A Fear Worse Than I Know

I have been consumed by my mind.
Thoughts swirl and drown every last sign of hope
and I am living in a black limbo.
I cannot bear the wait of it all
and the weight of it all will end up killing me.

The heat from these flames burn in my cheeks,
it's as if regret and fear have burnt through my flesh
and my salted tears only make them sting.
I've never been so afraid in my life.

There is a beast growing.
A beast that has the power to destroy everything I've worked towards.
With unlimited power and strength,
it will kill me.
And someplace in a field, two gravestones will lay
with the name of myself and the one I love most.
I will not walk this earth without him.
As the ghost of me, the shadow of my sins, cries all alone,
death dances on our graves in joyous victory.

A Fisherman's Tale

     Far away, in a kingdom called Gaitan,  lived an old fisherman. He was poor and hadn't had much property and didn't have any family. The fisherman looked stern, with wrinkles that carved into his face. He had a thick accent from a place no one in the kingdom was familiar with. However, many of the other peasants and commoners adored him and his presence. When fishing days were bad, he'd sit on barrels at the dock and tell stories to everyone who was willing to listen. He'd often told about this woman named Manuela and her short dark hair and gentle face. He'd say to the people, "Para siempre. Yo te amo para siempre," though no one in Gaitan understood what that meant; those who wondered were too afraid to ask. The fisherman's favorite story to tell was about Manuela and her daughter. They lived together in a small house and took care of three small children. The five of them lived peacefully for years, until the daughter and her daughters were grown and one day, moved away. The fisherman had told everyone that Manuela lived alone in the house for years, but was often visited by her daughter and daughter's daughters. Yet throughout all of those years of solitude, Manuela remained happy. The people would ask the fisherman how he'd known about Manuela and her daughters and he would simply say, "that is a story for another day" and would send the people out.
      One day, a storm brewed throughout the kingdom. It tore apart house by house and left dozens of people without a place to live.  Rain and hail pelted down on Gaitan and the kingdom grew very worried for their well being. Ships weren't able to make stops at the ports and the food supply in the kingdom grew frighteningly low. The fisherman grew notice of this. Many of the people begged him to not to go out, but the fisherman said that he had to try something. If he hadn't, he believed many of his friends would starve.  The fisherman, readied his mast and set sail.        The storm threw him around like a rag doll. Any person with a normal conscience at all would have turned back, but, no matter what happened, the fisherman refused. He made his way to his first net. He reached his net and reeled in what he'd caught. The net was so full, it nearly tore in two. He set sail back to the kingdom and was welcomed back as a hero.Soon, the storm passed. The people in the kingdom rebuilt the houses that had been destroyed. However, many grew notice of their missing fisherman. He wasn't seen at the docks and his boat was empty. A few dozen people began to look for him. The small search crew looked for days with no avail. Soon, the king an queen became aware that the man who'd saved the kingdom was missing. They sent guards to each house in hopes of finding him. Finally, in a small shack along the beach, they found the missing fisherman. His face was pale and his eyes could barely open. The guards sent word to the king and queen and told them that he must have gotten sick from braving the storm. The king and queen sent their best doctors to his small shack, but in all of his stubbornness, he refused their service. He asked them, in his final wish, to take him to the dock to tell one final story.     The entire kingdom showed up at the dock that day. The fisherman, frail and weak sat down on his favorite barrel and began to speak. He told them the story of Alejandro, a man who lived in a small house with his wife and daughter and daughter's three small children. His wife and daughter  took care of the three small children and the six of them lived peacefully for years, until the daughter and her daughters were grown and one day, moved away. Alejandro and his wife lived together happily for years, until the man had lost his job. He promised to return once he had more money they could ever need. And just like that Alejandro, set sail on his boat, with the hope of returning to his beautiful wife with short dark hair and gentle face.     After the story ended, the fisherman was returned to his shack. He rested in bed for the remainder of the day and thought about all he'd done. He was happy with his life, but there was one thing still haunting him, something he ever so dearly missed. He cried himself to the point of exhaustion and fell asleep. That night, with his face still stained with salt, the fisherman died in his sleep.     The whole kingdom packed the church like sardines. It was the day of the fisherman's funeral. Upon his viewing, many people cried and would thank the fisherman for everything he did, including the king. The mass soon started and kingdom sat quietly and listened peacefully to the service.  Nearly halfway through the mass, the church doors flew open. A woman, just about as old as the fisherman was, walked in the door. Her hair was short and dark, and her face very gentle. She was followed by a much younger woman, who was followed by three even younger girls. The eldest of the four apologised for their tardiness and spoke in the same accent of that of the fisherman. It was at this moment, the kingdom knew. Those were not just stories the fisherman told, they were recollections of his life. She woman with short dark hair walked up to the casket and began to cry. In between her sighs she was able to whisper, "para siempre. Yo te amo para siempre." Her daughter and her daughter's daughters cried and comforted the old woman. The first pew of the church had been cleared for them am finally, after ten years, Alejandro and Manuela and their daughter and their daughter's daughters had been reunited. The fisherman was finally at peace.

