Half-hearted NaNoWriMo

When she awoke, the apartment had been reduced to a black scar on the building's facade. Light bathed the destroyed scene, a soothing balm in the wake of terror. Her clothes were in tatters, but she hardly notices as all she knew was the shadow of her living nightmare. Her mind, still pulsing with a frenzied adrenaline told her to run. Anywhere. Quickly. And so she did.

Street blended into street until she was forced to take to the alleys, hiding from the blazing cacophony of the world. Her strength seemed to ebb and flow, first pushing her forward towards and unnamed destination, only to suddenly disappear, leaving her clinging weakly to the nearest rusted trash cans. All the while, she continued moving, guided by some internal compass that promised safety.

Eventually the city faded into the protected forest that had been its pride and joy. Her shoes had traded the grate of concrete for the soft crushing of leaves and grass, though she never would have known it. Delirium had long since taken her beyond conscious control, pulling her ever forward guided by instinct alone. Brown, green, purple, red. Streaks of color that barely registered were her only signs that she was not yet dead. And when the desperate spirit that had possessed her finally allowed her body collapse under the weight of her exhaustion, she faded into an iridescent nothingness and dreamed.

Tired...Again

I am...tired. Of life, liberty and everything.

I've felt alone, Abandoned. I've admitted my pain.  I met a man today who told me he was emotionally dead inside. And then, I realized, I was looking into the mirror.

I want to write more, but instead, there is a yearning in my wrists, for the skill of metal and the dance it can do across the thin membrane of my skin, freeing my blood to escape and release the poison that lies within.

Don't Want To Call You

I don't want to call you baby
because I don't love like a child
I'm not going to spoon feed you my story
or clean up your messes
I'm not going to hold you when I'm hurting
and lose sleep over your demands
I don't want to call you baby
because I don't want to love you like a child

I won't call you sweetie
Because sugarcoated nothings will still mean nothing
promises dipped in chocolate will still cause cavities
space between us filled with lies and rot
lollipop lies still make me sick
sucrose saturated statements
soon made profane by the pretense of affections
delicious confections made sour

NaNoWriMo 2014-Day 1

I'm doing it for real this year! The topic? Well, I'm sort of still working on that. Basically, it's about a heroine whose powers lie in the manipulation of basic laws of physics (i.e. Newton's Laws).

_____

Blackness jarred by violent bursts of light. Each one creating larger fissures in the quiet sanctuary. The blackness stretched to cover the gaps that each pulse created until it could no longer bridge the chasm. A loud tearing sound ripped the blackness apart and threw its occupant into an explosion of color. And color, in this world, meant pain.

Desperate to escape the feeling of anger fueled knuckles digging into her body, Akara tried to force her mind to return to that distant place where feeling could not exist, but it could not. Hot tears, broken pleas, saliva and blood mixed in an ancient concoction of misery.

He had lost control again. Yet, in this moment, neither one of them considered his inevitable apology or the fact that he never meant to do the things he did. All they could see if the flare of his rage and the reactive bursts of pain that exploded over her skin.  The overlap of bruises created an artificial tapestry over butterscotch skin, documenting regrets as well as any tattoo.

Akara's brain clung to whatever vestiges of sanity had survived the most recent attack, collecting those pieces for what little protection they could provide. Her breath, ever weakening, told the tale of her pain and, blow after blow, sang as a testament to her sacrifice.

It was not the first beating. Not the worst beating. But Akara swore to herself that it would be the last.


One fist followed another until, as with the first burst of life in an engine, a something burst inside Akara. Power long contained flowed from ancient storehouses, only multiplying in intensity once released from its prison. The being within Akara awoke to defend its temple, roaring defiance at all who would seek to destroy it. The small apartment that had once confined Akara's life to a barely livable space had ceased to exist, consumed in the flames of the unnatural flame that began to consume all that was temporal.

The Other Side of the Finish Line

I did it. I've completed the task set to me. I have run and crawled and jogged and slide my way through the race, and I have crossed the finish line. And on the other side...?

Nothing.

A stark emptiness. Sepia tone scenes empty of the so called support that was promised on the other side. The color has faded, the celebration momentary, and now I find myself alone. I am tired, and there is no rest. I pant in thirst, yet the promised springs of freedom have dried up at my approach. The fruits of my labor, once pledge as a feast to reward my struggle, have shrivel and burned in the harsh sun of this desert.

