Exhaling Ink~

Hollow Shell, Living Hell

Blank stares conceal gritted teeth
snakes and lions battling
in the ruins of an arena that stood tall
once upon a time…
Hisses and roars
venom and blood
this is all that’s left
among the rubble
Stones crumble
feet stumble
fingers fumble
to close wounds that will not heal, will not heal…
will never heal.

Empty smiles distract from teary eyes
acid corroding glass windows
hidden by curtains hung on the outside
sealed shut and impenetrable
soul shattering in peace
without an audience
Cracks and holes
splinters and shards
this is all that’s left
among what is no longer a home
and barely even a house
Wind howls
demons prowl
ghosts scowl
at a dwelling they are too afraid to haunt
too afraid to haunt
but haunt anyway
Even though the monsters here are scarier than they…

Bloody lips prevent bloodcurdling screams
teeth sinking into flesh with vampiric desire
the motive to silence, to silence, to silence…
Shhhhh…
Throat raw with the claws of the cries suppressed
Whimpers and moans
wails and stammers
this is all that’s left
among vocal chords ripped to shreds
Body shakes
resolve breaks
courage runs away
strength fades
It’s too late, it’s too late, it’s too late…
This life’s been erased. 

Your Past Can Kill

My past wraps around me,
tight as my skin
from the scars on my arm
to my secrets of sin
If I opened the windows of my eyes 
there’d be red ‘round the rims
But I show you nothing
(I hold it all in)

I’m standing on the edge
looking at the bottom
staring into endless night
my insides hollow
I’m looking for a truth
long since forgotten
despite knowing that once found
it’ll prove hard to swallow
(And I’m barely holding on to sanity
when I just want to let it all go)

My past wraps around me
tight as my skin
it’s cutting off my air
and secretly, within,
I’m crying
(I don’t think I’ll be here much longer
because truth is, I’m dying)

Wolf girl.

She runs. Her feet move faster and faster until they’re only a blur. The only thing she hears is the music blaring in her ears and the only thing she feels are the knives steadily growing sharper in her lungs.

She ignores them and continues, pushing herself over her threshold. “Mind over body. Mind over body. Mind over body,” she chants, trying so hard to focus only on the music and not the pain. If she ignores it, she can keep going.

She keeps going. Ahead is a puddle the size of a small lake from yesterday’s rains. Against the will of her aching muscles she speeds up yet again, the sweat dripping down her forehead, running down her arms, sticking her shirt to her skin. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it… She lets out a raging cry and leaps.

When she lands safely on the other side, it’s on all fours.

With a howl that invigorates her very soul, she runs.

“Another.”

“C’mon, pal. You’ve had enough. Can you even see straight at this point?”

“Who says I want to? Just get me another drink.”

“Fine. Last one, though, then I’m cutting you off.”

“In that case, give me the bottle.”

“Nice try.”

Cal grunted, but didn’t push it. Tossing his head back, he finished off the bourbon in one go, paid in cash and stumbled towards the door, ignoring the bartender when asked if he wanted a cab.

The cold night air was like a slap in the face after the warmth of the bar. Cal hunched his shoulders, jamming his hands into his coat as he walked. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he care. He didn’t want to think about anything, simply hold on to the heavy, blurred fog of the alcohol and put one foot in front of the other.

It was nearing dawn when Cal found himself at the bridge. There were hardly any cars passing by. Cal liked the quiet of this time. He looked out over the water, the smallest hint of light in the horizon, then closed his eyes, inhaling the morning air. He had walked himself into sobriety by then and the thoughts were coming back. Bit by bit, at first, then all at once with such force he was surprised it didn’t fling him back onto the road.

The voices. They wouldn’t stop. Whispering, screaming. Evil things. Horrible things. About himself, the world. They clawed at his brain until he clutched at his hair and pulled hard. Trying to rip them from his consciousness. It never worked. They would simply speak louder. He trusted no one. Got close to no one for fear of what his insanity would make him do. 

Drinking, drugs, those were the only things that shut them up, at least for a while. But they’d always start up again, as soon as his poison of choice wore off. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Cal’s mind was his enemy, now. There was no changing that. While he could damage it, probably had several times over with the amount of god-knows-what he’d put in his system, he couldn’t destroy it without destroying himself.

So Cal destroyed himself.

His body was found washed up at the bank. That night, as the news reported of his death and the speculation on whether it was an accident or suicide, the bartender shook his head sadly. “I should’ve ordered him a cab.”

Inner Volcano

My blood. It’s boiling. Heating my skin like a fever. I cannot stand being touched, my skin prickling with disgust at even an accidental brush of another’s against it. Touch makes me feel like filth, makes me want to take a thousand showers to wash away the contact, makes me want to growl and slam my fist into the face of my molester. For that is what it all feels like: molestation, violation.

