Entries from May 2003 ↓

I feel the need to bleed today,
From a wound so deep that the flesh is swollen and red.
It can’t be kept out of sight from wandering heads.
They look at me in complete and utter disgust at what they see.
They don’t know what it’s like being me.

I feel the need to bleed today.
From the same wound as yesterday.
Retrace the scar that I made,
Against the flesh that started to heal,
Enjoyment that no one can steal.

I feel the need to bleed today.
“You need help” some might say.
Help is far from what I need.
I need pain from which I feed.
Only I will know such greed.

I feel the need to bleed today.
I have become accustom to the pain.
Pain that is feared by most,
Will now end up being my host.
The rushing pain now takes me over.

I felt the need to bleed today.
As my casket is being carried away…

As I see the sad twinkling eyes,
I think of the years gone by
I remember how my hair used to be one color.
Before I got it dyed
I see the scars on my arms

Those scars are the souveniers
They proved my hates and my fears
The cat the dog the razorblade
Brings back the memory of that day.

IT brings me to tears,
To remember how they reacted
The looks and the snears
I received from my family members

THat’s what I look at now
Nothing else matters
Even though i’m prettier somhow
I grew into my nose.

I can’t fly away with my ears anymore
My face has cleared up
And in inches I’ve grown four
My hair’s the right length

But Like them, I always look past it
I only see flaws
I’m not made of glass or plastic
But it’s me. So it’s good.

There’s a girl that everybody knows,
She’s trapped in her tormented soul.
There’s a side to her that nobody sees,
A side to her that she tries so hard no to be.
She’s caught up in her own hellish prison,
From which there’s no escape.
So she rolls the dice and questions her fate.
She hates this world that we call earth,
And wishes her mom never gave birth,
To the person she has come to be,
She wishes she can get away and be free.
She tries hard to overcome it,
But it’s no use she succumbs to it.
It’s an endless struggle.
Why should she even start?
For when it’s all over,
It will all fall apart.

Is it just me or do people bring unwanted babies into the world, treat them like shit, make them miserable, and then say that they should be so lucky to have a roof over their heads and a meal on the table?
I talked back because my parents want me to stay at home doing nothing when I could go to a friend’s house. It’s a sleepover, we watch movies & eat pizza with our good friends. And they treated me like a criminal because they dont trust me the slightest bit. Im the second ranking person in my entire grade, I’m in honor society, the Junior Air Force honor society, what more do they want. It was all for them, this whole year of migraines and insomnia, everything I did. They still dont like me.
So this morning my dad got up at 3 to get ready for work, he woke me up to yell at me and say how its all my fault. Its my fault that he cant sleep, its my fault that my mom is upset, and its my fault that our family is screwed up and how I’m a bad example for my little sister. God, why do they always bring her up?
He canceled my doctor’s appointment for the coming up thursday because “you’re so big, take care of yourself”
I feel like I’m gonna die, cant breath, I have a constant cold and headache for the past year & a half or so. He knows I cant sleep and he did it on purpose, Gawd, why do they hate me so much??

Help him Dolly, help him to be happy
You grew old so fast, why are we unhappy?
I don’t want my insanity to be contagious
I want my monsters to be chained to you
Why did they kill you Dolly? Are you a monster, an error?
Are you as frightened as I am?
I want to be happy
I want to make him happy
Most wanted, dead or alive
Retirement plan on the year of the sheep
Scan my heart, cancer love contagious, cancer dreams
Vacuum cleaners, chemicals, radiations, clone aid, band-aid
Pierced condom, TV psychology, pharmaceutical happiness
Countless solitude and false identity
I live in a camping ground full of the same Winnebago
My bed looks like your bed, cloned neighborhood
Same TV diner, same boyfriend, same grass
Same prescription, same ideology
Same emptiness, same empty beds, empty tears
I don’t even know why he cries
He doesn’t know why he cries
Why do we cry? Do you exist? Do we exist?
Will they photocopy us?
Can they read our minds in our tears?
Will they freeze them for further research?
Is our sadness genetic?
Why do I cry? Why does he cry?
Help me Dolly, why is he unhappy?
I’d rather feel pain and sorrow and
Know the dept of love and
Feel the warmth of the wind on my heart
I’d rather stumble on my words but have something to say
I don’t want to drown in a swimming pool
I want him to be happy

Sorry i had to change nickname because i didn’t remember my password. I’m still me but in a 2.0 version. Don’t stop writing me please.

i hope this gets posted: i really wanted to get this off my chest…..i have no one to talk too. me and my friend arent really “friends” anymore. we dont have anything in common and she doesnt even listen to me when i tell her things (she can be a real bitch). she’s practically my only friend cuz im such a loser and all the kids at my school are fucking stupid (the high school is really small)……well, i guess typing this out makes me feel a little better.

Every time I look at you I feel like less of me. What I once was good at (and probably still am) I feel incompetent with doing. Why is it that everyone is better than me? Why must I be the one with no talent? The one with no future? I tell myself that I am better than that, that I have good qualities, but even my own mind has turned against me. I feel insignificant and minute. I find myself crying for no reason. Please, don’t ask me what’s wrong because I don’t know. Maybe I’m finally going crazy. Maybe this is what it feels like. Even the darkness does not help. It only makes it worse. I thought I could ignore it. I thought it would go away. I thought that maybe, just maybe it had all finally changed.

