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How did this happen?

Thu, 13 Jan 2005 06:08:21 GMT

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.

Elf Lores

Wed, 26 May 2004 09:28:18 GMT

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.

Fri, 16 Jan 2004 12:09:00 GMT

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.

Thu, 20 Nov 2003 08:00:08 GMT

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

Fri, 07 Nov 2003 09:59:13 GMT

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.

Tue, 16 Sep 2003 10:46:42 GMT

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.

My suicide

Wed, 18 Jun 2003 11:25:13 GMT

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...

Flashlight surprise

Mon, 09 Jun 2003 08:04:07 GMT

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.

Companions

Mon, 02 Jun 2003 07:35:25 GMT

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.

Night Terrors

Wed, 21 May 2003 07:46:27 GMT

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.

Clicky-click

Fri, 09 May 2003 07:25:31 GMT

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.

Why Laugh?

Mon, 05 May 2003 07:06:21 GMT

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.