I did what everyone else wanted, what was supposed to be "best for me," and now, I am abandoned. Tears uncried are now unwanted. Hands once extended to offer assistance now burrow into pockets and close into fists.

I have fought the battle and find myself alone on the battlefield. The sole witness to land scarred with shrapnel and painted with the blood of innocents. And I, the solemn flutist, must play a song of mourning and carry on alone.

All by Myself

In one fell swoop, I am alone again.

We say we are devoted. We call each other friend. We use the "L" word like we're discussing the weather. And yet, surrounded by people who claim to, and may actually care, it is so easy to find yourself alone.

In these instances, it's like I've never gone anywhere. I've not progressed. Like the darkness that once consumed me is nipping at my heels again. I want to tear my skin off. To draw blood and watch it gather around me until I can sink into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness. Yes, even death is beginning to regain it's appeal. One cannot be haunted by failure after death. One cannot be anxious about the future when having one ceases to be an option.

It would be such a relief to be able to just...rest

To my pain tangible.

To bleed out this darkness inside of me.

A Whole New World...

I have waded back into the waters of the academic world, and I have found it to be inviting, thus far. A new school, a new roommate, a new city. I'm doing my best to get out of my own head. I am much happier, much more free than I was only a few months ago. I am trying to maintain good habits. To make connections with others and better myself. Even so, I know I have not yet rid myself of my demons. I have learned to quiet them. To avoid disturbing their slumber. But that weakness that led me to fall the first time is still very much present. I'm not sure what to do about that.

And I find that, though I am in a healthier place, I am suddenly stuck with a desperation to connect with others. Suddenly I find myself leaping into any possible relationship I can conjure with a guy. My friends say I "just want to be loved," but I don't want to want that. It breeds weakness and dependence. It means I sacrifice what is genuine in me in a pitiful attempt to draw and keep the attention of another human being.

It's a sinister, recurring loop. I don't want to be interested in finding a partner, or someone to love, because I hate who I become. Caring about someone changes me. It makes me pitiful, vulnerable and stupid. Take, for example, my current person of interest. He lives in a different state, a different city, and basically ignores me. I'd be better off just moving on and ending all contact. But I saw something in him...

That's the thing. I always see something in the other person. I see the potential for greatness and I cling to that.

"We're not that close"

I've heard that so many times, it can't even make me sick anymore. 

I'm never close enough.

I don't know why I'm stupid enough to keep trying. To keep believing that "maybe this time" that line won't be drawn. I guess I'm figuring it out now. The line doesn't have to be drawn. It's a permanent fixture. Like a creature on display, I stare out at the souls that pass me by. 

Sometimes they simply glance in my direction. Sometimes they don't look at all. On occasion, they approach, put their hand up to the glass and gaze at me on the other side. And when I touch the other side, for an instant, we are connected. We share our amazement at that contact, a bridging of differences that makes us one...but only for a short while. I can only hold their interest for so long before they move on. Pulled by time, fate, friends...things more important. Things on their side of the glass. Sure, I stand as a witness to the lives of hundreds. I play shape-shifter. Turning into whatever my audience needs me to be. I am counselor, benefactor, magician, friend, but I'm never close enough. 

What is the secret, then? When do I qualify for the magic of being "that close"? Are we all just floating in some sort of relational ether that separates of from one another eternally, or is it as it seems, that I am the one that must be confined. For the good of humanity, I suppose, I must not be allowed to get "that close."

Why the heck does it matter, then? Who cares if I believe the worst of people? I've tried believing the best. Giving my all. I've tried kindness, the benefit of the doubt, being reliable, being honest, being open, being everything. And when I utter a wayward comment that reveals how much it hurts to be so alone...

"People aren't really that bad."

"You just have to believe in them."

"There will be someone out there for you to connect with."

This heart of mine can only bleed so much. 

Screw You

Screw you
Kiss me
I'm trying to forget you
but the thought of you just won't leave me
I'm better alone, please believe
I'm better alone, please believe
though my heart just won't let me leave

The silence burns
the distance stings
ghost of rejection just keep haunting me
I'm better than this
no need to just wait around
I've got my life to live
but it'd all stop if you'd just turn around

your voice is more than just a melody
it's the artful plucking of my heart strings
your face, it hides
in every shadow of my mind
so all I think
all I think
so that all I think
is that I wish you'd be mine

Screw you
Kiss me
I'm trying to forget you
but the thought of you just won't leave me
I'm better alone, please believe
I'm better alone, please believe
though my heart just won't let me leave