I was wrong.

The ritualistic pain of life is never avoided. Some struggle through life with hardship after hardship. Some encounter brief periods of misfortune that take them by surprise. The latter, in my opinion, are the unlucky ones. Those whose entire life is hardship learn to adapt. They struggle for every goal, and thus enjoy them more. Those who rarely face hardship are hit hard with each new blow. Each blow is a painful reminder of fragility. The ones who struggle are less taken aback. They harden themselves against life. This is just merely a fact.

When we are children, we like to believe in the Snow Whites & Sleeping Beauties of the world. We like to believe that like Cinderella, we have a Fairy Godmother who will come down and sweep us away in our darkest hour. When we get older we turn to fairy-tale movies for hope that we can be popular. But soon, that too fades.

Some people however, have a light about them, and they capture my attention. They are so happy with what they have. Hope is still a familiar word.

How do I obtain that light? How can I capture it? How can I obtain… hope?

I smile sadly when I see these people. Reality is an illusion to them. It is only the days before their prince rides up on his white horse to sweep them off their feet and into his castle.

That’s what I saw in Her. That’s why through our turbulent friendship, I admired Her. She looked up to me as the strong, proud warrior I set out to be, and she remained in that innocent child-like state.

When I’m by myself, reality is a harsh truth, but when I’m with her it is only a shadow that creeps into my vision in seconds before sleep overtakes me.

I used to feel that hope whenever She was around. She’s gone now. I lost Her some time ago. My new friends don’t have that glow, and neither do I. I see a spark here or there. A moment, when just for a split second I allow myself to believe in the wonders that the eyes never see.

Sometimes I start to wonder if Her happiness was merely a grand façade, but then again, I try not to think about that. I want to remember Her just the way She was.

She’s one illusion, I’d like to keep.

(POEM)

Wearing a mask everyday, no one can see her real face.
Smiling and laughing with her friends, everything looks perfect.

But when she stands in her room all alone, she takes off her mask, and her face turns to stone.

A tear falls down her cheek, and she starts to cry.
She doesn’t know why, but its something inside.
Memories she should have forgotten, but now they rest within her and makes her soul start to rotten.

The hate fills her up, and she takes out her knife..She can’t see, but she can feel…every cut that she makes burns her soul….Soon her soul will be gone and her hate will be strong.
She doesn’t want to die and she doesn’t wan’t to live.

She want’s to kill herself and one day she will, but right now she suffers still.

As I was walking through a deserted mall with my cousin, hand in hand, we were running from nothing, at the time. Just the dark shadow the crept up on us, we soon found our selves going down a ramp that lead to the mall basement. As we stood in silence and fear, we looked around. I noticed that right in the middle of the basement there was a house of some sort and a bar around the corner and more stairs that lead nowhere. It was very dark but just enough light to see the shadow of things. After I looked around I noticed that my cousin was gone, no where to be found, I panic thinking that the creature had captured him. I ran to the house and found that there was a small kitchen and a bedroom, where I decided to hide. There was a bed, I went and hid beside it hoping that it wouldn’t fine me… but it did. It picked me up and threw me on the bed, at that moment I knew there was no escaping this. As he held my body down he unzip his pants and started to fuck me right up against the wall with so much force it was impossible to stop it. I was so scared, I had no idea what was going to happen to me next.. my thighs started to throb from him rubbing up against me. It never seemed like it was going to stop. Just as the door open, I woke up.. with my thighs still throbbing.

Once there was a young girl named Lee. She was not very attractive, and not very nice. she olny had three friends in the whole world, none of which she could really count on. There was Marie, who seemed to only be interested in her own happiness, Jean who didnt care about anything but herself, and Matthew who only cared about Marie and Jean. Why they were Lee’s friends, she did not know, but they were the only ones who would even look at her and not laugh (to her face at least). They were the best she could do. One day Matthew found out that Lee was cutting herself, which he seemed to show little consern over as a matter of fact, but told her that doing it was selfish, and not fair to them. So lee tired to stop, tried so very hard. Everytime she thought of it, Matt would tell her that if she died, it would cause pain amoung him and the others, and they wouldnt be able to stand it. She kept this in mind, until one day, she couldnt take it anymore. SHe felt that everything he’d ever said to her was just lies to keep his own conscience clean. She needed to get help, but no one would listen, so she helped herself. That night was rainy and lonelier that usual. Her fam ily had stepped out for the night, and she had everything she needed.
She gathered her razor, sleeping pills, tablet of paper to let them know of her doings. She sat in her room as so many past, writting to her family, and her so called friends. She sealed the letter in an evelope, and set it on her desk. She looked at the sleeping pills, and decided she wanted a pianfull death, didnt want to sleep through one bit of it. She though she such a horrible person that she deserved it. She set them aside and reached for her razor. she looked at it, then pointed it to the biggest vein in her wrist, and she thought to herself, “I’ve failed 13 times….I wont fail again” and with that she stuck the razor as far as it would go, and dragged it across her scared flesh. Only on tear fell from her brown eye, the only reason she cried was for the one she loved…she’d made a promice to never hurt herself again…..and she broke that promice with a steel blade. She’d loved him, but never said a word…now she will never have the chance….
Lee fell back onto her bed, and stared at the ceiling, thinking of all the people that said they loved her…and how much she knew they were lying….and as everything dimmed…she thought of the one person she really loved….and how he never cared for her…..and cried her last tear..and took her last breath…her eyes closed with that final image of her star scatered ceiling, never to be opened gain……

