Disemboweled, lying in the corner of a street at the edge of town. A place where the accumulation of cigarette smoke is all you know. And it’s the growth of self deprecating thoughts that invade what sanity lingered in the deepest depths of your mind, the parts stitched in truth now corroding away. And it is in every molecule of your being that you can feel the pain, embedded into skin once smooth as silk.
And you are no longer sorry. And you are no longer empty. That was the beginning, emptiness. Now you seem to be filled, brimming with anxiety. Your flesh inflating with numbness as you start to overflow with resentment towards your self. So much so that it’s leaving scars on your arms in the form of needle marks. Substance living in your veins building a home inside your heart, let the addiction begin. Narcotics, drug after drug after drug. Then there’s one more, one more before it’s all too much. A mere parasite. A disease you willingly inject into yourself. But It helps you forget.
Isn’t that what it’s all about? Trade the memories for the power to press “erase”. Undo the past and dive into now, for a moment that is.-H
I had a dream last night. The world had fallen devoid of empathy, color pigmented smiles turning upside down as the streets filled with brushstrokes of grey with black breaking through the cracks. There was a sense of sadness, some I’ve never felt and some being all too familiar at once. As hearts stopped beating, tears ran like floods down houses in a row, all looking the same with neatly trimmed lawns and blond-haired children on bicycles, I had to watch it disperse away.
So I stood there, in the middle of the chaos with screams erupting from the ground as purple droplets of chemical came like lighting to the canvas that was the Earth, soon to be washed away. Vanishing like it was never there. Then maybe to prove it was, our memories would rise attached to souls cut in half by pain, and loss and heartbreak. All the wrong that had been done with them while their bodies remained intact. They were right when they said they’d died on the inside.-H
I am tripping on emotions, falling into holes carved by experiences. Half the time I live in the questionable shelter of my own mind. The other half is spent staring at a screen, into virtual reality. Nothing is real, I am certain of that. But it feels like it is. Because I resonate with the over analysed words that gracefully fall from the make up perfected mouths of actors, yet they still make me cry.
Because I am searching, searching for the power to become numb. I open up when I hear them talk. I fall headfirst into their stories and I wish that could be me. Not just when it’s Christmas and he tells her he loves her, but when she sits by herself and cries untill she can no more. Because he’s broken her heart and she knew it all along. So did I.
I am not living. I am not witnessing the great things happen, I am not there in flesh when the fireworks start and we come together. But do I really want to be?
I can so easily live vicariously through the fabricated land of tv and I can so easily see myself in them, that I have forgotten what it’s like to actually be alive. And maybe someday when I’m old I’ll hate myself for not “getting out there” or maybe I’ll remember the tears in my eyes when he finally kissed him, maybe I’ll remember the thumping of my heart and the clenching of my fists from that time my favourite character died.
So in short, I enjoy being a socially awkward nerd who never leaves the house. Maybe that’s because every time I have left the house, I’ve wished I hadn’t.-H
I see you, tangled up in a ball on the kitchen floor.
And I’ll stand by, because I’ve been there before.
When your sobs overtake the sounds in your surroundings.
When your body does not feel like it belongs to you.
When you feel like giving away,
The very skin in which you stay.
When your arms tremble
Your skin goes numb,
You thoughts start to scare you.
I’ll hold your hand
I’ll brush the strands of hair out of your eyes,
I’ll hold your chin up,
Using the bottom of my thumb
And I’ll tell you to breathe.
And if that stops working,
I swear I’ll throw my arms around your shoulders,
Untill you can hear my heart beating in my chest.
Because I will go to the ends of the Earth,
And into the universe.
To make you feel,
Mental health day is not a day in which we celebrate, it is a day to bring awareness to those in pain, those who can’t understand their own brain. And it’s each and every one of ours job to help each other when we’re down. Be there for each other and help others when they’re hurting. You might not know it but a simple hug can mean the world at times.-H
I so often find myself in a labyrinth of clearly constructed lies. With white noise taking up my surroundings, it hurts to breath, more so to speak. The inevitability of the pain burning at the strands of knowledge in my brain. As my palms press against the walls of green and white, my toes drown deep in the sand beneath my feet.
