Life is cruel and sadistic. (blog)

“It’s for the best.”

“It’s only a cat.

“You don’t want him to suffer ”

….

Such are the platitudes intended to make it easier to murder my companion of twelve years. My best and only friend. The most gentle and pure soul I have ever encountered, and quite probably the only reason I’m still alive.

When he’s gone…I can’t begin to imagine..

Now I must hold him in my lap while he is murdered.
MURDERED! despite knowing it will end his suffering and it must be done.

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.
I haven’t done anything else.

Unseen

Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.

fairly self exploratory..

I thought to go exploring,
Deep inside of me,
Hoping I might find the things
That cause such misery.

But what I found was certainly
No stately pleasure dome decreed,
No lands untold, or centre earth,
No, all I found was me.

And so myself and I spoke long,
And although I hoped we might,
We did not get along, but rather
Hated on first sight.

Myself confessed they hated me,
Despised me through and through.
I realised when I looked at me,
I hated myself too.

And so I’ll relate this little story,
Quite the handy alogory.
If spelunking in your mind,
Beware what you might find.

punishment?

Please explain my existence,
Society, and it’s distance,
That only ever amplifies this
Self imposed resistance.
Decorating pillows with tears,
My armor but a quilt,
Alone, confused, helpless,
Masturbation and guilt.
I must have murdered an angel
In a previous life, now I atone,
Endlessly tortured and punished,
My brain is not my own,
Just constant echoes of darkness,
Alone, Alone, Alone.

Back So Soon?

This is the path I chose,
And here I am undone.
A clown without her clothes
In front of everyone.

Liar Liar Liar,
For closer to the fire,
What seemed like shining wings
Are melting waxen things.

‘As fake as a wedding cake’,
The Manson lyric goes.
I’ll be the slice left on the plate
That no-one ever chose.

Talks a lot
But says nothing.
Takes a lot
But never brings.

No more, no more,
I said before.
Yet here I write,
Poetry whore.

Eyes Closed

The cold air stings
Like a slap without sound.
Head thrown back,
I watch storm-clouds gather ’round.

Freezing wind whips over me,
I feel it through my shirt,
The pain it brings is welcoming,
No wounds, but still the hurt.

And I hear the rush
Of the breeze,
And the roar
Of the free-
Way beneath me.

Close my eyes, and I know
I could do it.
Just another one,
I could become,
A statistic.

I could become the delay
The commuters all hate,
Cos I ruined their day..

With my eyes closed.

Nonsense..

Sarah senses subtlties
In the flight of bumblebees,
Passing in the summer breeze
On their way to places she’s
Never seen and never sees,
Beyond the flowering trees.

poorly timed

Tick.
I used to have a dream.
Tock.
I was on the cover of a magazine.
Tick.
Now all I do I scream.
Tock.
Doesn’t that seem..
Tick.
..Wrong?

Miss Mirror

Hello there Miss Mirror,
Don’t I see you crying?
Don’t I watch you dying
Day by day?

Well hey there Miss Mirror,
I cannot be fake with you,
I cannot help hating you
In every way.

I wish you dead Miss Mirror,
I want to smash your face in,
There’s no beauty I see within
You anyway.

“…I want to get off.”

I smile and pretend like I’m ok,
And everyone I know
Views me that way.
But my masks are made from stone and lead,
And I carry them all
Inside of my head.

I know there’s something wrong with me,
But I don’t know what, and
No one can see
The cuts that run across my skin,
Where my soul seeps out,
And the world creeps in.

I don’t know about this thing called life,
Seems like it’s just a metaphor
For suffering and strife.
I’ve tried to see the beauty others see,
But I’m really not so sure
This world is for me.

Shaken, not stirred

A mixed episode consumes me again,
Making me a force you cannot contain.
Hypomanic depression, painfully exquisite,
Takes me to places no one should visit.
There’s nothing you can say.
Just get out of my way.

I’m bitchy and nice,
Both at once, stir it twice.
Bartender! DoubIe!
Of everything in one shot!
I’m feeling hell that the devil ain’t got.
Somehow also like a saint.
Are there some flowers I can paint?
On the wall, or any place?
For a brush, I’ll use your face.
What a masterpiece!
Crazy duality refusing to cease.

Every misery exquisite.
Each sadness an exhibit.
Hypomanically heightened sense
Makes every nuance of depression intense.

Hypomania, depression and pain,
Should never be mixed up the same.

I don’t pretend.
Make it end.
Make it end.

whose party is this?

I run into old friends
Who look shiny and new,
They ask me ‘damn, girl,
What’s the matter with you?’

I say ‘It’s done to me,
It’s not something I do,
“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”

It’s my brain, and
Though I really don’t want to,
I’ll go high, (I don’t wanna),
I’ll go low, (I don’t wanna).

Synaptic strain has me feeling so blue.
I’ll go high, (I don’t want to),
I’ll go low, (I don’t want to).

“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”‘

Mary, Mary..

What’s this?
This
Disembowelled flower?
Bearer of petals no longer.
Seeker of sunlight,
Blind beggar.
Trapped without garden.
Empty without rain.
I wither in darkness,
Unable to grow.

kinda like…

“Imagine you were dying.
Imagine you were afraid and a long way from home in terrible pain.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, you looked up and saw the face of the Devil himself.”

-‘The Doctor’

                 - Doctor Who : Season 06.Episode 13


Small and Alone : introduction

Tonight is a bad night.

Sick with the certainty that the stars are going out, and that my life will never be anything more than broken and empty, I feel small.

Small and alone.

Though somehow I feel even smaller on the inside.

Cliches pour through my mind like so much teenage chatter on a bus, and I want to scream at them to ‘like, shut up, like’.

It’s freezing, freezing, freezing, yet in nothing but a t-shirt I burn as if possessed with a fatal fever, both hot and cold.

In the corner of my eyes, or maybe just the corner of my mind, the laughter of shadows dance and disappear.

Infinitely tired, but I will not sleep.
Exhausted and spent, yet I pace and fidget, twitch and move constantly in restless indignation.

How such a large and empty house can press so closely upon me, to push in upon my mind, yet echo endlessly with unsettling sounds, escapes my understanding.

So strange to wish for nothing but tears, yet neither will I cry.

Every misery, imagined and remembered, plays endlessly on repeat on the iMax of my mental cinema.
A solo screening.
No popcorn.