Dark
Growling wolf
Raging black waves
Quaking earth, Echoing whispers
Silence ~

Shawna
(Sorry for the monotonous structure.)

As I listened upon the crows signing in death chords
awaking the morning as the sun doesn’t rise
I watch over the rotting flesh in the moors
seeing my own slow wasting demise
as my own putrid skin shall decay
never to see the dawn of the next day
incinerated then away we lock
as my ashes shall dwell beneath the soil
remembered only by the scrypts upon the rock
spoken once then forgotten words
as the crows sing in death chords

She is innocent.
But how are they to know?
of the ones she’s taken?
of the blood she’s shed,
and the fear she’s brought?
How are they to hear with deaf
ears?
the wolf that howls
the wind that whispers
How are they to see with blind
eyes?
the coldness that consumes
the darkness within
They do not know the shadow
of the moon.
Nor do they hear the secrets
of the cliff,
or the wave.
She is alone
The wolf
The child
The shadow
The soul. ~

Shawna

An angel with furled wings of raven feathers
conceiling a widow’s dress and our unholy fears
long black hair and deep penetrating eyes
see through our glass souls and the ghosts who may rise
snow-white flesh dwelling her develish horns
beautiful corpse beneath a halo of thorns

I had always liked verse. That is why I made many poems. I made poems from the “clean” ones to the totally vulgar ones.

One day, I was invited to a meeting, to which were also invited several other poets from our city. The one who organized this meeting was a elderly man, about to turn 70, whose name was Charles Howard Simonson.

As I entered the room, I was greeted by the organizer and the other poets, among who I could see famous people with names like Daniel Toll, Steve Wellington, Norman Clarkshun and Stefan Bruce. I sat down on a chair, and we began to recite our poems, taking turns.

A poet whose name I don’t remember started, with his poem “Pointless”, which is a piece of crap if you ask me. It went like this :

“The world is so pointless
The man is so restless
And things that once were
Are now lost for sure.

You live and you begin to live
And in your life you seek
Nothing but God’s forgive
Merciful God that is so meek.

But as I said before
And I will say many times more
Sometimes the world has no goal
And you begin to think of man’s role.

Why did God bring forth some things
Which now art not in songs of sings ?
Why did God make men think
If men would bring this world on destruction’s brink ?

Why did God make men think ?
Merciful God that is so meek ?
Why do beings with no shadows
Live deep in forgotten meadows ?

Who is man, and why is he
In this world, where I am me ?
In this world where you are you
Who is man and where’s he to ?

The world is so pointless
The man is so restless
And things that once were
Are now lost for sure.

And who lost these things ?
Sometimes man did
But also all beings
God should had hid.

Hide them from who ?
I don’t think from you
But then, from who hide ?
From world’s own tide.

Many species extinct
On this world once were
But why has God thinked
To lose them for sure ?

But I am just a mortal
A simple person with a simple mind
I came from a portal
And I came after the tide.”

You can probably see why I didn’t bother to remember his name !

Stefan went next, with his poem “Scars”, which was supposed to be a little “werid”. And so it was, but not nearly as weird as those which followed it. Anyway, this was the poem :

“Look : I have a scar here
To me it is quite very dear.
A wolf gave it to me
When I caught a hare, in the forest, by the sea.

Another one I have just here.
And when I think of it I fear
The man who gave it to me is dead
For he was such a good, old friend.

I also have one; not on the shoulder
But on the left arm.
A mad man gave this one to me
What do you say ? Isn’t it pretty ?

One I have here, just below my knee.
This one was given to me by a shark in the sea.
I remember how I fought with that shark
The sky was filled with stars; it was just after dark.

I love my scars so much
But I love making scars too
So I stabbed you as such
That’s just what I do.”

Next came Norman Clarkshun, with his poem titled “Fearsome Beast”. I’m telling you, dear Reader, that this was merely the beginning of a mad evening, with many a madman’s poems. “Fearsome Beast” went like this :

“I was walking through a forest
And now, I tell you very honest
I recall to be headed to east
When I saw a fearsome beast.

It had horns and teeth so wide
So I tried and tried to hide
But it saw me and it came
With its eyes full of red flame.

It began to walk around me
And the terror I felt then
I can hardly tell to thee
In these simple words of men.

I was trying to run
The beast could had killed me
But he first had some fun.

Only God could had saved me
But so busy was he
Yet, I am not dying
I am simply lying.”

