Obsession

There is an image in my head that sears my blood and veins. It colors my thoughts as it shadows my words and bubbles to the surface but never to close. I seek this image in all I do but it never is clear it never shows through.

Again, again again again again.

Never showing, never clearing I can’t let it go, I have no choice in this I have to find the thought, that one I think I forgot.

Seeking, seeking, seeking

Searching for this story this one thing that lets me be. It’s the meaning of all I am and it’s bloody red and death’s good friend yet I know not what it is and I’ve found it all but once. Never finding it again.

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Woeful Muse

Failure echoes inside me and I have not words to speak.

My blood runs dry, I’ve come to the end of my ink. No words do flow, my muse refuses to speak.

She’s the cut the strings that bound me, and I’ve found I don’t like to be free. Muse of mine where did you go, that anguished my writing and worried at my woes.

That echoed thoughts of blood and horror deep within my soul, you’ve let me free, and I find I dislike being alone. How can I find you oh muse of mine, where did you go?

I find myself hating it all, for nothing comes out right. There is my pain buried below, but I lack your cutting knife. I can’t draw the blood to my pen, I can’t get my ink to flow. The words are all wrong and this I know for sure.

There is a false feeling to what I write, a lack of woe, of suffering or strife. I have no strings to guide my hands, no one to hold that knife. To cut into those scars of mine and deep this pen in ink. My pain is hollow and my worries are weak.

Oh muse of mine, I need that knife of yours, for my pen is out of ink. I can’t find my nightmares, though I can still hear the screams. Sear my brain, burn my soul.

Bring back that woeful muse I know.

Blackened Mirror

I look upon a shattered mirror, burned and blackened home. I see a weeping form, a cold and woeful soul.

I reach out to touch them, to lend a helping hand, but jagged edges tear my flesh, and turn me back again.

I look upon my weeping form, in that blackened mirror, I have tried so long to help myself, that I forgot what it was I fear.

I hold my tattered hand, against my heaving chest as I feel the tears form once more and see myself again. Reaching through that blackened to start the cycle anew, as every time I try to help myself I just rend myself in two.

Searching for My End

Friends I’m sorry, but I’ve gone to meet my End. I found it within my room, weeping upon my bed, head buried in their hands. I could only ask the reason why, oh dear End of mine do you weep for what must be?

In response they told me I have found you, you have met your End and now your life is done. It is not the way it supposed to go, not the time that was chosen to be. Alas you met your End ahead of schedule, before the appointed time and it is your head that this fault lies for you sought me out this time.

I did indeed find my end, but only after seeking death. This grim old man with a friendly smile, all dressed in black. He stood about four feet high and had but a single tooth and yet he smiled so happily, this grandfather so grim. I told him what I sought and he shook his head.

You need not me you foolish boy, you’re looking for your end. You’ll find them one day and we’ll meet, but not before you’ve lived so long that we might meet as friends. Yet still I pestered and persisted and he shook his and said you mortals all the same, twins in death for you’re born with your end. You’ll see them when time is right, that life before your eyes. It’s not a life you remember but one that was left inside. So search out your end and call it by name, you’ll find it sure enough, but you’ll die that same day. Tell me this you foolish tired boy, why search at all, why look for your end? What makes you wish for the rest my death grants, that black oblivion?

I could only respond with a sad smile to the question of that old man, for my tears are dust on ashen skin, my eyes are wide with lack of sleep, I’m world weary and cannot eat. The screaming in my head is more than I can take, so I wish that my End can silence it for my sake.

This is pain has grown to great and I can’t bare it on my own. So I’ll bear it not at all for it’s my pain and I’m a selfish soul, I know not how to share it, for it’s all I own. All that’s left of me to give for I’ve given all I can, my happiness and my smiles, my laughter and my sorrow.

All that’s left to me is my pain, and I hold it close to my chest. I’ll give it to my end, and carry this burden with me into my rest. So I’ve met my End and it’s time to go, I’ve not got long to finish this story truth be told.

So I’ll finish it here and worry not my friends, as I wrote this I’ve managed something I’ve not managed in the last ten years at least. I smiled again, once last time, for you all to see, as I go to rest and sweet silence be left be, free of that screaming, that burning agony that resides in my mind.

Melancholy Sea

Shifting shades of seafoam green form the melacholy tides that wash over me.

I cannot undo this sorrowful sea, these darkened tides that may undo me.

I cannot see past the crashing waves or stormy skies that bar my way.

My vessel is failing, lost at sea, adrift in life and weary. Falling down, down to deep that to that silent abyss that promises sleep.

Static Screams

Fear keeps me here as my form breaks away. My shattered self falls apart as my mind fails to stay. A soul unable to cope, a mind filled with screams.

My arms wrapped around my form, clinging so tight I might break if only to stop myself from fading away.

Falling into the black, those unceasing static screams, I’d rather cling to myself until I crack rather than let that take the rest of me.

This dark dreaming is all that remains apart from static dreaming and dripping clinging fear, I’ll cling to cruelty rather than risk oblivion and so I stay, huddled close, alone and away just outside that darkly flowing static screaming that threatens my form and shatters my mind just repeating and unrelenting the screaming just behind my eyes.