FA+
Shop
The Flames of Black
Posted 9 years agoThe Flame of darkness consume me as I try to fight back the madness inside of me.
My sanity breaks way and I laugh at the pain and the sorrow of the flames.
I Begin to cry, but I don’t cry tears of sadness but tears of joy as I know that my pain and sorrow's will soon fade away.
As I close my eyes to await my fate, I hear a voice that sounds so faint, as I open my eyes and I see a bright light, I push towards it with all my might.
I start to shiver out of fright because what if it's the madness playing tricks on me or could this be the light to set me free.
As I push closer to the light I can hear the voices calling my name their voices sound so sweet I almost begin to weep, but I don't cry another tear as I have no more fear, for I know now this light is true as I finally see you.
My friends. My family. The love of my life.
I put my hand out to reach for you, yelling your name as I begin to be pulled back onto the darkness.
I yell for you louder and louder closing my eyes fearing that I have lost the fight, then I feel your touch.
I open my eye's to see you grabbing hold of my hand tight never letting go.
I smile with happiness as you pull me with all your might out of the darkness and into the light.
You have freed me and now I’m back. Out of the flames, the flames of black
My sanity breaks way and I laugh at the pain and the sorrow of the flames.
I Begin to cry, but I don’t cry tears of sadness but tears of joy as I know that my pain and sorrow's will soon fade away.
As I close my eyes to await my fate, I hear a voice that sounds so faint, as I open my eyes and I see a bright light, I push towards it with all my might.
I start to shiver out of fright because what if it's the madness playing tricks on me or could this be the light to set me free.
As I push closer to the light I can hear the voices calling my name their voices sound so sweet I almost begin to weep, but I don't cry another tear as I have no more fear, for I know now this light is true as I finally see you.
My friends. My family. The love of my life.
I put my hand out to reach for you, yelling your name as I begin to be pulled back onto the darkness.
I yell for you louder and louder closing my eyes fearing that I have lost the fight, then I feel your touch.
I open my eye's to see you grabbing hold of my hand tight never letting go.
I smile with happiness as you pull me with all your might out of the darkness and into the light.
You have freed me and now I’m back. Out of the flames, the flames of black
A memoir of a important period in my life.
Posted 9 years agoA Divine Rose Became an Angel
It was on one of those brilliant days in which we say we live for, nearing the end of the summer season, and heralding the cold days of autumn and when the leaves begin to die, I walked to join a line to grab some lemonade from one of those shake-up stands that usually pop up around the time of Derby Day. I looked around and the world – which I knew had such colour, such splendour and beauty – seemed as black and white as those old movies. Like Casablanca, like The Dam Busters. Waiting in line, waiting for lemonade, waiting for something to happen, waiting for death – really whichever came first I would be happy to oblige. Looking around, I could see assortments of people, large people, skinny people, people who were outrageously camp or reserved in their manners, people who were loud, people who were quiet. There were just too many people. And as I neared the stand, lost in this reverie of depressive thinking, a collision occurred which broke the mindset I had nestled into, and I felt coldness soak through my shirt and onto my skin. Almost as soon as the collision occurred, I heard a small shocked cry, a face which had a dropped mouth in the extremity of disbelief. But as soon as I saw her, the world changed. The colour had returned to my life; like in that scene from The Wizard of Oz, where the girl walks from the grainy depressing brown to this full-blown assault upon the senses, colours that would blind, colours that would slap one right in the face without them being aware of it. She stood there, arms out like La Pieta, questioning the cruelty of humanity, but instead wondering whether or not what had just happened actually happened. She looked up and looked me in the eyes, her own were entreating, inviting forgiveness, hoping that she would be spared being shouted at.
‘Oh my God, I am so so so sorry. I didn’t see you there! I didn’t mean to knock into you. Is there anything I can do? Truly, is there anything I can do?’
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do; so struck by her face, struck by her voice. I caught a scent, like roses, a perfume comprised of the scent of roses; I felt its power and its enticement.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s perfectly okay. I can get it aired out, dried up in the Library.’
‘Where is that?’