Then came I, with my poem “Torture”, which I admit was inspired from Stefan’s “Scars”, which I had heard before this meeting as well. Anyway, “Torture” goes like this :

“He stood defiant till the end
Until his mouth I filled with sand.
And then, while blood was flowing from his ears
I could feel he had some fears.
He feared he’d die; die by my hand
But no, I didn’t kill him with my arm
I mean, it would had done too little harm
And I would had been scolded by Vand.

I took a little dagger from a shelf
And to see if it was sharp, I tried it on myself
And sharp it was; it could had killed a calf
So I took the dagger and I cut my prisonier’s tongue in half.
Yes, I know I’m quite really mean
But even worser and evil I could had been.
I was quite merciful, though
In his torso, I made a single hole !

I said that he had a hole
Well, it was to let the blood flow !
And while he was bleeding to death
I though of a good diet (I was fat).
“Hey, die already !” I said
But he just wouldn’t die yet.
And maybe if I took out his eyes
He’d stop his annoying cries !

Torture is truly an art
For art is that which you do from your heart
And what you do from your heart is that which gives joy
I truly can’t wait to eat his brain; oh boy ! oh boy !
Why call me a cannibal if I just eat food ?
It’s affordable, and plus : it’s good !
And not even hunting is more fun and thrilling
Than the fun you get when it’s people you’re killing !

Hey, why are you so hasty ?
I think that with a fine wine you’d be quite tasty !
Yum ! Yum ! You look so delicious !
I haven’t seen skin so soft…since I ate Lucius.
Oh, please ! Oh, please ! Just a tiny little bite !
It might leave a mark, in the form of a kite
But it’s better, let me say, that to torture you and ask
Where should I put your heart : in a bottle or a flask ?”

As I finished the poem, the other poets started whistling and applauding. However, that was exactly what they had done after the other poets had finished their poems, anyway.

The remaining poets recited their poems, which were not good or important enough to remember, and then we started all over again (We had each come with several poems). The guy who said “Pointless” said another pointless poem. Then came Stefan’s turn, who recited a poem which was quite weird and very bad. It’s name was “Memory” and it went like this :

“I have many memories since I was young.
Very well I remember, walking into dung.
Or sleeping very pretty until I awoke.
Guess what happened ? I was raped by a pope !

I never knew what meaning my whole life had.
It is only filled with memories sad.
Memories not memories, but nightmares that were true.
For example : I recall sniffing a smelly shoe !

I am crazy but I also think I’m sane.
Too bad I don’t remember my very own name.
Sometimes I also ask myself for a moment or an hour
When was the last time I ever had a shower ?

I know I smell entierly like dung;
But still, there are many songs I’ve sung !
I don’t know what made me say that.
Simply and fully, I found no other rhyme
So what, is that a crime ?
You see I’m very skinny ! Don’t ever think I’m fat !”

After this one, the poets started reciting their more vulgar poems. Norman Clarkshun recited his poem “Honey”, which was probably worser than Anonymous’s “Pointless” !
It was the worst verse I had heard since I was 10 and I seemed to have unluckily remembered it ! Anyway, it went like this :

“Honey from bees
Is like bird dung from trees.
I don’t like honey
It tastes too funny.

Do you like that s**t ?
Do you imagine to bears that’s a treat ?
When I see honey I puke.
How much I’d love to kill the bees’ duke.

I have bad memories
And all relate to honey !
I sailed around the seven seas
But never when t’was sunny !

Well, yes ! I am a little crazy !
But honey…darn my mind is hazy !
Please destroy the bee nest
And please destroy it fast !”

I never thought Norman Clarkshun capable of producing such crap, but now I thought him capable of producing things even worser. When he finished reading “Honey”, there were no applauses.

I came next. This time, I recited “Things in the Darkness”, which is not very good, however. It goes like this :

“There are things which I belive
Nobody can see and live.
There are things there, in the darkness
That will mar your weapon’s sharpness.

Monsters in the shadows lurk
He who comes there they will burke.
He who’s brave and has no fears
If he’ll travel there with peers
There, where crossroads come and meet
If they travel on their feet
They will come to death beneath
Death in places with no heat
Death in dungeons dark and frightening
Where the only sound is that of lightning.

There, in dungeons horrible
Lie things very terrible
Things that have no soul
Things alike the deadly ghoul.

In the depths of caverns under
Even the brave knights they sunder;
They, the most deadly of things
That a human mind might render
Things that fully lack our feelings
Oh, they kill you very tender
Like a lion kills its prey
With no remorse to obey
With no mercy, no dismay
Thinking later that he’ll lay
In the evening of the day
Full and happy that it’s May.”

I think you’ve had enough poems for one day, eh ? I’ll continue another time, then. Farewell !

That was too much for him. He just couldn’t stand it anymore. His parents never paid him any attention and they certianly did not love him. They only loved his sister. However, things had not always been this way.

