The Old Hero’s Last Stand

And so the hero stands, no longer bowed by age, free of time’s cruel cage. He marches forward, his steps yet heavy, his armor battered his sword at the ready.

One last moment, one last gasp, an adventure founded and followed, held within his withered grasp.

Behind him stands the youth, before him stands his death, still unbowed he follows, with a smile until the last.

And so the hero stood, that old and withered man, the bravest soul I ever knew, and hope to know again.

Still that hero stood, and shouted out his cry, he darted forward lightning quick, knowing his time to die.

The withered lion, the aged and weathered soul, the kindest man I ever knew, and oh it hurts me so.

To watch that champion fall, to go a hero’s death, still to die with sword in hand is better than to go clawing and grasping for breath.

Behind the hero I stood, that old and weathered man, frozen by a fear I could not understand. Yet now I know, as I knew then, to go forward into battle is to take death by the hand.

I hope before my own death I can stand instead of kneel.

To attack rather than beg for that little bit of spark, that bit of moment when life is filled with meaning for the impending doom at hand.

I hope, that when I face death I can go out like that old man, a hero not a coward, brave unto the end.


Diary – Have you ever felt your heart was dead?

Have you ever felt your heart has died before having a chance to be truly born, let alone live?

That for whatever reason there is simply nothing, there is no love…no pain. At least, not pain in a sense you can describe. It does not sting, there is no ache of knives or burn of fire.

There is simply…nothing, and that…that is worse.

That nothing drives into whatever cracked remnants of a soul you might have after your heart has died, and it spreads and you are only ever nothing. You might rage, you might cry, you might scream at against that night, that you are something, but you know better.

You are nothing, there is nothing to you, and everything else is just the last flailing nerves of a body long dead, broken beyond repair that simply…goes through the motions for fear that if you stop the oblivion that waits beyond that empty feeling will finally swallow whatever cracked pieces remain free of that awful emptiness.

Despite the motions, you never try, there is no passions beyond the pain. No joy and little sorrow, and those moments of sorrow, those moments of raw agony where your very soul hurts for the pain of grief.

Those become blessed moments, sacred in that agony, for without that pain you’d never truly feel anything at all because worse than pain is the apathy of a life un-lived, of a soul undone and a mind unmade.

Worse than pain and sorrow and agony, is never feeling. Never experiencing and rarely caring, and understanding that this, lack is a loss you cannot grieve. A wound you cannot heal, and a mask you can never remove for it becomes you in every way that has ever mattered and banishing it is likened to killing the last remnants of who you were before, if only because the lack has been all you’ve known for so long everything else seems like nothing more than a distant dream.

A story you told yourself to convince you that there was something before, that things did matter, before the hollow formed within your gut and color seemed to drain from your world as if it was water through a sieve.

So, have you ever felt as if you heart has died, and all that it has left you is nothing, no smiles, no tears, and only the false echo of anger in a vain and pointless attempt to simply not tread into that bottomless hole, and let yourself fade?

All of this before you ever knew what life was, what love was, how it felt to greet the dawn with another that makes you smile, that one person who can tell you, it’s all going to be okay and thought you know they lie that it won’t be okay.

Nothing will ever be okay again because it has never been okay to begin with, you let them say it and you smile and for that one moment, that one instant, everything will be okay, because this is life and they are there and you are alive and this is as close to good as its ever come to being and that, for this moment is okay.

Has your heart died before this moment could ever come to pass? Shriveled and wounded you give up any attempt to find this moment because you know not only is nothing ever going to okay, there is nothing good left within you that deserves this moment. Blighted by hollow shadows that fill you with every dark thought just to attempt to drive out the pointless static that scratches at your tattered soul every day, the idea that one could live with love while their heart was dead, their soul was broken and their mind so much empty static.

Even now that idea makes me chuckle, just a little bit, at the pure fancy and fantastical it attempts to put across.

Love doesn’t win, my heart does not beat, there is nothing to me now for I am nothing but empty.

Shriveled and dry, next to pointless there is no blood in my veins, no soul in my chest, just emptiness and dust in a vessel that doesn’t understand when to end.

I still don’t understand when to end, I fight oblivion with all I can because its all I can see, all I understand is that the ending will come and I will lose and the emptiness will be all that I am. No more stories, no more words.

Nothing but silence with not even the soft sobbing of my agony to break it.


And that terrifies more than any nightmare, any ending I can think of.



Play – Repeat

Drifting smoke forms lazy wisps, the maze of problems, the haze and hits.

