I'm just always playing games, it gives meaning to my life somehow.

Sometimes I like to play with death
Death plays back quite well
More than others do in my life
Possibly I'm in lust with the thought of dying

I've always wanted to fall off a cliff
So maybe I could see if it felt the same as falling in love with him
And maybe now, how it felt to hit the rocks at the bottom to compare to the pain when he left

I've always wanted to shatter a mirror with my fists so I could feel how broken my mom felt before she died maybe the difference of impact would be like falling from a 5 story hotel and splatting on the ground

I kinda hoped after I took all those pills that day that I didn't come back from it
Death played a fair game
And so did the doctors
They all followed every rule, but me.

My father never really seemed to play much,
just handing me off to the next player at the soonest opportunity he got. Like the object of the game was to avoid my problems

My sister got out of the game a long time ago, she's just no longer a piece anymore
I scratched her out from the handbook so she wouldn't get hurt by the outcomes of playing

My mom always told me if I played the game right and I'd get what I wanted

I don't know anymore
I think I'm tired of playing

In the well of my mind, is a voice.
A voice not entirely my own.
Beckoning me to travel deeper,
Within my own subconscious.

Though, if I listen,
I come to a place wholly unfamiliar.
Seemily outside the bounds
Of my own thought or reason.

And the voice says to me,
"Come now just a little deeper.
You are so close to seeing the truth,
With the scales peeled from your eyes."

Never have I seen
What comes after these words.
I always wake up in a sweat,
As if my body itself wishes to spare me

From some long forsaken iniquity,
That resides only within
The dark recesses of the mind.

Did you see
My portrait?

Tiny figure in a corner of
Mountains and lakes

This is who I am

Small

Not

Insignificant

Here you are again
puffy eyes, dried tears
What was it this time?
You think maybe it's just the usual
maybe you're overreacting
but that doesn't explain
the heaviness in your heart
the exhaustion in your breathe
the feeling of loss
over and over
There's no excuse
for feeling so small
in a place where
there should be magic

Everything seems so dark  
but you have to know
that you are not the rain
nor the thunder
you are the sun
and the sun still rises  
You can't always shine
you have to let darkness
take over for a little while
so your light can shine brighter
than you knew it could

What you don't realize is that
you've already lost him
Now it's time to find yourself

There is such a thing as morality.
Its proof is evident in guilt.


-  Hadrian Veska