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Thoughts from a book I am reading...

1. The invisible man from upstairs is my problem, can’t you see?

2. Gnarled lollipop sticks are left everywhere,
they are the crucifixes of our generation…
The poet strikes his chords,
licks his vowels
and gently kisses the metal soul
with the power to inspire or destroy nations.

3. My bruises are burning
my cross is crushing
my dreams are perverting
and all hope is hiding
my life is lost.

4. Now, because our vessel is plunged into darkness, we can truly see ourselves in the faithful reflections of the light.

5. I am sorry for being such a selfish being. But I am tormented, thrown between different worlds like an unwanted child of a failed marriage. I am loose but restricted, like a person hanging from a tree: blood cold and bones fucking brittle, weather beaten, dripping with God’s spittle. I am burning up inside. I have no anchor, nothing to hold or to guide me. I am flying around this fucked up wasteland at terrible speeds. I am scared. I am crumbling within. I need to find faith. I need a rock, I need firm foundations. My loins hang and swing but I am not a man. I am just too many bitter thoughts sucked together through the absence of light – forming a dark shadow, a shadow known as Me and I am dying under this beautiful veneer – falling in love with this pain.

6. The worst situation isn’t unrecquited love. The worst situation to find yourself usually follows losing your heart, mind and soul to a person that has become your world. All you are left with is the consequential disbelief in love and hope, and you find yourself trapped in a world, haunted by unknowns, hate, and broken thrones. Stalked, assualted, raped by the fleeting glimpses of a twisted future – back breaking and eyebrows drooping under the weight of depression. And the glimpses become clearer and clearer every night, they lurk around more and more, suffocating the world just to kill you. And you give up. And all you want to do now is sleep and to never wake up.

7. So many times you have painfully walked away, hoping that they would come running after you, and they’d grab you, turn you around – kiss your cheek before your tear falls to the ground – they would capture your tear gently on their upper lip, saving it from the fall. And then they would whisper that the nightmare is finally over, and it would be true. Somehow, in some way, your heart would not hurt anymore. Each beat would not be born into pain, live crippled in pain, and die regretting shamefully, filled to the brim with pain like an ink-well – staining all that surrounds it when it is shook. But it seems that this will never happen. The nightmare will never end. And stockholm syndrome has got you loving the nightmare. All is fair in love and war they say and you’re trying to believe it. Because you want to hope that a fair chance exists somewhere out there in the deep blue ocean. You want to believe that you aren’t doomed to exist as a twisted vision of the Fisher King.

8. A fluttering rainbow lands right above my head.
Then sidles over and chimes at me.
Flapping it’s wing like a birdy-wave.
Chortling “hello”, it dances on the edge, moving closer and then further away, as if it is playing peek-a-boo with me. This has been the brightest part of my day.
The little fluttering rainbow graced my world for only a minute, but in this short moment it absorbed my dark thoughts and purged them of all negativity. And it was but a moment in a torrential down-pour of moments. And the angel flew away all too quickly…
I hope it will soar around the world sharing more positivity.

And so I am left to myself once again and my thoughts melt out of my gaping dark abscess and I am swallowed up by the abyss that gurgles like a failed back alley abortion.

9. All I could see was each little item I would destroy: bent tap, broken door, fork down my throat.

Journal Comments

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