Something Dark, Something Unwanted.

I lay in the dark in my winter clothes,
Seldom silence all around,
I shiver in fear.

I lay in the dark in my winter clothes.
Across the hazed sky, something sharp shines.
Adrenaline rush.
Impulse acting.
I take a deep breath,
It cuts into me.

I lay in the dark in my winter clothes.
Across the hazed sky, something sharp shines.
Worries spill as blood down my skin, warming me.
The silence screams, the fear uncontrollable.
Adrenaline rush, implulse acting,
I cry.
I can't handle this.

I lay in the dark, bare and naked.
The sky is dark.
My blood is spilled.
I breathe in shame
And I cry.
I can't handle this.

I Dont Even Know What To Write.

I am at a lost for words. This blog is for me to complain to and rant about what's going on inside of my normally fucked up little mind. I just have nothing to complain about though. I am, for once in my life, happy and not just a fake little shift this time. I am truly happy to the point where I can't even describe it. Which is especially strange since I am generally great at describing things! Unfortunately, I am not exactly great at writing about happiness since I've never experienced this amount of it before. So for now, I'll work on my writing and publish some stuff on here once I feel like there's something good enough for my one viewer to read. After all, he's the one who's made me feel like this...

The Beauty of Dance

Words.
I can write them down without end.
I can twist them around
And make them dance in an eternal tango.
With certain diction and specific words,
Each expression,
Each saying
Is like a new step, is a new move.

Words can be lined up and dressed in elegance.
They can be complicated and complex and
With  attire saturated in sophistication and grace,
I can switch the dance to the foxtrot.

I can tell stories
about a day, or days, or things that happened;
A beautiful ballet performed across the page.

Yet, what happens when I must speak these thoughts aloud?
When the music is played at a pace far too fast?
I have stumbled in my waltz
and my samba is over.
My mind no longer computes with my body
and the words can no longer dance.
They can't perform in such a state.
My words need their space and
They can only perform upon on a stage of paper.

The dance changes from one of beauty and grace
to one of regret and remorse,
But I must continually remind myself that they are
in fact, just words.

Get the Hell Off My Chest

I really do have a good life. I have a family who supports me, loving friends, a roof over my house, the whole shebang. There shouldn't be anything that is making me feel this way. Then again, it can be a hormone imbalance right? I'm no scientist or pharmaoiegkdxgnwhateverpersonwhodealswithdrugs or anything, but that's what those pills are for right? That's what they did right? They made my hormone levels all happy and even or something? I guess I should know what I put in my mouth before I swallow. Haha, I made a blowjob joke. Anyways, I called in and tell them I need another refill. I do not want to become totally reliable on the stuff though. Can you just imagine a twenty-seven year old me sitting on the side of some street begging for money like a crackhead? Just instead of crack, it's Trazadone.
     So why am I letting this thing this...this sickness control me? It controls almost everything I do. From what I eat and the lack there of, to telling someone my true feelings, it has a say. And it's a strong say.