My blood. It’s boiling. I’m beginning to question whether it’s even blood at all anymore. Perhaps it was drained out and replaced with molten lava some dark night as I slept. Rage courses through me, directed at everything, everyone including myself, and I know not why. Smiling makes me sick. It makes me feel false. All it means to me is that I’ve lost a battle with my muscles and so they rise against my will. My teeth clamp down against each other, jaws prominent against the sides of my face, to keep me from screaming. Because I so very, very much want to scream. It’s bubbling up inside me until I can feel it pounding against my chest. Any higher and I may not be able to hold it in.

Moving is not enough. Words are not enough. Music is not enough. Nothing appeases me. There is no comfort, no release, no relief. I’m simply fighting to keep from erupting, obliterating everything around me. The itch to destroy is all-consuming. I fear if I succumb the consequences would far outweigh the reprieve. That is because they would. Will. It is not worth it.

But my blood. It’s boiling.

I’ve taken to keeping a steel sharpener close. Its coolness is the closest thing I have to keeping my veins from bursting with the force of the heat it carries. That, and the delicious temptation of the blades it holds. I won’t give in. At least, I don’t think I will. However I cannot deny it may be the only thing to offer release that destroys no one but myself. I wouldn’t mind that. Not one bit.

Others would, sadly. So I settle for twirling the sharpener between my fingers, blades untouched, the screws holding them in still tight. Hopefully the cool of just its body will be enough. Hopefully reliving memories will sustain me enough to keep me from trying to recreate them. Hopefully this shall pass. I can’t stand it, can’t stand it, can’t stand it… 

Magma was never meant for skin.

So my blood… It’s boiling.

Crepacuore

This is the sound of a heart that breaks
And this is the life that leaves only destruction in its wake
And this is the mask that hides the fake that hides the face
(of a liar)
And this is the body that’s falling through space
(Come on, drop me from higher)
And this is the mess my existence always makes
And this is the soul I wish God would take
And this is the knowledge that now it’s too late—
too many people tied up with my fate

This is my mind and my pen, forced to create
These are the words that I write and the words that I hate
This is my psychosis, my withered mental state
And this is the sound of a heart that breaks

At the end of the day, all that’s left are the mistakes
Lips that tremble and knees that quake
Eyes that hold tears and hands that shake
And this…
This is the sound of a heart that breaks. 

I broke…

I was born
with nerve-endings made from knives
and an inner fire
that doesn’t change lives or the world
(is that the same thing?)
just burns me up inside

I was born
with eyes that glimmer like marbles
surfaces of near-perfect reflection
fooling you into thinking they absorb nothing
when in truth
they see everything you don’t want them to
(everything I don’t want them to)

I was born
with hands that itch to destroy
not you, not them, not those
but me
Bones-
strong from calcium
and vitamin D from long days in the sun-
that want nothing more than to b
                                                      r    
          e
                                                                     a
                                        k 

(But my heart breaks instead.
The pieces are scattered within.)

I was born.
I was born.
I was born.
But God, there are days
when I really, really
wish I fucking wasn’t. 

Inner demons make for a bad night’s sleep~

When I fall asleep at the end of the day, 
my little devils come out to play.

My nightmares are always
about monsters
I’m too scared to face
even if I know,
I KNOW
it’s just a bad dream
…Right? 

I taste the fear:
dried blood on my tongue
And I can hear
only the sound of my panting
and the demon
slowly
coming
closer…

I always run
(hide)
while it seeks
(patient)
while I pray for a courage
that never comes.

I wake just before it gets me.
Because I beg, beg, beg…
“Please let me wake up now.”
“I want to wake up now.”
“Please…”

There are monsters in my head.
And they fill my dreams with dread.

Let your muscles shake with effort. Run. Run like the wind. Race through space and time until everything around you is a blur and all you can see is where you can next slam your feet into the ground.

Let yourself feel absolutely everything you’ve kept pent up for so fucking long. Use it as the fuel to your movement when internal energy runs out. Rage. Hurt. Joy. Frustration. Freedom. Release it all.

Let your screams out in the form of speed and sweat. Or open your mouth wide and howl until the sky itself is pushed back from the force of the voice you hold inside you.

Run.

Don’t forget to breathe.

Armageddon

It would be a beautiful death,
watching the sky turn red with dying stars
shards of celestial bodies emulating rain,
falling down upon us all
People would crawl away, seek shelter
chaos, destruction, debris helter-skelter
But I would stand, gaze to the light
What a gorgeous sight to see
before falling into eternal night.

(Source: Flickr / marvinok)