I ask myself if I’m even alive, or have I mistaken the beating of my heart to the pounding of drums down the streets as they make me cover my ears. Still it doesn’t stop, as I walk on, feeble steps, bare feet. Skin brushing against the tar on the streets. The sky turns pale holding streams of resemblance to my very own skin. Pale.
And I can now start to feel my chest burn, the fire inside my stomach starting to spread, as my legs finally give away. And the ground splits in half, I brace myself for the fall but it never comes. That thump and the cracking of bones against concrete, the glistening of blood under the summer sun, it never comes.-H
An orchestra of emotions accumulated under the fabric of a single human heart. If I had the choice, I swear I’d stop, stop feeling all at once. An imbalance of forces, an unlikely deal struck with the devil. Because we are so close, close as in skin on skin and we almost, almost start to think in the same mind space, as each other.
But you and me, we come as close at it can get to the mergance of two complex beings as us into one. And it’s like running around in a hamster cage, before we know it I’m back to square A. With my knees up to my chest, my arms around my neck. Because if I had the choice, I swear I’d stop.
I don’t, and I can’t.-H
Two minds, shadows sat far apart.
While our hearts immerse into one another.
Our bodies become fractures of,
As thoughts linger in the air,
And skies paint themselves up,
Blues and whites and greys,
Fascination strikes us deep.
The weight of your love sits heavily upon my diaphragm.
Lungs contract and expand,
The human anatomy, space and time.
Are questions that send me into a whirlwind of chaos.
An ultimate existential crisis,
A conjoined web of thought processes,
Binding and falling into one.
Before my brain is too much of a mess to handle.
And so I lay on the ground,
Wonder who we are and why we are here?
Do you wonder? Do you think? I really hope you don’t. -H
You’re somewhere far away, cornered in the very corner of a room. Stranded against a wall. The paint chipping off as memories start to fade. The drink does what it does when it enters your veins, the inside of your brain. Rotting away setting fire to what we build. Our sand castle falling to the ground in one swift motion as your hands grip her hips. Moving, from side to side. Moving, everything’s moving too fast, how are you holding on? Or did you let go, was that long ago?
Because you were the epitome of beauty, the definition of catastrophe. An unexpected flow of events that hit me in the head, a tail twisted to its very core. So much so that it looses all meaning, therefore becoming a meaningless verse of fourteen lines on a page. Us. A paragraph, an essay, a form of literature epicaly written. A shame no one dared to read. Not to the ending anyways.
The ending, did we even bother to write one? Or did we just leave it upon fate to decide the crashing of our spaceship, not a landing, never a landing. Because when two forces so strong as us come together, they are bound to burst. To blow up, just drop the bomb already. Heave the heavy matter that lays upon your chest into my bare hands, watch me carry it the way home. And then when I look back, I expect you to do the unexpected.
The space between everything and nothing. That’s where we’re stuck. Because we are the thudding of our hearts, the colors in our eyes, the languages we speak.
We are the seasons and how they change, drifting from one to another. We are everything from dark to light skin from short to knee-length hair. We are the memories we make. We are beauty and trust. We are everything.
But we are also deeply rooted with nothingness to our cores, because we are questions unanswered. We are the emptiness in the air, the sobs we bare. We are nothing, and I mean it. Because we are lost, confused and we are hurting. We are ants in a farm, machines at work. We are not just one but billions dating back into history. We are not immortal, but we die and fade and disappear and we are certainly not remembered, not the way we want ourselves to be.
We are hanging between everything and nothing. I have no idea who I am. I tend to feel more like nothing though. Is that bad?-H
And we will bleed into the city.
Our souls will start to disintegrate.
Under heavy skies,
Clothes dripping wet in the rain.
Your eyes holding storms inside.
Bringing the fantasies we concoct to life.
An exchange of words, not much to say.
Tounges clashing as fingernails are dragged across skin.
A blank canvas is filled with Inc.
Memories painted across walls in black and white.
They show signs of you and I.-H