Tommy was 8 years old when this all happened. His parents always neglected him and always took care of Kate’s every need. Kate was Tommy’s younger sister, only 5 years old. At first, he only mocked and taunted her. That, however, only made his parents treat him even worser and made him hate his sister even more. Then, Tommy started giving her funny nicknames. This made him recieve his punishment from his parents : sleeping in the wardrobe for one week. Yes, his parents were a little crazy, and that’s exactly what Tommy inherited from them…

One day, in winter, Tommy went outside with his little sister. Their parents were too busy and they couldn’t keep an eye on the children. Tommy knew that. He made a very, very big snowball. Meanwhile, his sister was playing with some other girls. After making the snowball, Tommy went to his sister. His sister said : “Tommy, mommy said you shouldn’t play with snowballs.” “Who said I’m playing ? This is serious.” Tommy replied and, as he said that, he threw the snowball at his sister’s head. He hit her so hard that she fell and then started crying. Their parents heard Kate’s cries and rushed outside. When they saw that Kate was lying in the snow, they asked no questions; they immediatly realized Tommy was guilty for this. As I said before, his parents, like Tommy, were crazy. Tommy’s father went to him, pushed him and filled his mouth with snow. “Do you like this, bastard ?” Tommy’s father said to his son, as the other girls, which Kate had played with, were watching horrified. This did not make Tommy hate his parents, however. He thought they were acting like this because of his sister. SHE was guilty for THIS ! She had to leave; to vanish. Only thus would Tommy’s parents love Tommy again. Or, at least, that’s what Tommy thought. The single problem was that Tommy didn’t know how to make her simply vanish. He would soon learn that there was no way to do that. Tommy’s parents did not even allow Tommy to get close to Kate anymore. They would treat him like he was crazy. And God knows, he WAS crazy.

One time, in spring, Tommy woke up in the middle of the night. He had woken up because of a nightmare he have had. In that nightmare, his parents had beaten him because he had let a cockroach approach his sister… That nightmare really set young Tommy’s mind. He went to his sister’s room while she was sleeping and punched her so hard, that she lost several teeth. His sister immediatly started crying. Tommy hit her and hit her and hit her again. His parents, however, stopped him and beat the hell out of him. At school, Tommy looked terrible.

A few months later, one evening, Tommy was watching TV. He had seen a horror movie, in which a man had killed another man using a knife. He, as well, took a knife. His little sister was going to sleep right then. She would sleep no longer than a few minutes… Tommy went there with the knife in his hand. It was a kitchen knife, but it was sharp. Very sharp. He went to his sister’s room. She was sleeping. Tommy did not wait any longer. He stabbed her once. He stabbed her twice. Thrice. He stabbed her so many times that the walls became red with her blood. Tommy went to bed, pretending nothing ever happened. He thought all was going to change now. He thought his parents would love him now.

The next morning, Tommy’s mother went to Kate’s bedroom… What happened then is not important. What IS important is that Tommy was sent to an asylum. How all these influenced the media was very interesting. Of course, what Tommy did was on every newspaper’s first page. But, in the end, who was to blame ? The TV that Tommy watched ? Or how about the TV station where the horror movie was on ?

Tommy’s parents said just this : “We will not let him come back home. We will not allow him that. He is not our son. Our son is dead.”

No one loves me. No one cares. I’m all alone. I’m invisible no one sees me. I’m not here. I’m sick of feeling lonely. I’m sick of being afraid. No one can help me now. I’m too afraid to ask for help. No one sees my pain. It’s all hidden under my sleeves. I can’t show my face here any more. I’m ashamed. My arms are scarred and very ugly. It’s the only thing that makes me feel better. Lately I’ve been feeling down. Nothings going my way. Nothing ever has. I’m so lonely. I’m so unhappy. I can’t deal with the pain anymore.

Its days like these I wonder why I am still alive. It’s days like these I wonder why I just don’t die. Suicidal dreams running through my brain. Its days like these that cause me pain. It’s days like these that make me cry. Its days like these I want to die. Its days like these that break my heart. The blade is sharper than a dart. I promised him I wouldn’t do this. We sealed the promise with a kiss. It’s days like these that make me think. It’s days like these that make my heart sink. Suicidal thoughts and dreams that make me feel good. Even though it’s not something that should. Crazy girl, it’s not that bad you’re just very very sad. What do you know? I want to scream. You don’t have a suicidal dream. Its days like theses that make me sick. It’s days like theses that make me feel like shit. Sick to my stomach from all this pain. Sure, I guess I’m insane. Sitting lonely by myself this can’t be good for my health. Too much pain I just can’t take it. So much pain I can’t even fake it. Wrist is itchy, heart is broken, stomach is sick, and body is hurting. Crazy suicidal dreams. It’s days like these that make me scream.

I awoke. I did not even know, however, if I had slept. If I had ever slept… Sincerely, I did not care about this world any longer. I had started to isolate myself from it and had become a total hermit, a recluse. I even stopped to consider myself human. Why ? Because, to me, being human became degrading.

I had cared about my life one day. However, I had lost the thing that kept me human. That kept me alive.

I awoke. Or did I ? I think so, altough I wished I didn’t. I wished I wouldn’t. I wished I would never wake up again, in my cold bed, in my dim lit room, to look around and see…nothing. Nothing except death, suffering and pain everywhere. Nothing good and beautiful. This world was drained of its innocence, and that was long time ago.