The ground is mired in time and despair and though the goal can be seen, I’m not yet there.

The distance is growing, the ground falling away, shattered and sundered by a future not to be.

My heart is silent, it does not beat within my chest, my soul has no rhythm, I’ll not survive this test.

My actions are hollow, my responses are false, play and repeat the message, the beat, the meaning is lost, the sound washed away.

Drifting smoke forms lazy wisps, the maze of problems, the haze and hits, back to the start, again it begins with this.

Goodbye To Thee

No more words to grace my lips, no more thoughts to share.

Stories are dry, the talent gone, I’ve nothing left to spare.

To the grave my muse has gone, away from life and me. Nothing left to write for, nothing left of me.

Falling, failing, words no longer my domain, stability traded for insanity and not one wit of skill remains.

No more talent, no more meaning, nothing left of me, nothing left but a darkened night, a bloody knife, and a goodbye to thee.

Nothing Left but the Screaming

The words are gone the screams mute their sounds, the meaning lost to pain and empty aching.

This twisted thing that is me, the thing that I hate so much, it seems I can’t escape.

I can’t stand the thought, the stagnant lilting loss that is my life, the loss that is my mine.

I fear I’m soon to be gone, to be lost to time. I bleed in twisted ink I scream in silent prayer that someone sees me, that someone notices the scars that form my soul.

That someone stops and sees, and tells me “Listen the dawn does come the sun does rise and pain does pass.  Now is fleeting, you will one day be fine.”

Yet still I wait and still I hope sitting here upon the ground, the shadowed place I have fallen, that place that I have died.

Yet I crawl forward, yet I take another step. My motions do not cease and my heart does still beat but I am dead, I know this to be true.


There is nothing left to do but the screaming.

I am Fine

Fine and empty, with smile in hand I bid farewell my dear old friend.

Fine and empty, smile in hand, I stand aside and step away as to not hear your words, your firm farewell.

Your anger bites and this empty is bitter, the door shuts and my smile is gone.

Hands are shaking, the tears do come, the words that choked me flow freely but you are gone.

Smile forgotten, emptiness sets in, the room is quiet and I am alone. Finally, this bitterness finds it’s home.

The tears do come, the words are gone, you’ve bid farewell and I am undone.

Empty, alone,  pallor setting in, shaking hands and quaking soul, I am undone.

You are gone, the house is quiet. No voice to hear, no soul to speak, for mine went out that door as well, my heart did leave with soul in tow.

Empty, undone, alone.

I am fine.

Hello there, thanks and some random chatter.

Before the rest of this I just wanted to say something. Not just a thanks to the people that continuously seem to come here and like what I post. I mean, it continuously surprises the hell out of me considering how sporadically I post but really it means a lot. Maybe you don’t actually read it and its a way to get yourself noticed, maybe you do. I don’t know, but still it means a lot.

Past that I wanted to actually say something, I struggle a lot with dark thoughts. I call them bad thoughts, things that are self harm regardless if its physical or not. Thinking of something might not be the same as doing it’s a bad habit, and its harder to notice than physical harm. Harder to realize its still actual harm, it’s still something that hurts you, greatly.

I don’t want to say something trite like it gets better, because it doesn’t just magically get better. That’s not how it works, you have to climb. It’s damned hard, so hard to do. Harder to do if all that negative thought continuously convinces you no one cares.

This got me thinking, that maybe the negative portion of my brain, thoughts, what have you was a little too loud. Maybe I should try writing it out, cause I’m still around so there has to be some hope in there.

So I started writing letters to myself. Just writing a letter, and mentioning things going and how I should be dealing with them rather than how I am dealing with them. No judgement, no hate, just chatter.

Eventually it started to get more positive, more upbeat, cheering me on with paper when I couldn’t do it in my head.

This might not work for everyone, in fact I urge you to find your own thing, to find something that is very much yourself. I see everyone talking to people and saying go get help, do this and do that and there is something everyone forgets.

You can’t get help if you don’t want to help yourself. It’s dumb, but its true. If you’re content to stay in the pit, in the dark, you’re not going to get help. So, find a way to have a conversation with yourself, a good one, not one where you’re tearing yourself down.

You don’t have to climb, that’s the hard way of doing it.

Try to build yourself back up. It’s probably harder than doing the climb. Ridiculously so probably, but if its that or stay in the hole.

I think I’d rather build something.

Anyway that was my PSA for the day. Hopefully, if you’re at the point it can help it does, if you don’t need the help you know someone willing to use it, and if you’re not looking for help at the moment maybe it will help you later.