Give in

Give in to the darkness
Succumb

The doubts and fears
Those nagging questions
The nightmares
Surrender to them
Give in to the darkness

Why fight?
You'll lose
Why struggle?
You'll fail
Give in to the darkness

Curl into a ball
Don't push it away
Let it take over
Let it win
Give in to the darkness

Lose yourself
Forget the world
Broken and defeated
Don't hold on so tight
Give in to the darkness

It's cold
It's scary
But it's easier than failing
Falling
Give in to the darkness

Let go
Disappear
Alone
And powerless
Give in to the darkness

Him

This is a different version of something I wrote a few years back. I tried reworking around the same basic idea to see if I could do something new with it. That was called "Her". You can read it here


I close my eyes
And I find him

Beautiful
Perfect.
Mine.

At least he was
For a little while.

The memories might have faded
The colours not as bright
But even when he left
His pictures stayed

I grew to love him
And I believed,
And hoped.

I poured my words into him
Wrote him poems of longing and love
With my stubby inadequate fingers
I wrote him my thoughts.

But he left,
When he had promised to stay.

And all I have now
Are his pictures.
His smile, his eyes
Etched into my brain.

Pictures where once was laughter
Dust, where once were sandcastles

I created him
After he left
I created us.
From the crumpled sheets and the books
From his scent on my pillows
From the strands of hair on the floor

I kept his pictures and created more.

I created him.

And he...
He destroyed me.

Our life plays out in a series of patterns. They repeat over and over again, invisible but always present. These insidious patterns govern everything from the rhythm of our breath to the way our bodies function.

You might try to look for these patterns and may even succeed in identifying them. But don't kid yourself into believing you can change them.

You try to break out of the pattern, but again, that little rebellion also becomes a part of it. You decide not to slip up again, vow to change, to not let those actions govern your life. But you fool yourself, every time you even think you have succeeded.

You will fall off the wagon, do everything that is bad for you, will continue making excuses for the people around you, will continue putting yourself in the line of fire, and will continue feeling like crap at the end of the day.

Good day, losers.

Lend me your eyes. For you see me in ways I can never see myself. You see potential I don't even think exists. Believe me capable of things I know I cannot do. You think me beautiful, tell me I am pretty.

But when I look into a mirror all I see are my faults. The scars and blemishes. The bruises and bumps and scratches, the scabs and the peeling skin. All I see is imperfection, ugliness, healed over wounds fixed with tape and glue. Missing puzzle pieces.

Lend me your eyes, and maybe then I will see myself the way you see me.

I bite back the words I truly want to say. Chew them down, swallow them, like bittersweet medicines. Bury them under layers and layers of doubts, fears, insecurities, lies; six feet under, hoping they'll die buried alive. But they return, every night, when the sun sets and the stars come out. The moon summons them and they rise, looking for release.

Why though?

Because I'm waiting for the perfect time? Or the right setting? Or maybe it's too early? I haven't analysed the lines enough, maybe. Or haven't put the feelings behind the words through the rough choppy waters of the logical thought process. Haven't philosophised or complicated or dramatised or rationalised them enough.

Or maybe smart and logical as I think I am, maybe all I truly am is insecure and afraid. Irrational and foolish. Too careful? Too careless? Confused. And stupid.

Wanderlust

A constant desire to be somewhere else, do something else. To be someone else.
A life different from the one you are living. People different from the ones you know.
Places which are unknown. Food which is exotic.
A need to disappear, in the hope you can find yourself.
You know you are looking for something, but you have no idea what.
And your feet never stay still and you are perpetually restless.
And ideas swirl in your head and you can't hold on to any one of them long enough to put it down.
You want to experience more, feel more, make mistakes and pretend to learn from them.
Calm doesn't come, sleep is full of dreams and nightmares.
So much to do, so little time.

It's so easy to slip back into old habits. So very easy. To return to exactly what you wanted to run away from.

Habits are comfortable, which us why they're so difficult to get rid of. But even the uncomfortable ones which brought you pain and sorrow and discomfort, even those which you know are bad for you, those are difficult to leave behind too.

You run away from them, and you decide you want happiness elsewhere, but it doesn't last long.

Because some habits seep into your blood. And no matter how far you run, how much you try, those will never go away. And you will slip up, fall off the wagon. And hate yourself for it. Powerless against it.

Because some habits are here to stay. Especially the ones that do you no good.