A few years ago, I could still see beauty in this world. Now, however, as a relative of mine put it, I now “cannot see anything good in life or anything bad in death”. Often did I consider suicide, but every time I stopped. I don’t really know why. Maybe because, once in a while, I would dream of her. In my dreams, I could see her as clearly as in life : beautiful as a rose and fragile as a dandellion, with long, dark hair and blue eyes. Who is “she” did you ask ? She was a person who was born in the wrong place, the place being this foul and cruel world. She was the only person I could ever, truly, possibly love.

God, did I love her ! And now, she is gone. It is too painful to remind myself of her. It is simply…too hard. It so hard because when I think of her, I think of the way I lost her. However, I guess her memory is the only thing I still have. And I cherish that memory.

I cannot stop myself of thinking about the way it happened. It was, in my opinion, the most horrible death for a being as sweet as her. The only pure and innocent person I knew was her, and she died from the “impurities” that I sought to protect myself from, and her as well. And it all happened right in front of me. I could not do anything.

No. I cannot bear thinking of her death any longer…I do not think I have the power…I am weak…

To me, humanity is degrading. I am human, but it is not from my will that I am thus, nor is it from my will that I live in this world. If God truly exists, I think He made us, humans, in a hurry. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have so many defects and faults. In His place, I would have tried to make this world a better one. A more PERFECT one. Still, “perfect” is a word I rarely use because it’s meaning is too good to be true. “Perfect” never applies to anything. I learned that the hard way.

Fine. I will tell you how she died. But I will say only this once.

I went out with her to a restaurant. After I ordered, we ate. After we ate, I paid the bill. Then, I went to the bathroom and told my love to wait for me outside the restaurant. Long time I blamed myself for this, considering it all my fault. I exited the restaurant. She was gone. She was missing. At first, I started looking for her. I did not find her. I thought she was still in the restaurant, so I checked there as well. She was not there, either. “Where could she be ?” I asked myself. I started asking people if they saw a dark-haired blue-eyed woman. Their answer was no other than : “No.” I could not understand what had happened to her. And then, I thought that maybe…

You know what I thought. And what I thought was what actually happened, for on the other side of the street I saw her. And she was not alone, but with a man dressed in a dark jacket, wearing sunglasses. He was obviously forcing her to follow him, so I tried to cross the street to the other side. However, I was hit by a car. I was hurt, but I did not care for my pain as much as I cared to save my beloved.

I took me about 2 minutes to recover. “Are you ok ?” the driver asked me. I did not give an answer to his question, and continued my quest to rescue my love. As I got to the other side of the street, I started walking on a back alley, on which I saw that man go with my fiancee. Yes, she was my fiancee, and we were going to get married soon, had not cruel fate destroyed my hopes and dreams.

As I walked, I heard her screams. I turned and tried to hear where they were coming from. And then, I saw that man. He was raping her. He had torn off her clothes and was raping her, the damn bastard !

There was nobody else near. I knew what I had to do. I rushed towards that imbecile, intent on putting him in his grave. I ran as fast as I could. But I didn’t run fast enough.

He saw me. He took out his gun and at first aimed it at me. My beloved started screaming, however, and the bastard, then, shot her in the head and ran away. He did not shoot me as well, though I wish he had. I wish I died as well. Anyway, since that day, I have not been living anymore. I have been dead. Mentally and spiritually, at least.

The police never caught that imbecile. I dare not insult him worser, for I would have to use a more vulgar vocabulary.

Right now, I am awake. I am breathing. I am living.

You can say that my life, right now, is pointless. That is, as long as I still have a life. That day, my soul was broken. That singular and decisive day. My feelings were shattered like glass when hit with a brick.

She, my one and only love, is dead.

I do not really belive in God, but if he exists, I hope he has taken my beloved into heaven. Do you belive in God ? Do you ? Does he exist ? I will take a risk. I will kill myself. And if he exists, I will join my dearest in heaven. If he does not exist, I will be lost into oblivion.

I have taken a knife in my right hand. But what if God does not exist ? Is it worth killing myself ? If I die and God does not exist, I will be lost into oblivion. The question is : is oblivion better than my present life ? I think so.

If I kill myself, I win. If God exists, I go to heaven. If he doesn’t, I simply die and become dust. Either outcome, it is better than the life I’m leading now, right ?

In that case, dear Reader, farewell. I have existed in this world briefly and hope that, by reading this, you will try to avoid what happened to me. This is the least I can do : make sure that what happened to me doesn’t happen to anyone else. In that case, I have accomplished my objective. Goodbye. I have now mustered the courage to finnaly kill myself. And, once again, goodbye !

