Ghosts

There are some nights when it feels like all the ghosts come out to play. Old wounds open mouths, decayed by time and neglect, and with a ferocious and devastating moan, let loose all the plagues you had once thought conquered. Like a fierce rattling, it buzzes in the back of your mind until you cannot stand it and the bars that caged up those old fears and doubts break loose from their crumbling foundation, leaving you broken and weak amongst the rubble.

That's when it starts. The feeling crawls up from your stomach, one sluggish lurch at a time, until it sticks in your throat, restricting movement, air, speech. A buzzing begins, first it's just an echo, a distant disturbance in the hum of the universe, then it gets louder and louder until a mighty cacophony of all those tapes of disdainful words are playing simultaneously in your head. There's no way to make it, them, stop, of course. One voice fades out, another chimes in, and a few seconds later, the first is back to haunt you again...

Random (sort of) Morning Poem

Speak to me of Suicide

Speak to me of suicide

of dirty lies

and teary eyes

tell me of the world that be

instead of the dream you wish you'd see

Tell me what I need to know

show me that I'm not alone

Don't whisper sweetly over the phone

because reality's not waiting until I'm grown

Tell me about drinks and drugs

of depression veiled with empty hugs

Sing to me of broken souls

love and laughter gone when no one's home

share with me the darker nights

no joy abounds to redeem the light

Paint me a picture of the struggle I see

within and without the grim portrait of me

Draw me a sky overcast with cares

too easily given, though too unprepared

Don't speak only of love and life and laughter

then leave me to deal with the pain thereafter

give me a dose of the destruction I see

then help me get to where I should be

------

I'm sleepy now, so maybe I'll explain this later. Looking at my track record, though, I wouldn't get your hopes up.

Reflections on AWA pt. 1

There are many reasons why one might lose themselves in uncontrolled bodily spasms in the middle of a parking lot. Heart attacks, strokes, being tickled, being tazed, and more. My reason was a cosplay sighting. One figure, wrapped in the Akatsuki cloak I knew too well, strolled lazily away form the pedestrian bridge and towards the mall. It was enough. Nearly an hour and a half of travel, not accounting for the time I'd spent being lost after I overshot both my train and bus stops, had finally brought me to the promised land. I drew nearer and I began to see bit of paradise grow into clusters, paper signs blossom into colorful posters, and plain hallways morph into a grand procession of convention promotions, food tents and anime fans. There are only a few people here at the moment, but the wandering characters are enough to make me skip with joy.

A few moments and four turns later, I find myself facing one of the longest, most exuberantly colorful lines I have ever seen, and I arrived half an hour before registration even opened! Red, blue, yellow and green hair punctuates the string of bodies that winds back and forth through predetermined aisles. So lost am I in admiring the menagerie of weapons, costumes, talking and laughter, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that I am actually here. Then it becomes frightening. I'm in the big leagues now. My limited knowledge of a few obscure manga and anime, and my even more infinitesimal grasp on more mainstream anime is suddenly so apparent I feel it is a wonder they do not all shun me simply because I look like I don't belong. My clothes are frightfully average, simple and plain as jeans and a t-shirt can be. I'm clutching a folder with a schedule, directions, personal notes and the agenda I printed out the night before. My shoulders have hunched slightly because I am waiting for the eviction I feel my ignorance will bring upon me, and I, for the life of me, can't seem to make my jaw move from its state of suspended awe.

I probably would have stood there several more moments had my musings not been interrupted by a tall gentleman with frighteningly regular dirty blonde hair. Mute, I scuffle out of his way and to the end of the line. The people, even in their outlandish garb, seem normal. Well, as normal as one can be given the situation, but they are not aliens. There seems to be a distinct lack of pimple popping nerds with those thick-rimmed glasses only hipsters could find attractive. A healthy mixture of ethnicity makes up this particular crowd and I, reassuringly, am not the only one who was content to wear *regular* clothes. The girl in front of me asks politely for something on the table behind me. I am struck by her bold display of her stomach, and can do nothing but process her costume while I do as she asks. I can feel my brain digging through the little I know, trying to place her white hair and black and white cape. Finally, it hits me. I have no idea who that character is.