Existence

I stare at the picture unblinkingly. I recognise the girl but she is so different. The sunlight on her unblemished cheeks is reminiscent of her pure and bright soul. Happiness radiates from her eyes and her smile spreads across her face like a rainbow in the sky.

I wish I could warn her and tell her to enjoy it before it’s too late. I want to shake some sense into her and tell her to appreciate everything. But I can’t.

I cannot slip into the past and correct my mistakes. It’s too late to say what I should have then and it is futile to dwell on this now.

Somehow I can’t prevent myself from sifting through the memories.

I read the diary entries with a sense of surprise. I hardly remember the events I’ve written about. It seems like it happened to another person, I can barely recall any of them.

Have I shut too much out? Did I block the bad out as well as the good?

The girl is a stranger to me, we are wholly different. It scares me to look at her now because I don’t remember when she transformed into the hollow shell that I am.

All I have are the pictures and the poetry and the diary entries.

But they are not enough to resurrect an image in my head.

The change has been so drastic and so complete. I am in shock and I am afraid.

Was it supposed to happen like this?

Questions always fucking questions without any Goddamn answers.

I’m so tired of this depression – this heavy solitude and futile pursuit of happiness. Every time I have minimal contentment I end up disappointed.

There will never be a life for me just an empty existence. I have accepted it and while it does hurt, I have no choice but to carry on.

 

Beauty in Fear

Awaken the storm

Burn the sadness from my eyes

Revel in the warmth

And put on a disguise

 

The rain falls down

Purifying the fire within

And there is only now

Nothing matters besides this skin

 

There is hope in my veins

It thrums with an almost sick pain

But it makes me feel alive

It helps me see the stars align

 

I’ve got fear written all over my head

It seeps through every single day

But there is beauty in its arrogant stead

And I will triumph from its graze

 

Scratch this page with my words

And scream until I am heard

Someone will save me from this death

And until then, I will take another breath

Praying on each and every step.

Stripped

Strip me bare to the bone. Peel my skin gently like a lover would take off my clothes. Tear the material, ripping it brutally until it falls. Show them that I am made of flesh and blood after all.

Slide the bra straps down and enjoy the feeling of here and now. Mark me with your teeth and love. Leave evidence of where your lips were.

Wipe the lipstick from my mouth as though you were giving me a sweet and tender kiss. Breathe upon my naked lips as though filled with desire to see my raw and exposed form. Does it make you feel the currents of an electric storm? Do you like what you see? This bruised and bloody body.

Cut into the tissue with your strong hands and watch the vermillion run like paint across a snowy canvas. But I am no muse and this is not an artwork.

Dig into my back until your fingers reach that beating bird in my chest. Choke its fluttering wings and prevent it from ever flying again.

Stop the pain from driving me insane.

Tell me, am I beautiful now?

You’ve got what you wanted. I lie here like some sort of broken Barbie, damp curls splayed on the pillow like a corpse.

This is necromancy of a different style, for once you’ve seen my innermost parts, you will discover that there is nothing there – a void being that has stopped believing.

I’m waiting for you to love this desecrated and defiled mess. Because that’s all that lies beneath this black dress. A doomed soul filled with distress that is so beyond saving it is nothing short of hopeless.

Control

I’ve got no wise words today. There is an emptiness that permeates this room. There is work to be done but in my lifeless state it seems to matter far less than usual.
I should be so happy. I worked hard to get into this university and my success should taste as sweet as fresh-fallen snow. But still, there is something missing.
I keep searching for ways to fill the void. I keep thinking that maybe if I fell in love, the illusion would fill some empty space within.
But there has been nothing. My relationship status is non-existent.
The loneliness gets to me sometimes . . . It ravages what little hope I have and destroys its seedlings too.
So I stare vacantly into space. I drown the people around me out with music and stay shut up in my head. It may be dark but at least I know it’s safe. I can control what goes on inside – I am the sole master. No one has access to my thoughts and that privacy gives me great joy.

Sometimes . . .

Questions formulate under my eyelashes. Do you see them in my eyes? Everyone feels pain. It ignites the blood in your veins. Floods your senses with fluctuating emotions. And you are consumed by the burning. You wonder where is came from, what started the fire in the first place. But you can come to no conclusions. So you carry on walking down the road with a blank look on your face. Stifling the rage and fear. Your breathing is strained and stained by everything you’re holding back. Waiting, always waiting for it to attack. Turning, to look over your shoulder, sure that someone can see through the black. There’s a permanent night sky overhanging your head, but no one can see. They’re all just lost in the turbulent fantastical facade of fallacy. Behind the war I wage within, they have no idea of the depth of the scars on my skin. Play along, bite your tongue, pretend that you’re only living while you’re young. Underneath it all the reality hurts, you’ve become immersed in a never-ending swirl. There’s no way out and as you search, you long for someone who can help you learn. But there is no one, just your shadow. But even he leaves you in darkness. So you strive to be independent and accept the internal solitude as an irrevocable part of your soul. The tears aren’t even a half of the sorrow you have embedded in your fragile body. You trace the translucent skin over your wrist and think back to what you did to feel alive. The blood was proof of course, that you were still present in this fucked up world. Even though most of the time you were a walking-corpse. And I guess you needed that proof, because sometimes breathing isn’t enough. And sometimes feeling is just an illusion made of flimsy stuff. And sometimes you’re sure that this world is just an elusive bluff. But I’ll scream for hope and try to believe that somewhere out there I’ll find something that is REAL. Blink away the queries and stomach the blow. Soon you’ll discover that nothing is ever really whole.

Layers

I’m up late at night thinking about all these possibilities. My imagination is so extensive that it provides the most detailed descriptions. It doesn’t feel healthy – I live more in my head than in reality. It’s sad and pathetic but everything is better there. Oh yes my memories are burned and shredded images of sorrow, but if you move past that section you’ll discover the divine.
My sadistic little pleasures and miscellaneous marvels will keep you tortured and tantalised until you break and blunder. I’ll steal your soul and drag you down under. I’ve got depths so deep I can sink way beneath my exterior of shallow misery. Through the murk and fastidious fraud, you’ll reach my very core. I’d like to think I’m simple underneath. Beyond all the black make-up and clothes, I’m snow white. A victim of circumstance – the heroine in a play, a little girl just waiting to be saved. I’ve got so many layers I don’t even know what I am anymore. I suppose I’ll just go along with it. I always do.

Going to Hell

The stench of stale perfume is overpowering and the bruised look above my eyes is stark. I am exhausted – a car that’s attempting to run without petrol. But still, here I sit, attempting the impossible. My lips are weary and there is much work to be done – so I’ll try to forget the illusions of happiness last night and focus on the intense reality of the college life. You party all the time and then rush to the library the very next day in a hazy semi-intoxicated state. The cursor blinks on the computer, urging you to type something that makes sense, but it seems you lost all your brain cells sipping that drink. Hypnotic flashing lights and bodies crowded into one space obscured the literal meaning that is so apparent in the brightness of day. There are assignments due and the steady tick of the clock pounds in time to the beat of my heart. Maybe I’ll finish and do exceptionally well, but for now it really feels like it would be better to close my eyes and drift into the dreamlessness of sweet, seductive hell.