How did this happen? [13 Jan 2005|01:03am] I tremble in darkness Afraid of the unseen Scard of what lurks in shadow. I yearn to be free Unbound from my chains To run through field and medow. Unable to move From this place I am in Will I ever be released? My doubt and my pain I hold deep inside me Prevent me from finding peace. Alone in the dark Trapped forever I wonder if here I will die. Collapsing to the ground I Clench my fists And reach them to an unseen sky. 2 comments|post comment

Elf Lores [26 May 2004|04:54am] In a valley, lush and green Tucked away from human beings Lived an elf of flaxen hair Golden eyes and simple wear. Each morning she danced to music Drops of water act as drums Whipping wind crosses grass stems Haunting sounds would fill the air One day came an Elven noble Riding on his valiant steed At her feet he fell to one knee Asked for her hand in marriage. So awestruck was the elven maid By the lord's quick proposal She'd not known him or another Since the day her father passed on. The Lord would not take no as an answer Many riches he did promis her A happy life with him forever He could think of nothing better She could not refuse her new lord Took his hand and off they both rode To his castle where they would wed And he would take her into his bed. Many times they tried for sons She could produce not a one. Seven daughters they created The elven lord was aggrevated. A son was needed to be heir To his kingdom, give it care For when he passed to the afterlife He wanted none to suffer from strife. The elven king sought secret help From an old and wretched welp Who could make a special drink From odd items in his sink. It would guarantee a son For the king and his kingdom But the price was very steep Half his riches the man would keep. The kind agreed and paid the man Who placed the tonic in his hand Home he took it secretivly Hid it where his wife could not see. He poured the fluid in some wine Which she drank and thought tasted fine Soon thereafter a son was born The king was content with this outcome. But the maiden fell quite ill She lacked feeling, she lacked will She would not dance, nor laugh nor sing This dismayed our noble king. To the man he did return And tell him of his woes in turn The man just laughed and simply said "Half your riches include those you wed" Enraged the elf lord drew his sword And slashed at the man without word Who merely smiled and from sight Leaving the elf alone in the night. Saddened, the king returns home Takes the path where his children roam And thinks of all the fun they've had How the good far outweighs the bad. He enters his wife's room And feels nothing but gloom Of her distant and vacant stare He runs his hands through her flaxen hair Now the maiden dances no more. Her feet do not lift off from the floor Drops of water make no sound Whistling winds gather not around The birds sing only a sad song The sunlight is all but gone. The king cries by himself A wretched, old and lonely elf. 2 comments|post comment

[16 Jan 2004|07:03am] Freedom Over those hills Past that elm tree I dream of running wild I long to be free Over those hills Near the singing stream I can taste it's nectar So clear and pristine. Over those hills And down someway A small house I own I'll live in someday My wife waits there Quiet and patient Tending to our child She's awaits, content. Before those hills Lay my prison cell A small little room My own little hell Beyond that door Is my way out Poor me an ale, me boys And make it stout It's my last day And i'm going free Back in her arms Is where I'll be. I'm on my way Out this cursed place One more skeleton I must now face He wants me to stay Another year or so Losing all senses I yell out NO! Slash at his thoat But miss slightly His guards tackle me He doesn't take it lighlty Atop those hills Is my new home I'll ne'er see her My soul cursed to roam. post comment

[20 Nov 2003|02:55am] Reflections past I sit and I think Of times before time Times lost and forgotten Times only my imagination Can take me. The past is a riddle With no real answer Save that which is written Stored on hardcopy Saved on softcopy. My present will one day Be someones elses past And I hope my records Will be accuracte And I hope my words Will give insight Into the life I've lead. This is my only legacy. I have no children. I have no family. Only this book, Within, these pages And a hand written account Of my lifes events And those lives I've affected. It is complete As I pen my last entry 1 comment|post comment

