Dusty book jackets. Plastic wrappers laid out in disarray. My fingers sinks itself into the matt surfaces. Sandy.
Sometimes, I feel like I am being electrocuted. Calm one moment, absolutely pumped up the next.
The violent hurricane is over. Clouds still hang above, so on the edge of rain. There is no lightning as far as I can tell.
He sits on his tower, overseeing everything and everyone. But everyone is bounded and chained. And everything, everything is irrelevant.
The trivial pursuit of that which isn't even tangible is almost sickening to imagine.
There is no happiness at the absence of despair, only a calm. Ripples and waves, almost too methodical to be natural.
She plays hide and seek among the rubble. What is to say she was not the one who caused the collapse? She is never seen again.
Aches and bruises are the trophies. Embrace them. Love them.
Tear their throats apart. The only way to win is with haste. Mercy is for the weak. Friends only serve to function as your first victims.
If you can't feel the pain of running, would you ever stop? A race without end. Purpose is lost once the games began.
18 January 2012
10 January 2012
Chain
A light so bright, I'm almost blinded every time I look upon it. It doesn't take that much effort to look upwards, though I rarely do.
It's beautiful. In all its grace and wonderment, its light so glorifying I almost feel myself being rid of impurities. A light so gentle and warm I feel hugged and loved by it. Steady it glows above, pouring its care over me.
Its warm embrace, carefully caressing, almost in fear I would break if so much as being breathed upon. Every molecule of my body calms. My racing brain takes pause to appreciate the moment. And for a while, nothing else matters.
How sweet it is, its fingers dancing across my skin, almost as if trying to absorb every particle of my body into itself. Meticulously brushing every fibre of my body, holding it, kissing it.
A meadow far beyond my eyes can see. A light breeze. Everything so composed, so serene. The warm sun lighting everything in a way that is spectacular beyond words. A simple beauty. Grass between my fingers, warm and comfortably coarse. The clouds roll lazily across the sky, blocking out the sun but for a moment.
Lying down to take in the tranquil of it all, my thoughts melt like butter in a preheated oven. Eyes closed, I take in as much of it as I can.
It feels like a balloon within me is being filled far past its breaking point. Overwhelmingly peaceful. Enveloping myself in the moment, I try to breath in the very essence of it all.
I don't want this to end.
The clanking of metal from my shackles echo as I slump back down.
Who the hell am I kidding.
It's beautiful. In all its grace and wonderment, its light so glorifying I almost feel myself being rid of impurities. A light so gentle and warm I feel hugged and loved by it. Steady it glows above, pouring its care over me.
Its warm embrace, carefully caressing, almost in fear I would break if so much as being breathed upon. Every molecule of my body calms. My racing brain takes pause to appreciate the moment. And for a while, nothing else matters.
How sweet it is, its fingers dancing across my skin, almost as if trying to absorb every particle of my body into itself. Meticulously brushing every fibre of my body, holding it, kissing it.
A meadow far beyond my eyes can see. A light breeze. Everything so composed, so serene. The warm sun lighting everything in a way that is spectacular beyond words. A simple beauty. Grass between my fingers, warm and comfortably coarse. The clouds roll lazily across the sky, blocking out the sun but for a moment.
Lying down to take in the tranquil of it all, my thoughts melt like butter in a preheated oven. Eyes closed, I take in as much of it as I can.
It feels like a balloon within me is being filled far past its breaking point. Overwhelmingly peaceful. Enveloping myself in the moment, I try to breath in the very essence of it all.
I don't want this to end.
The clanking of metal from my shackles echo as I slump back down.
Who the hell am I kidding.
09 January 2012
Spaced, Part 1
A box of matches laid conspicuously on a square table. Looking down, the label says 'Wizard'. Wizard matches, heh.
I can't seem to process the idea of walls, or even a ceiling. But there is light from up there somewhere. Hmm..
There wasn't a chair the last I checked. Though, I suppose I didn't check at all did I?
Sitting down, both palms laid flat upon the table. The wood feels good. Comforting almost.
Blood. I come to realize there seems to be a wound in my mouth. The taste of blood is sweet as always.
My throat is dry despite this. I remember nothing. But I can clearly read. Where the hell am I? Damn.
The feeling of the chair and table stays ever so consciously in my head. I have since then realized I have absolutely no clothing on. Interesting.
More interestingly, my body seems not to be sweating at all. I can't seem to perceive of the temperature as well, though clearly it seems to be cool enough.
'Wizard'. The familiarity of it all irks me. There is exactly one match inside. I didn't need to check. I knew this.
I remove the one match from its box and light it with a single strike. Almost immediately, I instinctively dropped it.
The flames lick the table, burning it slightly. The touch of what's left is warm, rugged and somehow, bitter.
My head is in pain. Metaphorical knots tied inside, too tight to be undone, that's how the pain is like.
Where am I? What are these things? This "room" I'm in doesn't seem to have any limits upwards or side.
The light, wherever it's from, is fading.
I can't seem to process the idea of walls, or even a ceiling. But there is light from up there somewhere. Hmm..
There wasn't a chair the last I checked. Though, I suppose I didn't check at all did I?
Sitting down, both palms laid flat upon the table. The wood feels good. Comforting almost.
Blood. I come to realize there seems to be a wound in my mouth. The taste of blood is sweet as always.
My throat is dry despite this. I remember nothing. But I can clearly read. Where the hell am I? Damn.
The feeling of the chair and table stays ever so consciously in my head. I have since then realized I have absolutely no clothing on. Interesting.
More interestingly, my body seems not to be sweating at all. I can't seem to perceive of the temperature as well, though clearly it seems to be cool enough.
'Wizard'. The familiarity of it all irks me. There is exactly one match inside. I didn't need to check. I knew this.
I remove the one match from its box and light it with a single strike. Almost immediately, I instinctively dropped it.
The flames lick the table, burning it slightly. The touch of what's left is warm, rugged and somehow, bitter.
My head is in pain. Metaphorical knots tied inside, too tight to be undone, that's how the pain is like.
Where am I? What are these things? This "room" I'm in doesn't seem to have any limits upwards or side.
The light, wherever it's from, is fading.
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