Category: Photowriting


The embers of us still burn strong in my dreams.
So my mind rejects sleep and I lay weak in my bed.

The whispers from you seep in through the seems.
Drafts run through the wreckage left in my head.

Flames reignite; Destructive and cruel.
“I won’t last through the night”; I’m love’s fool.

So I toss and I turn and I fight with myself.
There’s no rest to be had. Only a furious fire.

So I give up the fight and reach for the top shelf.
There’s no comfort in this. Only fuel for the pyre.

Old habits don’t die; Finding cracks in which to hide.
So I won’t ask myself why I’m slowly rotting inside.

Little voices point out my choices but they’re not here right now.
My dreams are burning but I’m yearning to be there right now.

The embers of us are now flames engulfing my dreams.
So my mind rejects everything and I lay weak in my bed.

(Written in 2006 in a notepad I used to carry around. Drunkenly forgotten in 2006. Recently discovered in 2011.)

Silence.
Uncomfortable, awkward silence. Years of conversation experience have taught me that an awkward silence is caused by both individuals.
Why is it, then, that I can not sit in the deadly silence without feeling entirely responsible? Why am I suddenly under so much pressure to talk that the only subject that comes to mind is the damned silence itself!?
The situation suddenly becomes one of total amnesia. 25+ years of my life just vanish and leave me with about as much conversational skill as your average armchair (An above-average armchair may show me up with a witty bit of insight or at least discuss the weather).
On their end all I can see is an expectant but bored face.
This is why I don’t date.
Oh great. Now she’s leaving.

 

Change.

We can make change or it can be forced upon us. We can accept change or, against all logic, we can reject it.

We can not deny change. It is a constant. As the clouds change above us, life changes around us.

What we do with change is under our control. Even the most crushing change leaves rubble with which we can build new structures.

And what change can be more destructive than the change we allow ourselves to fall into when the winds change against us?

The ability to rise against the immeasurable force of negativity in life is inherent, but not so often practiced that all can say they’re standing.

To lay down and be walked upon by the deafening, angry army of doubt within is so much easier than to place palm to ground and push ourselves up that we’re decorated in mental bootprints.

But nothing tangible holds us here. No chains bind us to our weakness. No rope ties us to our sadness. There is no locked door trapping our anger inside.

Change that requires effort and that we must encourage, force and inspire ourselves to practice is not impossible to achieve.

We are sentient. We are strong. We must be willing.

Though we feel lost and separated, we are not. Through our own consciousness have we made the decision to lay and through this same power must we make the decision to fight.

WE ARE CHANGE! We are beautiful, flowering CHANGE!

And we will never be as grand as we are the moment we accept the effort.

And we will never be as strong as we are the moment we make the effort.

And we can.

And we will.

Or we will die. Murderers of ourselves.

We are change. Wilt or grow… We are change.


(As a note, I am not finished with this… I don’t know how to finish it. And… I don’t know that I’m happy with it.)

Claws sink deep within the flesh of sulking, sullen souls.
Tearing open bloodless wounds in living corpses filled with empty holes.
The tortured cries from wordless mouths reach rotting ears that cannot hear and darkened sockets strain to force a solitary tear.
The painless agony felt by those who suffer endlessly affects the nothingness like ripples through rock while the crows peck at their skulls and with cackling caws they mock.
A field of chains, each link molded of regrets, binds weakened hand to ground.
Skin swells beneath the shackles and bruises and rips to an angelic clinking sound.
What woes they have left are unknown to them, for each morning they’re newly exposed.
Unwanted, unseen, unheard, unsaveable, unwashed, unprotected, unclothed.

One heartbeat per day pushes a love lost through dusty veins,
One last thought each night reoccurs even when sanity wanes.

You can not escape. You’re lost and alone.
You’ve not seen the sun and the moon never shone.
Your only escape will be to accept that you’re mine,
Though your pain will never end and your agony will shine.
You have only yourself to blame for your nightmare of life.
You’re mine now… Forever. And my present is strife.”

Atrophied legs struggle to stand but crack and break apart.
Hands missing fingers grasp at the air and, finding nothing, return to their start.
Sleep comes unwanted but comes none-the-less,
Bringing unholy dreams of terror and stress.

You don’t need anyone else

to make you beautiful.

You don’t have to be complicated

to stand out.

You don’t need others

to hold you up.

You can do it

all on your own.