[07 Nov 2003|04:54am] Lastly... You tell me we're through In front of your crew Hoping to get a reaction In revenge for your contraction. I look away from you Whispering that it can't be true. You and your friends mock me I want nothing more than to flee. Then you have the audacity To ask to remain friends with me. I shake my heand and draw my gun My turn to laugh as your friends all run. Now you're all alone, how does it feel? Your mind must surely start to reel. Going over the events of your life Seeing your joys, sorrows, pain and strife. You don't want me? That is fine. I must then kill you and make you mine. Together we'll be immortalized The whole world will sympathize Hold your breath as the bullet flies To your head, a second between my eyes. post comment

[16 Sep 2003|06:42am] Near a placid lake, where the full moon’s light reflects off the surface, in the heart of the thornwood lies a small grove. Within the grove lies a stone made entirely of onyx. The black sheen of the stone captures the moon’s rays, giving it a highly polished look. This is my safe place. I go here, when no one is looking to sit and think. I can hide here for days on end, without interruption. The stone is my heart, black and hard, unbreakable and closed. Nothing may enter and nothing gets out. Feelings that I create are the only emotions that can be stored therein. I forge my skills and my memories within the stone, muddled with emotion. Night is eternal in this place. There is no sunshine. There is no morning. Animals do not come to my grove. It is a sacred place, and they have learned to respect and fear it. People cannot come near it, for they cannot see it. They are blind by their day to day lifestyles, there idiosyncratic routine. They only see what they wish to see and ignore what does not fit into their paradigm. I like it in my place, in my home away from home. There I can sleep in peace. There I can work real magic. There, the world belongs to me. And there, is my grave. The onyx is my gravestone, and the grove is my grave. The woods will slowly overtake the grove I created, once again, returning it, and me, to the wyld whence we came. Near a placid lake, where the full moon’s light reflects off the surface, in the heart of the thornwood lies the site of my death. It is not visible to the naked eye. A black onyx tells those who may stumble upon it of my deeds in life. It holds my skills and memories, and will be handed down to whoever wishes to take it. The night is no longer eternal. There is sunshine, there is morning. Animals return to the grove, realizing the sacredness of it, and yet still able to respect it. People still won’t come near it. They don’t care to. Perhaps one day, someone will come, find me, and remember me. Perhaps one day. post comment

My suicide [18 Jun 2003|07:02am] I went through the images in my mind, as I had many times before. These thoughts were nothing new to me, no. In fact, they kept me quite comfortable. They gave me something to look forward to. My death, my last fade to black, my very own suicide. I view the event to be, and pick through the details meticulously, like an editor for a high budget movie. I go through the scene, and take out those things that aren't necessary to the event. The chair, solid oak, hand carved by my great grandfather, handed down from generation to generation. It was to be mine. The rope, take from my father's garage, in which he likes to spend all of his time, fixing, restoring and modifying old cars, making them like new again. The blade comes from my mother's razor, which she uses to shave her legs, keeping them smoothe and sexy for all the other men who come over to fuck her. The handcuffs, well, those are mine. I found them long ago in an old abandoned house. There is no key for it, so when I start, there will be no turning back. I'll place the chair under the main support beam of the house, ensuring that it faces west, so I may see my last sunset as I die. The hangmans knot will be expertly done, as I've been on the internet researching how one is properly made. The razor blade will be stuck in the weave of the thick, oily rope. It's purpose is to slice into my neck, causing blood to spray on the floor and over the walls. I'll writhe in pain, the blood will make a pattern on the wall. Maybe I'd do it on purpose, maybe it was just fate. The pattern will resemble a crow flying high in the sky. The crimson liquide will ooze down the wall, forever staining it. No matter how often they repaint, the blood will still resurface, reminding all who see it of what transgressed here. I'll die. My funeral will be big, because the media will be all over the cause of death. This has not been done before. I'll be a martyr without a cause. Maybe then, others would see me, instead of looking past me, like I'm some sort of ghost. Maybe then, my parents would realize the problems I'm having, and learn from the many, many mistakes they've made in raising me. Hopefully, they'll make good with my brother, and turn him into the man he should become. The day has come. My parents are gone bowling, my brother is at his guitar lesson. I place the chair under the support beam. With a measuring tape, I ensure that there is at least 4 feet of clearance on either side of the chair, so that I can't use my feet to prop myself up. I measure out the rope and sling it over the support beam, making a triple knot in it, so it will not become undone. I stand on the chair and test the height. Perfect, once I jump off the chair, my neck will surely snap. I careflly insert the blade in the weave of the rope, making sure it's positioned properly to pierce the vein in my neck. With my handcuffs in my hand, I stand on the chair. I pull the noose over my head, and let it hand loosely around my neck. I take a deep breath, and tighten the noose snugly. One again, I check on the blade. It's in the right spot. My heart begins to race like it never has before. I don't think I've ever been more happy or excited in my life. I place my hands behind my back, locking them into place. A single tear falls from my cheek, onto the floor, and I step off the chair. I thought my life would be over then, but I was wrong. At the last minute, the blade slipped and insteadof piercing my skin, cut the rope a bit. I was still hanging, and chocking, but my neck had not snapped as it should. I hung there for a good minute, before my swaying caused the blade to slice right through the rope. I fell to the ground, gasping for air, as the pressure was off, and I could breath again. On the floor, still alive, yet bound by handcuffs that had no key, I could do nothing but cry. My parents arrived home sometime later, and found me in that state. Needless to say, nothing has been the same since then. I still go through the images in my mind, trying to perfect the sequence of events to bring about my death. But the thoughts are short lived, and once my pills are flowing through my body, my mind shuts down to the world around me, and I exist only in a world created by myself, where I can be as powerful, or as vulnerable as I want without reprecussion. It's sad really... 5 comments|post comment

