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Literature Text
I've got this unwavering need to take on the weight of the world - all the struggle, all the pain, all the insecurities, all the things that bring us to our knees. I have no more strength left to beg pardon, to be a shoulder to lean on, to be an ear to bend; I haven't been able to hold myself together for quite some time now. I am an Empath with narcissistic gasoline pumping through my veins, fueling the inconsistencies that are driving me mad. The cage that holds the demons within rattles and shakes, at any moment it can give way, and the gods only know what happens when the chain breaks. I've been so busy trapping them within my head, I didn't realize I was welcoming them with open arms. Lodged within the jaws of the very monster I have been trying to tame, every effort to remain stable brings me closer to the ledge, and all the while, the beast grows stronger - dominance over my vessel is eminent, inevitable, and clarity stings like a shot of grain alcohol. There's a pinch in my veins, like the first of many tread-marks; an injection of anger, worthlessness, and impulsiveness directly into my bloodstream. My reasoning has parted ways, and in this moment, I am no longer myself - control is not my possession, and I've got the impression that I'm going to be consumed alive by my incapability - and nothing softens the blow for those around me. The devastation and misery that will follow in the wake of my transition isn't something I can stomach, as a voice that isn't mine, speaking words that aren't mine, coming from a mouth that is, twists and coils its serpent tongue around those who matter the most - and I'll make a mess out of them, I'll ruin the light inside of them all until darkness is all that's left to see, and that blindness will be the only comfort I know. My ruin lies within, these two conflicting forces, the me I know, and this malevolent passenger, each fighting for their chance to take the wheel. I am struggling to drag myself back into the driver's seat, but everything that matters is being lined up, one by one - and I look on, waiting to see what this time will hold - maybe the spread of a shotgun, maybe a slew of lies, maybe the regurgitation of repressed memetic, omissions and emissions - the victims are becoming too hard to identify these days. I don't know what will kill me first - the minefield surrounding me, or knowing that it is my own doing; regardless of this disorder, it is my hands that are stained claret, the blame of blood is brand that I alone carry. I may be tormented, afflicted with an ailment that I didn't invoke, but this curse doesn't excuse the damage I've done. I can only hope that in the aftermath there will be someone left standing who still stands with me.
Literature
Change
What is it about change,
That makes us so afraid?
Why do we always want,
To run away?
I'll admit, not all change is good,
But don't you think that we should,
Give it a chance?
I believe in change
I don't want the world around me,
To always be this way
I don't want to live in fear,
Looking at a future that is not clear
I don't think things should stay the same,
And that's why I believe in change
I am just one man,
With just one voice,
And you don't have to listen to me,
Because that it is your choice
But if you will give me,
Just a second of your time,
I will do what I can,
To make you change your mind
I believe in change
Literature
i am a bathroom sink in french
i painted my walls a
bland-boring-beige:
the same hue of the
deconstruction sites,
sights, to match the
imperfect furniture.
[ toilets live in castles, but the loveseat begs to differ ]
i’m sinking in sinks
and floating on ink–
vikings, viper kings,
sledgehammer me...
as i’m sinking,
sinking
like the sins
of 1000 kings
you know our treacherous forefathers
treaded more than firehydranttyrants.
i caught the monarchies in my net,
as i relocated my realtor and set
sovereign moths to regicidal flame,
lit my carpenter’s autonomy on fire,
noticed flaws in architect blueprints,
and demanded my designer to rep
Literature
ill-fitting hearts.
"Do you know why she's dying?"
"Do you?"
"Because I broke her heart. God, I feel so fucking bad about that."
"No she's stronger than most I know. She's dying because you told her to."
"What? No, that doesn't even make sense."
"Think about it. She would do anything, for you."
-
You were nineteen and fell for the girl with the ballet toes and unreliable heart. You were a robot, programed to say her name every time you were asked a question. And when you urged your feelings to a breaking point, you found her standing outside your door with an i-love-you note and a field of asymmetrical freckles. That was all you needed to get down on one
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