Last Night's Mind

     Every night I lay in bed in total darkness. I let my ears take in the silence playing throughout my house and I close my eyes. I should feel at peace. I should feel weightless. I should feel nothing.
     I should feel at peace, but inside of me a war wages on. My soul on one side and my world on another. They clash in battle, but my world has the upperhand. In his arsenal, he brings with him the deadliest weapons. Envy, Hate, Greed, and Jealousy are all ready for fire with just one word. My soul has no protection from this, just one weapon, Hope. However, Hope does not come with an unlimited supply.
     I should feel weightless, but there is a heaviness in my chest. It's not like the other times I've felt something pushing down on me though. As I sit in the dark, it is as if my room is closing in on me. The walls become animated and as they breathe, they slide closer and closer until they are sufficating me with my own thoughts. In some sort of grotesque and twisted dance, my chest is being squeezed and my lungs are being crushed. I try to roll around and break free of their pressures, but no matter how hard I concentrate, I cannot.
     I should feel nothing, but every night a wave of emotion hits me. It's power is too much to handle. Soon, that typhoon takes over and streams begin to fall from my face. I feed the sensation and row along rough waves and falls trying to reach land, but I cannot. As the night proceeds, the water becomes filled with salted pollution from my tears and my world becomes flooded with emotion. By the time the morning sun is up, I will drown.
     Every night I lay in bed in total darkness. I let my ears take in the silence playing through my house and I close my eyes. I feel at war. I feel heavy. I feel emotion. I feel alone.

It's Kind of a Funny Story

I have three favorite things in the entire world. The first is food, you can never have enough food; the second is writing, and the third is reading. When it comes to talking and speaking out loud, I'm a mess. My brain and jaw don't align quiet right. However, if you hand me a pen and paper and tell me to write a poem or short story, I'll hop right on it. Now, when it comes to reading, I of course have a favorite book, which inspired me to write as most books do. I wrote this for a project about a year ago shortly after reading It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini.

It's really kind of a funny story
You see, I was walking along the bridge
The big red shiny one in the city and everything felt so right.
The cold Frisco breeze closing in around my face
Nipping at my finger tips, combing through my hair
And I wanted more of it.
I needed more of it,
My insides were on fire and nothing but the breeze could tame the flames.
My chest burned, something inside beat fast, too fast.
My body couldn’t handle it and
Before I knew it, my heart stopped feeling love all together.
Soon the heat traveled up.
I could feel it knotting in my throat and I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t scream.
And then a wet flame dribbled from my eye, down my cheek,
My body was too numb to react to either.
And then, the raging inferno turned to my mind, consuming every second thought I ever had.
I could hear nothing but it crackle as it burned away everything.
Leave them behind, he doesn’t love you, you are nothing.
And just like that, I couldn’t control my own body.
I found myself climbing up the rail, this is crazy!
What am I doing?
I took a deep breath; spread my arms like some sort of bird
And look down at the water.
That would definitely put out the flames.
I lean forward, close my eyes, take one last sigh, and jump.
And I swear to you, it was like I was flying
And the flames weren’t bad anymore, as if they became apart of me,
like I was some sort of magnificent phoenix flying, soaring back home.
And then I opened my eyes a mere five feet away from the water
And a wave of regret hit me.
Four feet.
What would they say at school on Monday?
Three feet.
Did you guys hear about jasmine?
Two feet.
I heard she tried to kill herself.
One foot.
But she always seemed so happy.
And I closed my eyes, waiting afraid of what would happen next.
There was no pain, no fire or flame burning inside me.
A familiar flutter beat in my chest, loved flowed inside me once again.
I realized that I was in the ocean, and I was cold, freezing.
But then that warmth hits me again.
Not that same warmth from before, not the one eating me alive,
But one from before, when I was happier, it was happening, I was shifting.
I finally felt free.
Yet, there was one thing I was holding inside,
One more thing I needed to say.
I have always, will always love you,
And I’m sorry.

A Soundless Tune

I haven't lost very many things in my life. A few relatives have been taken by God's greedy hands, but that's something I can't control. A person can lose physical objects, I do it all the time. I mean, just three seconds ago I couldn't find my headphones when they were, in fact,  already on my head. No, physical objects aren't the problem. The problem is losing hope.
     When there is nothing left, I have hope. When every inch of my being is screaming for a way out, I have hope. When I sit crying in my bathroom with a razor on my hand, I still have hope.  When I try and let in death's cold embrace, I have hope there protecting me, lighting my way. But what happens when this silent protector is overpowered? When I'm at my deepest, lowest, most lonely moments, all I have left is hope. That's the only thing I have when I have nothing. The problem is I'm losing it.
   
