The cabin is old with years of weathering
Giant cracks in the windows
The gardens are overgrown
In need of trimming
Inside
All furniture is covered in a layer of fabric
Dust blankets every surface
A rifle balances against the wall
Showing signs it hasn’t been touched in years
A shattered coffee mug lay on the floor
Even after so long
The dark spill remains
Many memories are stored in this very old cabin
Countless are good
Countless are bad
But the final memory lies at this gravestone
Where I have placed a single flower
To say my last goodbye

When I think of creation, I think of the world. I close my eyes and let it all come to me.
I can feel the wind gently lifting my hair in the breeze.
I can feel the sun warming me from my head to my toes.
I can hear the chitter-chatter of monkeys talking high in the canopy of a rain forest.
I can smell freshly cut grass and cow manure from a pasture.
I can taste the salty-sweet ocean air and when I open my eyes I see all the beautiful vibrant colors of the world everywhere.
Never take the world for granted. We live in a beautiful world, enjoy it in what little time you have.

The Darkness
Is a terribly beautiful thing
In the light
All beauty is lost
Seeing is not a gift
It is a curse
When in the Darkness you don't need to see
You need to feel
Feel the beauty of the darkness wrapping around you
Pulling you into black silk threads
Twisting all around you
One movement
And the threads are razor sharp
Piercing the skin
Drawing out little beads of
Deep
Dark
Red
The red drips to the floor
Forgotten
The word chimes out
Forgotten
Forgotten
Forgotten
Faces appear
And flashing colors cloud your vision
Still
Darkness holds its prize
When darkness falls
Don't try to fight it

Even in the brightest light,
The shadow lurked,
Never leaving,
Always a step behind.
A constant presence
That needed to be faced head on,
But the thought of even looking at it,
Sent chills down my spine.
I try to forget,
And sometimes I do,
But at the worst possible moments
It rears its ugly head,
Leaving me shaking on the floor,
Gasping for air.
With it,
Unwanted thoughts slither and crawl
Across my body,
Across my mind,
Taking control.
To forget it,
Is to forgive,
And to forgive,
Is to let go.
But to let go of something so big,
Makes pain.
And it is so much easier to pretend.
To pretend that the shadow is not
Lurking behind.

The morning was cold.
I felt cold.
I felt disgusting.
Last night was a night that I could never ever forget.
The hands,
The face,
That smirk,
All consumed me.
"No," I kept saying,
"No, no, no, no, no, no."
I fought, but lost.
I tried but soon gave up.
What was the point to keep fighting if I never was going to win?
I feel slimy on the inside.
Why did this happen to me?
Why me?
Why?
Does this world hate me?
Does it?
A glint in the corner of my vision catches my attention.
“Should I?" I ask myself.
"Would this solve my problems?"
It came out in an almost inaudible whisper,
But it may as well have been a shout in my ears.
I grab the handle for the hundredth time since last night,
Contemplating.
Would one simple object really be able to help me?
Get rid of this misery,
This disgusting feeling that I will never be myself again?
A piece of my soul is missing.
It will never come back to me.
How could it when it was ripped out so brutally last night?
Trust is forever a part of me that will never be present again.
I stared at the object in my hand for very long minutes.
Before my mind could tell me no,
My hand was moving,
The blade at my wrist,
Biting into the flesh.
A small gasp escaped my lips at the pain,
But soon it was gone.
The blade was resting at my neck,
I take a big breath,
My last breath,
And slice across before my rational mind catches up.
My last thoughts were,
"I hope that man goes to hell."