‘Just down that way,’ I pointed off yonder. ‘But first, let me get you another lemonade, please’ – for she had then opened her mouth to protest – ‘I insist; my treat.’ And I waited in the line, no longer conscious of depression, nay not even feeling such bleak thoughts, but I had turned skippy, and giddy. When it was my turn, I ordered two and paid the man. Off we went to the Library, asked the receptionist if I could use the sink since I had suffered an unfortunate accident – did I catch a blush collecting on my new friend’s cheek? – And we went to the back. She did not follow me, since I would have to shed off the layer that had been soaked before it became dry and sticky. This I did and I felt the coolness on my skin, it had already become sticky from waiting so long, and I looked down at myself, my imperfect body, the pale skin, the roughness of its touch. I didn’t bother any longer, and turning on the tap allowed the water to swill in the basin before I scrunched up my shirt and dipped it in. Water was better than Lemonade, I thought. Washing didn’t take too long, so when I was done, and I pressed the automatic drier, giving its raucous roar and howling, blowing me and the shirt with hot air. I was done in little under ten minutes, and I met my new friend again, and she was still blushing. She stood there, waiting, like an obedient child waiting on the grown-ups, self-conscious and nervous.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
She jumped a little, like a frightened rabbit. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, ‘yes I am all right. I’m just so flustered and embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said, ‘these things happen all the time.’
Her blush seemed to recede, and her smile came back. Lord, what a smile she had! It was perfect, a neat curve that showed a little of her teeth; her brown eyes twinkled merrily, and her hair, dirty blonde, had come to rest on her shoulders, like rivers of satin or silk. I don’t know what magic she was possessed of, but I know that one of allurement and attraction must have been one of her many arts. She was simply striking, and I’m not usually one of those Romantic types, the Romantic Novelists who used to write about their heroines as having eyes of blue deeper than the oceans of sapphire colour, their complexion toned to perfection, their sweetness and gentility beyond question.
‘You’re very pretty,’ I admitted. Then it was my turn to blush, letting slip such a notion, and so early on into meeting someone. I was half expecting to be met with a smirk, but I wasn’t. I was met with another tomato-red blush and she said:
‘You really think so?’ If she could use her hair to hide her face, she would have, but she didn’t – perhaps out of fear of making a spectacle of herself or thinking I would imagine her as silly.
‘Yeah, I think so. Why would I not?’
She giggled softly and then the receptionist gave a sharp ‘Shhh!’ to us and we dipped our heads, like reprobates who have been caught. We ushered ourselves out of the Library and made our way outside. The street was still blazingly warm and the sun still high in her heavens. I wondered what was going to happen. Had I recognised her before? Was she at my school? No I don’t think so.
‘Are you from round here?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m from the other end of the state.’ She never said where.
After that we parted, but she gave me her number and I blushed, almost till I would turn a blotched mottled red. I had never gotten a number off a girl so pretty before; and when I went back home, I logged it into my phone. She had given her name on the note. ‘Jessica – but you can call me Jessi.’ I giggled, much like a school girl. Then the most striking feature came to my mind when I remembered. She wore a necklace, a handmade necklace with strange wooden beads and on the end, a long tooth. I thought it the coolest thing I’d ever seen.
*
Thus began a long period of talking, laughing and messaging. Numerous times did we speak and laugh, and I learned a lot more about this girl – this Jessica who liked to be called Jessi. She was living with her family, but her family, so she told me, were difficult. They were violent and didn’t like her. God knows what else they did, but I couldn’t allow my mind to run away with me. Accusations like that need proof. I wanted to speak to her in person again, wanted to help her, at least speak a few words of comfort. A year was coming since I had met her, and we were speaking nonstop. I wouldn’t be off my phone, off my laptop, and I wouldn’t stop talking with her, making sure she was okay, making sure that she had friends.
I made sure that she had someone to talk to.
During the course of talking to her, I wanted to say to her: ‘Do you wanna go out?’ and I prayed in my nights and days that she would say: ‘Okay!’ and be excited about it.
When the time of a year had nearly come, and when I was speaking with her, as normal, she came away abruptly. She said: ‘I gotta go.’ And she went offline for the rest of that time. I sent numerous messages, numerous texts, and numerous calls. No reply from any of them.
A letter came through the door, addressed to me, and as I opened it, I caught again the scent of roses, when I opened the envelope and the note inside, there fell with a clatter onto the floor the necklace she wore, the tooth, hung by a leather thong with beads. Shaken, I took it up on my hand. It felt strange, felt like it gave power, like some form of magic object found in books or when playing video games. I turned to the letter read:
Sweetheart,
I will be dead when this finds you, and I hope that you will have heard it in the papers, or seen it on Facebook or anything like that. I wanted to say this to you myself. I wanted to write to you. I can’t do this. Since I met you, life has been worth living, but it’s gone too far. My parents just won’t let me live. And if I can’t live, then why shan’t I die? Don’t be afraid of death; death, the great neutral chooses friend and foe. When the skies are calm and the dead stars ride high, sometime tomorrow midnight, we may know. Sorry, got a little poetic there. But I thank you for being there for me. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for showing me love when no-one else did.