(The above narrative is completely fictional and should not be taken seriously. If you liked this, you can be sure to hear from me again.)

do you know what im going through?
i would of given up anything for you.
fucker, now we are done
i hate you
i hate me
i hate the world
so im gonna die
i know you wont cry
fuck you
if i could kill you i would
instead ill take my own breath
flush my life down the drain
erase all the thoughts of me from your brain
ill haunt your ass forever
make you go insane
i want to see you cry
to see you cause blood to pour
to see you die
your body lying lifeless on the floor
ill cry then just like now
these tears of pain
but those will be of joy

(Horror)
He holds onto the knife with warm blood gradually dripping down. He walks out of the bedroom; his face pallid as paper and his eyes stared straight ahead like they almost bite, as a ravenous beast lusting for more flesh and blood. His huge, muddy shoes while walking down the old staircase make loud noises that possibly can wake up the dead. He laughs with no regret, under the ghostly moon. His colorless teeth look dreadfully disgusting. Up until now his life was a fairytale, artificially designed for him. All those lonely dark nights he hides himself into the corners of his empty bedroom, with no one to turn to. All he does is think and think.

The man gazes from left to right at the empty street. There is an eerie silence. Dry and dead leaves has blocked the sideways, old newspapers lying there peacefully, garbage sits everywhere. He is disappointed, all that he has done, no one to watch. He needed audiences to watch him kill and shred every piece of her innocent, white body. Unexpectedly as soon as he thought of her, images of her occurs. He tries shaking them off by hitting himself on the head over and over again. It did not help, her beautiful smiles, her jokes, her amazing body, and her red tasty lips. There is no way he can stop this insanity. He looks at the knife, which he used to cut her. He drops it on the ground. He screams loudly with pain and sorrow. He starts sprinting, as fast as he can.

Finally, the man stops and takes a breath. He gasps deeply. Then he wants to reach for his pills in his pocket to calm himself down, but instead he finds her red fingernails. They remained bloody and still attached with some of her white skin. He turns furious and screams loudly into the sky. As his hands trembles, her fingernails drop down onto the dirty ground. His tears burst out of his red-veined eyes, he can’t stop crying. With agony sharp as a knife stabbing and twisting in his heart, he fell down on his knees. With his hands going through his hair, he pulls it roughly.

His mouth is whispering words trying to pray to God for forgiveness, but it was too late. His tears rushes down his fingers, drops soundlessly on the muddy ground. The gray clouds soon block the moon. The world seems darker all of a sudden. He stands up starts toddling; slowly he toddles himself to a pond. The water seems sallow, with insects flying aimlessly on top. He gazes at his reflections in the water, but instead of seeing himself he saw a complete stranger. He is shocked; he turns around, trying to figure out why…despite the fact that he is alone. Suddenly he is conscious of someone around.

The man quickly looks around. He isn’t sure of anything. Even though he is afraid, inside of his mind that girl keeps on appearing. Far away he can hear owls laughing, insects creaking, the sound of him breathing deeply. At that instant he hears footsteps, in the dark bushes. Soon the sound surrounds him, the sounds of thousands of poisonous snakes crawling in and out. He remains on the ground; eyes wide open, looking around with fear. Suddenly a light from a bush shines on him.

Freeze police!

(darkness)
I am the whore you breathe, I am the whore that breeds, I am the whore you want to thread to pieces. I am the whore you’ll eat, you’ll want, you’ll get…
I want to live, I want to love, I want to fuck my way through life. All this emotion sickness, I will feed off. I will feed off your pain, your hate, your lust…
I won’t live forever, I won’t be dead eternally, so let me suck on your palatable veins, just once more. Atrophy of my love, devastated desire to get you on your knees…
I’ll be your lover, I’ll be forever there, forever by your side to bring you down, pound your life, make you blunt.
I can’t see, I can’t breathe, I can’t head anywhere near you.
Show me what you’ve got, show me what there is to know, show me death is all it’s beautiful tints.
I am the whore you want, I am the whore you’ll need, I am the whore you’ll be when I’ll be done with you.
Soul vampire, restless through your darkest thoughts, roaming through the masturbating shadows of your inner desire.
Nothing kills, nothing revives, everything just fades away.
I am the whore, I am the slut, I am the one that will suck you dry.
I am the whore, the one that made you sore, the one that showed you more.
I am the whore you never anticipated, the whore you reanimated.
I am the whore that is not, I am your creation.
I am the whore that never was, as I was never truly here…

So long I’ve waited; for so long my life I hath unwanted.
Life delightful hath been not, and my heart too wounded is so.
A last breath me possessed, but it went -fade- away.
Love I swore to live for. Yet, such I never met.

Full of tears my time was. Thee pain caused, but I still love thou.
Call me fool, call me stupid, for that I am so.
I can hope no mo’e, and my dreams violated remain.
My last hope -rest- is death indeed.

They can cast stones at me. They can put a crown of thorns on my head. They can nail me to a cross. All I ask for is to leave my eyes intact. So I can see her giving her kiss away.

She’ll give away the kiss that never existed on my lips.
She’ll give away the love that my heart never possessed.
She’ll give away the happiness that mine never wast.
She’ll incite more pain in me; that she wilt so.

It’s too late for me to be salvaged. It’s too late for me to realized, and it’s too late for thee to know how much I love you. ’cause I just killed myself.
Blood I hath no left, nor me hath life.