 Hope was that thing with feathers perched on my soul. She'd sang me endless tunes, filled with happiness and joy.They were wordless and simple, as the simple notes she sang kept me sane. Hope had fought through every season and every storm that passed and she made that perch her home. As she grew stronger each day, I did as well. Soon I began to blossom into a great Oak. More and more winged animals would join Hope, they were called Happiness, Joy, and Love and the four of those things with feathers lived contently  perched on my soul. They'd sing beautiful harmonies together and they made me happy. However, on a fine summer night, a beast appeared, a mechanical hound with no master. It was dark and spewed smog and other pollutions in the air, in my mind, and blocked out the sun. My soul began dying and as did the animals' home. If that wasn't enough, the chrome monster let lose and destroyed me, destroyed my soul. The first to die was Joy. The hound, with its nose inches from the ground, knew the winged animals were wounded and couldn't fly and it sniffed out Happiness and tore her to shreds. Love, was without a home, She was far too wounded to look for Hope and had no companions to sing with. She soon gave up, and Love died of loneliness.  Hope was the only one left. She fluttered around, searching for her companions, unaware of their deaths. She dodged the mechanical monster on a number of times, fighting to look for her lost friends. However, Hope's wings began to grow tired. With no soul to perch on, she had to keep flying and sooner she began to drift closer and closer to the ground, closer and closer to the mechanical hound with no master. She began to believe that her friends were never to be found. She believed there to be no purpose. Hope knew she couldn't sing nearly as well without her friends by her side. Slowly, and subconsciously she drifted closwer and closer to the animal's jaws, which were wide open waiting for her. Hope was falling down. Hope was leaving me. Hope, my hope, the bird perched on my soul who sang me endless tunes stayed silent. It was on that day, that fine summer day, I had lost Hope.

     So what do I do with no hope? What is my purpose? Hope was my last defense against every vile thought and action I have. I know my arsenal is wearing down.

Alone in Wonderland

     Well, I haven't been on this on almost literally a year, but that's because I haven't had the need to complain about my boy problems to anyone and thats only because I don't have any. Up until now that is.
     Now, let me start from the beginning. Dawson, wasn't ever a real person, just a nickname I gave some boy I thought I liked. He probably meant the world to me at some point, but honestly I can't even remember who he is. We all go through those stages though, right? Those lovey dovey childish moments where you think you're deeply madly in love with someone kind of seem ridiculous to look back upon. I mean, what was I? Thirteen? Bitch please.
     I've been through a shit ton a lot since then. Well, not really. I'm the same person, just with more experiences. It's like I've finally learned how to live and well, almost die too.
     You probably weren't expecting that curve ball, huh? Well, let me tell you, neither was I. I used to be totally happy-go-luck Jasmine without a care in the world, but that's because I was blind. It was as if I was totally asleep, immune to everything that hurt in the world and I was living in some sort of wonderland, but at least Alice eventually woke up.
    
I had found myself a Jabberwock, with jaws that bite and claws that catch,
located the vicious jubjub bird, and came into contact with the bandersnatch.
But alas, I had no vorpal sword in hand, no protection and I had been caught.
Imbedded in mind, ideas so unkind, death at my hand I'd sought.

One, two! One, two! And through and though
Beasts with their arsenal went under attack
They put in my head, that I should be dead
Though I knew there was no going back

So the bandersnatch and the jubjub bird had gathered around my arms
And the jabberwock with claws so sharp, told me to prep myself for harm
He cut my arm with fast quick swipes, I'd let out a single tear
When he drew my blood, the damage was done, my motive had been clear.

But before I was forever stuck in Wonderland, a hatter had appeared.
He took my hand, showed me love, and wiped away my tears.
And now together we fight those vicious beasts, the bird and bandersnatch are in
Now just one more and the Wonderland War will be a fully faited win.

     Well, wasn't that just great? I mean, I'm defintly no Lewis Carroll and the orignal, "Jabberwocky" is far better and cooler than anything I  could come up with. Anyways, if you're smart, you could probably interprete that how you wish and chances are you're right. I'm going to try and write more this year, but for now I should go to sleep as its 2:31 in the morning and I've a math test tomorrow.