feeling the blues.

decided to try a new method of recording, came out rather well despite the shitty video quality.

Sleep.

Every tick of the clock echoes around me, filling my head. Tick..tick..tick.. pounding into me as if to remind me time is inescapable. Its day 3 now, I’m starting to see things. Ghastly hands stretch out in the corner of my vision to pull me under, to take me with them. Should i go with them? Anything must be better than here, at this moment. My head screaming for the loss of consciousness, my body aching for rest. Sitting alone by a dim street lamp waiting for a bus i know will never come, watching cars drive past me in the night, they are right in front of me, but seem surreal as if they were in a movie. For a moment, at least, i wonder if i am dreaming this. If i am, how much of this has been a dream? All of it? When did it start? Did my body finally give out? Tick..tick..tick.. i do not dare close my eyes, for falling asleep in this place would surely kill me. The sun’s not long been down, so the night creatures will be out soon. Primal, animalistic, they prey on the weak, offering gifts of poison in return for livelihood. There victims can be seen, oh, you won’t realize it, but they are right in front of you. Lying in the streets, stealing your cars, looking after your children. There urges are no longer their own, driven instead by the constant nagging need to feed, to have their poison. Tick..tick..tick.. I am living in a state of limbo, i can’t remember what just happened and i feel as though the universe has stopped. I stagger up, off my damp seat, and set off in the direction that looks most familiar, i let my feet do the walking, as i can’t remember the way home. Even if i do remember the hour of walking by the time i get home, it will be faster than the bus. I Step onto the road unsurely, each step an effort. Suddenly i become vaguely aware of lights, my reactions are slow and sluggish as i turn my head to see. By this time it is too late, my bus did come, after all. As it hurtles through me i feel a disconnect, and then nothing. I welcome it. Sleep. Sleep at last. My consciousness seeps from this world as so too does a pool of my own blood seep from my body. I am faintly aware of a noise.. Tick..tick..tick..

paranoya

Am i crazy? No, the voices are there, they aren’t in my head. Distant echo’s of serpentine blades piercing the flesh of my back, wielded by those most trusted. Those held in such high regard, to be thought infallible, but even the mythical Lucifer was once an angel. Words hurt most when said surreptitiously. So, Judas, hurt me, break me, rob me. I will stand here and look into your eyes of betrayal without a word. Not a single one. For any word that i should utter would only serve to massage the prostate of your ego, I pity you. Unable to value trust placed upon you by another, unable to conduct yourself honorably, rather acting in a manor befitting a scorned child.

the world slips from the tips of desperate fingers.

What happened to the carefree days? With school and friends and life so simple? With the birth of every new sun it seems something else is taken from me. Friends, loved ones, family, innocence grated away like the limestone cliff faces ravished by sea and time. As life spins and twirls around me like a smoke haze. I sit in the middle of it not exactly knowing or caring to pay attention to the things that may someday not be there. Its funny how that works. Looking forward to tomorrow and regretting yesterday too much to realise the here and now. The sad truth is that one day we will all die, to an extent we can control where and how but that day is still coming, that freight train is steaming towards us with no sense of slowing. So why then are we all so rushed to get to that place or away from this one? When the ever changing ever shifting concept of time known as the “present” is all we have and like grains of sand slipping through our fingers one grain at a time, it too will soon be no more.

The Toyshop

The fog seems to seep in from every crack and pour, the smell of dusty old wood lingers in the air. The silence is pierced only by the sound of an old man working feverishly. He is the toy maker, his entire life has been devoted to making the beautiful little dolly for Susan or the best red train set for Tommy. His toy’s are renowned for their beauty, there symmetry and perfection as if made by machine, but there’s something more, though, something warmer than anything of steal could ever create. He is old now, his eyes are poor and his hands shake, but his toys still are perfect. On this particular night he is making a set, a little doll of a girl and a boy holding hands. “huh!” he proclaims as he adds the finishing touches to them both, for her, light blond hair and deep blue eyes, and for him jet black for both, with a well versed stroke of his hand he paints a pretty smile on the girl, a smile that could melt the hearts of any who see her. But as he goes to do the same for him, he realises this will be the last toy he ever makes as pain suddenly grips his chest. He slumps forward causing the line for the boy’s smile to arch downwards on one side. The old man’s years finally caught up to him as he passed away that night. Time passes and once the man’s funeral has come to pass his toys are sold off, as he has no family. But because of the boys broken smile nobody wants to buy the set. So there they sit in the toyshop on a shelf holding hands staring into nothing. The girl’s radiant smile beaming at all. She seems not to notice the boy’s asymmetric happiness, as she cannot see where his smile falters.

And So It Begins.

And so the night stills, the crimson still runs slowly across the black tiled floor, it’s time to go, it’s time to change. A new name, a new scene. The only evidence of this deed being in my own mind. A fortress in which no one may ever see. Stood in front of a mirror, broken, to match my soul, to match what you did to my heart. It’s time to begin again. To pick up the pieces of shattered glass and dreams smudged with tears and begin to rebuild again. Maybe a new outlet is what i need, a silent place to fill with screams so that they may echo back unto me so that at least one person may hear them.