Pleasant Surprise

Pleasant surprise,

Nice intervention,

A world from anew,

A place not seen before.

The crazy, excited, ecstatic feeling.

The kindness and intelligence.

A world shown.

Thrown from my own,

Complete surprise.

Through this contentment.

A crazy revelation,

Crazy existence.

My place.

The crazy feeling.

Ecstatic and total. Crazy and looms

In The Face Of The Wasteland

In the face of the wasteland,
The uncertainty to come,

Left alone in emptiness,
This wasteland I find myself in.

Wasting away in the searing sun.
Pushing on.

Defying my Gods in the wasteland.
Clearing my past.

My memories return.
Painful reminders of my many mistakes…
They pierce my soul.

Remind me of the failures,
Reminds me of existence.
In the wasteland of being.

Barren, dry and dead.

Moving on and searching for the oasis ahead.

Making my path forward.

Trying to kill the memories.
All my memories.

To wipe my mind to a blank state.

To stand. Within my empty mind. To face a barren wasteland.
Rather than the piercing wind of memory.

Old Wounds

Old wounds,
The scars continue,
The phantom pain,

The wounds unhealing, discoloured and broken inside.
The wounds holding back healing.
The storm in the wound,

A reminder of the pain, the hurt.
The lost part of you.
Broken inside.

Unable to heal, even as you try.

The ongoing reminder,
Of  an old wound gone past,
The remnants remain.

The chains to the memory.
Association of pain, even after it faded.

Hating the chains to the wound.
The crime committed against me.

The wounds on me,
The wounds inside,
The wounds of me.

Those that run so deep,
Internalised into my being;

A toxin,
Poisoning me from the inside,
The heavy blood through my veins

Heavy thoughts, breathing and heart.
Running, within my mind.
Spinning around my thoughts.
Wanting a fix, wanting to repair,
The broken mind.

To escape the reminders,
The immobility,
The paralysis of my broken wound.

Taking tentative steps,
Reluctant,
Collapsing at the weight of my mind.

The wounds that drag me down,
Chain me to the floor,

The abyss of my tartarus.

 

These old wounds.
Tearing at the chains that hold me, confine me.

Roaring in rage.
Into the dying light.
Through the pain, memories and chains.

My voice heard,
An echo in darkness.
Broken, beaten and belligerent.

Battering the prison,
Ripping free of my wounds.

Laughing as I wrestle freedom…

Wrestle myself…

Wrestle my world…

From these old wounds.

 

 

Just been thinking about old wounds, how to feel, how I may fall again. How to avoid it. But worst of all. How old wounds make me reluctant for anything that may produce new wounds. Fills me with rage and confusion. Will go on. Continue to distract myself, until I can find an answer, work out a solution. This is the song I was listening to on repeat when writing this.

Numbing The Pain

Numbing the pain,

Feeling empty,

Dark and cold, all around, to the touch.

Mindless monster, dead being.

Trudging on, unfeeling, numb.

A wreck of the past.

A wound on the world.

A chasm of despair.

The state of being, pain at losing life’s treasures held close.

Ripped from the arms,

Followed by the dark storm, the empty silence and coldness.

Piercing and digging like razors, sharp tendrils into by abdomen. Into my heart and core.

But…

But.

I feel nothing, numbness to pain that comes from its constancy.

Numbing my pain.

Bringing it in. Bringing it close.

Fully reckoning it.

Feeling it.

Until that is all I am.

A numbed pain. Constant. A broken thing. A wound of existence. A storm of calm rage. Outside Alice, while dead inside.

Black Pearl Of Night

The darkness smooth of night,

Patterns in the dark sky,

The silent night.

The emptiness and the dark.

The smoothness formed from irritation.

The blackness imparted on the rest of the world.

A different form from the day,

Small lights peppered across the landscape.

A dark silence echoed,

A world untouched by light.

The dark rolling hills,

The echoes of human steps taken in the human day.

Echoes of people unknown,

Activities of humans once passed.

Left empty and barren,

The dark wastelands.

The ice cold wind.

The scars left from day,

A counterpoint from the silent empty night.

The lonesome night.

The silent dark night..

The echoes left from day.

To the black pearl of night.

The silence.

The emptiness of space,

The solo existence in this emptiness of night.

Alone in the dark,

The only person in existence.

The solitude of my thoughts.

Left to the darkness,

This black pearl of night.

Empty, alone, silent, and solo.

The dark shadow cast upon,

The rest of the world, dark and empty,

Eternal. Empty. A mere echo.

A black pearl,

In its dark beauty.

Its dark radiant shine.

The dark storm encircling inside.

Black and dark like the inside of my mind,

Silent and in solitude, like the confines of my mind.

A barren blackness, a counterpart to life.

This black pearl I’ve found.

The silence I live.

Mine to hold,

Before the black sky.

This black pearl I’ve found.

Left forgotten.

This black pearl I’ve found.

The black pearl of my life.

Broken Echoes

Broken echoes,

Of my past,

The mistakes made and continued.

Trusting those who leave me down.

Those I once thought to trust,

Who continue to forget me,

As people do.

Left, as a broken echo to the world.

Drowning out reality.

Drowning out the song of life, as a broken echo.

A ghost of the now,

Cut off off from the world.

Cut out of existence.

Left with this reminder. The broken echo that follows.

The empty words given,

And retracted from me with a sharp pain.

The deceiving smile, of a friend held dear.

Left with this broken echo.

A dear reminder,

Of the pain following trust,

The hurt following friendship.

The lies given without care,

Left in this broken echo.

The repeating sound,

Through the repeated lies.

The broken echo as my reminder.

The times enthusiastically waiting for,

Not given a simple truth. To solidify the pain,

Yet left with the repeating echo.

To grasp me,

Encapsulate me.

Bring me peace.

Not wanting to bring pain or inconvenience.

But being left waiting.

In this broken echo.

My fault for trusting in a friend,

Caring, yet wondering.

Through this broken echo.

Me, a broken echo.

A path once taken,

Me. The ongoing problem.

Me. The broken echo.

Better left forgotten.

Grasping For The Light

Grasping for the light,

Left thinking,

Of what has come to pass,

What’s left in memory.

The times gone by,

Memories held,

Times elusive,

Left to memory, to past feeling.

Remembering dearly.

Going on.

Trying to grasp the light.

Looking to what’s next.

Remembering the past,

The feelings, memories and past.

Gone, but remembered.

Grasping for the warmth of light,

Memories gone by,

Lived yet missed,

Loved, yet also lost,

To time and to my past.

Grasping at the light.

Past Feeling

Those past feelings,

The times once had.

Remembering and reliving.

Wondering in this present state.

Not unhappy,

Remembering in ecstasy,

But remembering…

It’s left to the past.

Those past feelings.

Replaced by the present remembering.

Good memories,

Left to past feelings.

The times,

Hectic but great.

Lived fully, and left to memory.

A small but great time.

Of past feeling.

Left.

Confined to history,

To remembering,

The past feeling.