There has always been a lot of different ways to destroy yourself - there's the devotion to something that is not you, the cutting a piece off yourself and putting it in another person; that person becomes positive one and you are left with a gaping hole that misses itself, misses what is used to be. And that hole will never fully fill itself again, you see, no matter how much you stuff it with wool and dirt. There will always be this swallowing-everything-you-see-and-then-spitting-it-out hole. And then you think, what if I completely give myself to others? And then there's chunks of yourself on the floor and you're as much human as your kiddy teddy bear that's been lying in the mud your entire life. And then there's a dead man at your feet. There's the protective layer - the fake, something that is not you, the stolen artwork that you placed on yourself because you're too ashamed, too scared, to fill the gallery with something that is truly yours. Something that is truly you. You're walking around with a camera in your hand that captures everything at a hands-reach. And then you pretend its your own until you fool yourself enough to finally grab your needles and thread and sew your own initials on the tag. You can stab yourself well enough that they won't recognize you anymore. Take every sharp thing you see, and then jam it straight into where it hurts. But it hurts everywhere, so you keep stabbing, until people come up to you and feel sorry for you. ‘what happened’ they ask. You never know what to answer. ‘What happens next?’ You're afraid now, you're not yourself. I’m sorry, maybe if I rearrange your mirror you will see yourself again, but my knuckles will have to heal first. There’s still blood on them.
There's a devil in the corner of my room who waits until I fall asleep to kiss my cheek and bid me goodnight. During the day he cannot reach me because he is, as stated previously, a demon, in all its magnificent glory.
But he's not bad, not for me.
I tell him all my secrets, I tell him of all who looked at me with eyes I can't interpret. I'm trying my best here, and I think this four legged creature is the closest I'll come to being loved.
my face is an open casket; hear it recite obituaries and watch the mourners cheer and throw wild roses at my feet; it's where the rot has started spreading — like whispers. like applause. rising, until my skin resembles raw obsidians until i am no more.
watch me hang from the ropes — in hypnotic grace, like suspended light flying, swaying. a circus freak. a certain state of decay. watch me fall: a weightless, motionless thing in the shadows.
yet the curtains fall and mourners leave one by one — their wrists, stamped with lilac ink.
a vigil. a funeral.
a freak show and its curtain call.
lay a cloth on this open casket. i do not want to be seen anymore.
The angel of death once eclipsed our goodbye Embraced you within a golden abyss marked with our glistening eyes I’ve pictured this conversation more times than I testify Yet a chance of it occurring leaves me mortified For there’s a sweet escape in lingering within stolen time Before your demise feels real allows me to bathe in a tempting crime.
Regardless, this hollowed illusion comes to fracture Present now a past but my life plays backwards The gravity of reality cascades upon me Trapped in a realm of denial unable to be set free Although I am the creator of this melancholic fantasy The price of release means a lifetime of apathy
Instead, I extend, and live within a conversed eulogy Attempting final goodbyes laced with ambiguity. - epiphanyofwords
Hymns of chaos are all my vocal chords sang, while the blissful sun approached the morning. All I could feel was ebbing darkness, fading away and carting my hope away with it oh hymns of chaos, sung in sweet harmony ! How your notes blend with the climate of my melancholy!
It's been a while since I visited this app. Alot of activities and happenings prevented this, but I am back! It's nice to be with my colleagues here again.
My life train is passing through, Many stations. I don't know what exactly but they have some kind, Of temptation. May be one of them is, My destination. Regarding my feelings I really have, No explanations.