Crazy poet of insanity. Thee were a clown to her. Let her dilute in you inner-pain… Evil one I urge you to please get out of head because now I’m dead, that I am, and always was…

it all seems like a story
like your the boy next door
the one that came to rescue me
when i feel ive hit the floor…
the one that understands me
when i dont know what to say
the one who makes me smile
each and every day

Terminus

Lest the night and what it brought on this eve
I sit engaged in my toil, with ragged sleeve
I wiped the moisture from my weighing brow
My quell in its gest’re wrote with precise haste
As the clock, my enemy drifts time now
My being in candlelight’s supple grace
With determined eyes looked out over the mire
Returning gaze to that, the candlewick’s fire.

my manuscript’s pages absorbed my black bile ink.
as the melench’ly rose up out of the creek.
the mudded trail across the mire fell to the spate.
dripping loud, the rain thrown from the west wind,
attacked my roof with horrid sounds of fate.
my shutters slam, as phantom force spinned.
and the ether grew cold, with humic haze rose.
this once calm night razed to chaos’ echoes .

as my feet found their footing, I would tread
to the window’s view, of that which I dread
from the earth’s cusp a blast of lightning hit
the dead willow, a mirror of my place
crimson glare pierced the night, a silhouette
would lift, it started a stride with wakening pace
I turned from the view, this was my last night
I cried - I have still two chapters to write!

taken up with my pen I sat scribbling
with the hordes of knowledge that was rambling
-o’ for this pulsate in my heart, mom’ntum
rising, sending me dwelling my last hour.
-o’ foul beast, why hath chose this night to come.
please delay. can’t you see me cower
here? staring at my life’s unfinished work.
crying my body bleeds awaiting deaths’ clerk?

dipping my pen with haste into the vial.
no ink left to write, and closer came ancile (fallen)
-o’ for this my blood will now fill the page.
the garnet ink now dotted the parchment
the loss sent me into a silent rage
as the shadow begun its encroachment
screaming vile curses’ as it grew near the door
with fear i watched it enter from the moor.

harvester of dead souls whose time beckons
me now to join him on the vale of stygian’s
his gaseous presence, swayed like serpents slither
the crimson eyes, that stare out so knowing
the murky nebulas was dead black and so bitter
he stood patient with his scythe drawn waiting
-o’ thou beast of the neither world stand still
tread not close, with your cold fingers that kill

on this night I need but one more moment
to finish. And stand there o’ so dormant
for I sow that very evil seed of the tree
that filled mankind with its infernal wisdom.
of this, I scream awaiting what I see
the ever growing fires of Pandemonium
I dip this pen to finish here my life
and await what you bring, my ending strife.

the harvester slow now moved toward me
the scarlet life siphoned out of my body
and the darkness came sending me spinning
as vertigo does. the reaper came over
as I fell to crouching posture, waiting
as the borrowed knowledge would fall to trover
this once great sage, has grown and fell feeble
to nothing but his inner world of evil.

standing in a calm sway the serpents’ hiss
as I sat on the brink of deaths’ foul kiss
-please I beg, as light turns to obscurity
before you collect on my debt and reap
away; my dreams, my thoughts, my blood and misery
that filled my life. please messor make the sweep
a quick departure to my eternal rest
hand me my quell, to clench tight to my chest

for now I am ready for my last chapter
but let this cold nights’ breeze be my captor
with my last canto on this vale be death
I welcome your fingers cold touch to skin
to cough the last of my ruby lifes’ breath
Siting within the labyrinth of my sin
As the transcending colors overwhelm my soul
I left life there like extinguishing coal.

as the nights whispers leaked out of my hovel
Into the warming mornings’ new marvel
The zephyr winds mild with a morning kiss
Brought this mans’ mortal troubles to there rest
My foul remains etched in times abyss
But knowledge was a priceless family’s crest
And of this I script to my very death
But on this morning will be a new breath .

copyright 2002 jonathan ryan alligood

he kissed me first,
harder, quickly
and bit my lips
licked me softly,
chewed my nipples,
and i craved him inside me.
enter me now
i need that sweetness
that pain.
i love your body
need your sex.
there are no boundaries
no limits to seduction.
have to have you
deep inside me
have to have you
glide inside me
oh sweet erection
oh sweet come
i’m wet and ready
oh sweet one.

The bitter wind lightens in the candlelit presence of the dark angel
Her silk black hair brushes against her soft white skin
The candlelight violently flickers, troubled by its soon demise
It goes unnoticed to the angel, falling in love with the moon
But the bitter wind feels it’s pain

He lightens to a soft calming breeze
And the sweet, eerie chimes help soothe

It’s judgement time for this angel
The stars dance in her eyes, enticing her to heaven
The moonshine leads the way, seduction
The beauty of the night sky calls for angel’s breath

Her wings spread and she cries out in pain
The scorched wings and scarred body arise

The candles reach their end and there’s darkness
Clouds take over the moon, leaving the angel blind
She crawls back to her corner, tears of blood stain her face
The bitter wind mocks, reflecting it’s pain onto the innocenct

She is left in this world, alone in a darkened existance
With a sigh the last candle is blown out.