Your loving friend,
Jessi
I felt the world under my feet move. I felt the relentless tide surge within me and a sharp tug at my heart and at my insides. My hand went over my mouth to keep a dry sob from escaping. My other hand went to the kitchen unit, to steady myself but it didn’t work. I fell to the heaviness that now weighed down my legs.
She was gone. My friend, the girl I was falling in love with, was gone. How? Why? When?
*
‘Hanged.’
The word sounded like a gunshot and the delivery a blow in the centre of my chest.
‘She hanged herself in her home with an extension cord.’
The image of her couldn’t get out of my mind. Her head on the side, the cord bitten so deep into the neck, the neck itself stretched and mottled, like that of a plucked turkey. The hurt surged within. The pain was never-ending. I tried to push the images out my mind, seeing her in death’s final indecency and discourtesy.
What now? What could I do? Two days. Two days after it happened, that letter came. I couldn’t save her. Couldn’t help her like I usually did, and what was all that help for?
I won’t blame her, I wouldn’t blame her. People think that it’s selfish to take your own life, because it leaves people behind devastated. Yeah, I understand that. But why would they think that they would have to in the first place if things were never that bad? Did her mother and father weep as I wept? Did they even care? Did they go through a phase of horror as I did, the imagery surging through my mind like an obscene slow-motion film? I don’t know. I won’t dwell on it.
I stood there, listening, reading the reports, and reading the Facebook appeals, the condolences. The necklace lay on the table beside my laptop. And, without a word, I slipped it over my head and let it lay. I placed it inside my shirt so I could feel the cold tooth tap softly against my skin, tapping in tandem with my beating heart.
It was on one of those brilliant days in which we say we live for, nearing the end of the summer season, and heralding the cold days of autumn and when the leaves begin to die, I walked to join a line to grab some lemonade from one of those shake-up stands that usually pop up around the time of Derby Day. I looked around and the world – which I knew had such colour, such splendour and beauty – seemed as black and white as those old movies. Like Casablanca, like The Dam Busters. Waiting in line, waiting for lemonade, waiting for something to happen, waiting for death – really whichever came first I would be happy to oblige. Looking around, I could see assortments of people, large people, skinny people, people who were outrageously camp or reserved in their manners, people who were loud, people who were quiet. There were just too many people. And as I neared the stand, lost in this reverie of depressive thinking, a collision occurred which broke the mindset I had nestled into, and I felt coldness soak through my shirt and onto my skin. Almost as soon as the collision occurred, I heard a small shocked cry, a face which had a dropped mouth in the extremity of disbelief. But as soon as I saw her, the world changed. The colour had returned to my life; like in that scene from The Wizard of Oz, where the girl walks from the grainy depressing brown to this full-blown assault upon the senses, colours that would blind, colours that would slap one right in the face without them being aware of it. She stood there, arms out like La Pieta, questioning the cruelty of humanity, but instead wondering whether or not what had just happened actually happened. She looked up and looked me in the eyes, her own were entreating, inviting forgiveness, hoping that she would be spared being shouted at.
‘Oh my God, I am so so so sorry. I didn’t see you there! I didn’t mean to knock into you. Is there anything I can do? Truly, is there anything I can do?’
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do; so struck by her face, struck by her voice. I caught a scent, like roses, a perfume comprised of the scent of roses; I felt its power and its enticement.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s perfectly okay. I can get it aired out, dried up in the Library.’
‘Where is that?’