Flashlight surprise [09 Jun 2003|03:59am] Interconected Dimensions apart Photons of light Is where things start. Distortions seen Which shouldn't be there Inexplicable darkness Coming from where? Little men theorize And wise men guess What causes this sight The light to repress. "Thousands of dimensions Connected as one. Is what makes this Interesting phenominon" We creatures who believe Reality is absolute Cannot fathom things Outside the institute In which is found Our mannter of thought Reality is perception, Perception is naught. post comment

Companions [02 Jun 2003|03:30am] When will my lonesome song end? Why is my will so easy to bend. How do others see me as weak? Where can I find the strength that I seek! Power collects where there is two A parter for life, I want one too! Alone, incomplete, my soul will die. Lest I find someone with whom to cry. Or laugh or stare, dance with and play Someone to live with forever and a day I hope this change comes unto me All I can do is be patient and see. 1 comment|post comment

Night Terrors [21 May 2003|04:42am] I am scared for many reasons But no reason at all My body flies very high My mind continues to fall. To depths too deep To be measured by man My solitary wish Would be to take her hand To save me from this descent Into madness and fright To wake me from this dream In the darkness of the night. 2 comments|post comment

Clicky-click [09 May 2003|03:21am] Pain in my side A knife used to hack Darkness surrounds me A gun at my back The click of the hammer Striking the pin I can still breath No bullet therein. Taking the gun And spinning the chamber Point it to his back Can he feel the danger? Pull back the hammer Take a deep breath Hope this one's empty Don't want to cause his death. 1 comment|post comment

Why Laugh? [05 May 2003|03:04am] last night i had a dream. the dream was set on a stage and the stage was set in a theatre. the theatre was grand and proper lush tapesteries hung on the wall the seats were all of a plush red silk cords tethered the waiting crowd wanting to see the play the play of a thousand souls the play of ten thousand smiles the play of a millon frowns The crowds was ushered in they took their seats the lights dimmed the curtain was drawn The stage lights rose And there I was Bound and naked Broken and disheveled Eyes swollen shut from fists of rage blood free flowing from my nose from the broken cartelage. scratches and deep cuts from nails and knifes alike. The crowd gasped Then one broke into laughter Which spread to another And another in succession quickly like wildfire Until everyone was in a roar. THen I fell over And the laughing subsided Until one person shed a tear and that tear hit another causing her to cry. The entire theatre wept The floor became very damp Cleaners came in with mops and buckets But they too cried when they saw me. The curtain then fell. The crowd stopped The crowd then left. And I remained, waiting for the next show. Only one thousand minus one left. 4 comments|post comment

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