‘Just down that way,’ I pointed off yonder. ‘But first, let me get you another lemonade, please’ – for she had then opened her mouth to protest – ‘I insist; my treat.’ And I waited in the line, no longer conscious of depression, nay not even feeling such bleak thoughts, but I had turned skippy, and giddy. When it was my turn, I ordered two and paid the man. Off we went to the Library, asked the receptionist if I could use the sink since I had suffered an unfortunate accident – did I catch a blush collecting on my new friend’s cheek? – And we went to the back. She did not follow me, since I would have to shed off the layer that had been soaked before it became dry and sticky. This I did and I felt the coolness on my skin, it had already become sticky from waiting so long, and I looked down at myself, my imperfect body, the pale skin, the roughness of its touch. I didn’t bother any longer, and turning on the tap allowed the water to swill in the basin before I scrunched up my shirt and dipped it in. Water was better than Lemonade, I thought. Washing didn’t take too long, so when I was done, and I pressed the automatic drier, giving its raucous roar and howling, blowing me and the shirt with hot air. I was done in little under ten minutes, and I met my new friend again, and she was still blushing. She stood there, waiting, like an obedient child waiting on the grown-ups, self-conscious and nervous.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
She jumped a little, like a frightened rabbit. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, ‘yes I am all right. I’m just so flustered and embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said, ‘these things happen all the time.’
Her blush seemed to recede, and her smile came back. Lord, what a smile she had! It was perfect, a neat curve that showed a little of her teeth; her brown eyes twinkled merrily, and her hair, dirty blonde, had come to rest on her shoulders, like rivers of satin or silk. I don’t know what magic she was possessed of, but I know that one of allurement and attraction must have been one of her many arts. She was simply striking, and I’m not usually one of those Romantic types, the Romantic Novelists who used to write about their heroines as having eyes of blue deeper than the oceans of sapphire colour, their complexion toned to perfection, their sweetness and gentility beyond question.
‘You’re very pretty,’ I admitted. Then it was my turn to blush, letting slip such a notion, and so early on into meeting someone. I was half expecting to be met with a smirk, but I wasn’t. I was met with another tomato-red blush and she said:
‘You really think so?’ If she could use her hair to hide her face, she would have, but she didn’t – perhaps out of fear of making a spectacle of herself or thinking I would imagine her as silly.
‘Yeah, I think so. Why would I not?’
She giggled softly and then the receptionist gave a sharp ‘Shhh!’ to us and we dipped our heads, like reprobates who have been caught. We ushered ourselves out of the Library and made our way outside. The street was still blazingly warm and the sun still high in her heavens. I wondered what was going to happen. Had I recognised her before? Was she at my school? No I don’t think so.
‘Are you from round here?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m from the other end of the state.’ She never said where.
After that we parted, but she gave me her number and I blushed, almost till I would turn a blotched mottled red. I had never gotten a number off a girl so pretty before; and when I went back home, I logged it into my phone. She had given her name on the note. ‘Jessica – but you can call me Jessi.’ I giggled, much like a school girl. Then the most striking feature came to my mind when I remembered. She wore a necklace, a handmade necklace with strange wooden beads and on the end, a long tooth. I thought it the coolest thing I’d ever seen.
*
Thus began a long period of talking, laughing and messaging. Numerous times did we speak and laugh, and I learned a lot more about this girl – this Jessica who liked to be called Jessi. She was living with her family, but her family, so she told me, were difficult. They were violent and didn’t like her. God knows what else they did, but I couldn’t allow my mind to run away with me. Accusations like that need proof. I wanted to speak to her in person again, wanted to help her, at least speak a few words of comfort. A year was coming since I had met her, and we were speaking nonstop. I wouldn’t be off my phone, off my laptop, and I wouldn’t stop talking with her, making sure she was okay, making sure that she had friends.
I made sure that she had someone to talk to.
During the course of talking to her, I wanted to say to her: ‘Do you wanna go out?’ and I prayed in my nights and days that she would say: ‘Okay!’ and be excited about it.
When the time of a year had nearly come, and when I was speaking with her, as normal, she came away abruptly. She said: ‘I gotta go.’ And she went offline for the rest of that time. I sent numerous messages, numerous texts, and numerous calls. No reply from any of them.
A letter came through the door, addressed to me, and as I opened it, I caught again the scent of roses, when I opened the envelope and the note inside, there fell with a clatter onto the floor the necklace she wore, the tooth, hung by a leather thong with beads. Shaken, I took it up on my hand. It felt strange, felt like it gave power, like some form of magic object found in books or when playing video games. I turned to the letter read:
Sweetheart,
I will be dead when this finds you, and I hope that you will have heard it in the papers, or seen it on Facebook or anything like that. I wanted to say this to you myself. I wanted to write to you. I can’t do this. Since I met you, life has been worth living, but it’s gone too far. My parents just won’t let me live. And if I can’t live, then why shan’t I die? Don’t be afraid of death; death, the great neutral chooses friend and foe. When the skies are calm and the dead stars ride high, sometime tomorrow midnight, we may know. Sorry, got a little poetic there. But I thank you for being there for me. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for showing me love when no-one else did.
Your loving friend,
Jessi
I felt the world under my feet move. I felt the relentless tide surge within me and a sharp tug at my heart and at my insides. My hand went over my mouth to keep a dry sob from escaping. My other hand went to the kitchen unit, to steady myself but it didn’t work. I fell to the heaviness that now weighed down my legs.
She was gone. My friend, the girl I was falling in love with, was gone. How? Why? When?
*
‘Hanged.’
The word sounded like a gunshot and the delivery a blow in the centre of my chest.
‘She hanged herself in her home with an extension cord.’
The image of her couldn’t get out of my mind. Her head on the side, the cord bitten so deep into the neck, the neck itself stretched and mottled, like that of a plucked turkey. The hurt surged within. The pain was never-ending. I tried to push the images out my mind, seeing her in death’s final indecency and discourtesy.
What now? What could I do? Two days. Two days after it happened, that letter came. I couldn’t save her. Couldn’t help her like I usually did, and what was all that help for?
I won’t blame her, I wouldn’t blame her. People think that it’s selfish to take your own life, because it leaves people behind devastated. Yeah, I understand that. But why would they think that they would have to in the first place if things were never that bad? Did her mother and father weep as I wept? Did they even care? Did they go through a phase of horror as I did, the imagery surging through my mind like an obscene slow-motion film? I don’t know. I won’t dwell on it.
I stood there, listening, reading the reports, and reading the Facebook appeals, the condolences. The necklace lay on the table beside my laptop. And, without a word, I slipped it over my head and let it lay. I placed it inside my shirt so I could feel the cold tooth tap softly against my skin, tapping in tandem with my beating heart.
People never change.
Posted 10 years agoOK to though's who don't i was in a relationship with someone for almost a year. yes we had issues every once in a while but i accepted her and her problems that came with it. i gave her my love and made sure she could trust me. and i tried my best to make her happy like all good mates should do.
But after i messed up once we had a falling out and we took a break from each other for three days. now the falling out was my fault but when we tried to get back together she fell in love was another guy. but she still had feelings for me.
so for months i spent trying to win her back because i loved her so vary much that i couldn't get her off my mind. after a few more months i finally won her back. i was the happiest guy alive.
but just like in the title of this journal she didn't change. i caught her cheating on me and lying to me over and over again through out the 11 months we were together. Her lies toward this guy drove me crazy. i went nuts and starting checking messages and stuff like that. i could not trust anything she said. i felt like i was the most pathetic and biggest ass hole of a guy every time there was those days where i didn't catch her cheating or lying to me.
So this last summer i asked her if she'd stop talking to him. it seemed like things were going great we seemed to be happy together because I seen no signs that made me believe she was doing it anymore. but that didn't last vary long. That summer while her and I were texting she told me she was having a bad day and I saw her on Xbox playing Minecraft. so i wanted to cheer her up by joining her game. but what i saw tore a hole inside me. i caught her talking to him again.
when i talked to her about it she told me he was messaged her first and so since i was busy spending time with my family she decided to play a game with him.
but like me not able to trust her again i checked up on her and found out that she unblocked him from Skype and messaged him first. telling him how much she loved him. also sending him a song called Lips of an Angel by Hinder. if you don't know the meaning of that song it pretty much means that she was with a guy that she didn't want to be with and that she wanted to be with him.
that broke my heart and i was in so much anger and sadness that i couldn't see straight. i felt like i was going to light on fire from how mad i was.
V.V but my stupidity didn't end there. she came to me in tears saying that she didn't mean to lie to me and didn't mean to cheat. she told me that she had a moment of weakness and like the dumb ass I could stand to see her cry so i ended forgiving her and gave her one last chance only telling her to stop talking to him again.
But that chance didn't last as long as i hoped. and just a few weeks ago i went camping with my family and before that she told me to leave my phone and computer behind because she wanted me to "spend time with my family" and i thought that was weird But I tried not to see anything of it.
But after I got home I caught her talking to him again. she unblocked him from Skype and chatted with him again. played games together and whatever else. So she broke my trust and lied to me again because later i asked if she did in fact talk to him at all. and she told me the same lie. "no i haven't but he messaged me once" so like that i decided to break up with her and to continue to move into the navy.
So right after i broke up with her she unblocked him from everything and not even a day later they already started talking about getting together. only two days after me breaking up with her.
So the lesson to all of this is that if you will or are dealing with a person your dating and they cheat and lie to you about the other guy. only give them one second chance. because if they don't learn the first time chances are. they never will.
But after i messed up once we had a falling out and we took a break from each other for three days. now the falling out was my fault but when we tried to get back together she fell in love was another guy. but she still had feelings for me.
so for months i spent trying to win her back because i loved her so vary much that i couldn't get her off my mind. after a few more months i finally won her back. i was the happiest guy alive.
but just like in the title of this journal she didn't change. i caught her cheating on me and lying to me over and over again through out the 11 months we were together. Her lies toward this guy drove me crazy. i went nuts and starting checking messages and stuff like that. i could not trust anything she said. i felt like i was the most pathetic and biggest ass hole of a guy every time there was those days where i didn't catch her cheating or lying to me.
So this last summer i asked her if she'd stop talking to him. it seemed like things were going great we seemed to be happy together because I seen no signs that made me believe she was doing it anymore. but that didn't last vary long. That summer while her and I were texting she told me she was having a bad day and I saw her on Xbox playing Minecraft. so i wanted to cheer her up by joining her game. but what i saw tore a hole inside me. i caught her talking to him again.
when i talked to her about it she told me he was messaged her first and so since i was busy spending time with my family she decided to play a game with him.
but like me not able to trust her again i checked up on her and found out that she unblocked him from Skype and messaged him first. telling him how much she loved him. also sending him a song called Lips of an Angel by Hinder. if you don't know the meaning of that song it pretty much means that she was with a guy that she didn't want to be with and that she wanted to be with him.
that broke my heart and i was in so much anger and sadness that i couldn't see straight. i felt like i was going to light on fire from how mad i was.
V.V but my stupidity didn't end there. she came to me in tears saying that she didn't mean to lie to me and didn't mean to cheat. she told me that she had a moment of weakness and like the dumb ass I could stand to see her cry so i ended forgiving her and gave her one last chance only telling her to stop talking to him again.
But that chance didn't last as long as i hoped. and just a few weeks ago i went camping with my family and before that she told me to leave my phone and computer behind because she wanted me to "spend time with my family" and i thought that was weird But I tried not to see anything of it.
But after I got home I caught her talking to him again. she unblocked him from Skype and chatted with him again. played games together and whatever else. So she broke my trust and lied to me again because later i asked if she did in fact talk to him at all. and she told me the same lie. "no i haven't but he messaged me once" so like that i decided to break up with her and to continue to move into the navy.
So right after i broke up with her she unblocked him from everything and not even a day later they already started talking about getting together. only two days after me breaking up with her.
So the lesson to all of this is that if you will or are dealing with a person your dating and they cheat and lie to you about the other guy. only give them one second chance. because if they don't learn the first time chances are. they never will.
A quick vent poem. i hope you all like it.
Posted 11 years agowell I'm feeling dead inside...i can't feel anything but sadness....everything i love and care for seem to be crashing down...taking me with it. nothing to grab hold of as i fall into the endless dark pit. seeing nothing but black. my mask thickens and my walls heighten making it seem as if I'm in a prison of my own demise. unable to save myself as i have no more strength left to keep my sanity.
and my sanity gets even weaker as i try to save others that i can't stand to see suffer and cry.
unable to stand the tears that drop from there soft face.
so i. A shell of a being i used to be. i go to those in need and wipe the tears from there face. not afraid if this selfless act kills me even more and drives me into my demise.
not caring that i become a wondering spirit. wondering this world in the darkness that kills me even more each second. it's the hope that as i wonder this path of darkness. i leave a path of light for all who i've tried to save and at my final hour ill still be able to look back at the journey i've walked. before my shell crumbles and i fade to dust that i can see that i've created a spark in this world of darkness to lead way for the flame to bring this world to the light.
and my sanity gets even weaker as i try to save others that i can't stand to see suffer and cry.
unable to stand the tears that drop from there soft face.
so i. A shell of a being i used to be. i go to those in need and wipe the tears from there face. not afraid if this selfless act kills me even more and drives me into my demise.
not caring that i become a wondering spirit. wondering this world in the darkness that kills me even more each second. it's the hope that as i wonder this path of darkness. i leave a path of light for all who i've tried to save and at my final hour ill still be able to look back at the journey i've walked. before my shell crumbles and i fade to dust that i can see that i've created a spark in this world of darkness to lead way for the flame to bring this world to the light.
