I seem to be, as humans usually are, inept to witness the joys of togetherness and harmony. It seems to be that the Gods refuse to let my other half soar with me into a world full of danger and pain. Thus I am here to walk alone, my bare feet unbandaged and bloodied from the sharp rocks of failure are the only things pulling me forward. The pain, the sensory overload taking hold of my body and twitching it into a direction, any direction, of pain and minimal hope. The inferno that was the passion of my soul burns blue with a placid, dull flame that flickers weakly in my chest. The golden precious lifeblood of my love burns as it courses through my body and damages my organs, no longer pumping life but stinging my body into a numb submission. Yet I keep walking, here, there, anywhere with the promise of a dawn creeping into my lackluster brown eyes. I see the horizon off in a distance but as I walk closer it seems to move further into the distance. Can you hear me cry? Can you see my tears? Do you know my real name? I ponder to you as you listen to my thoughts, you see this horizon turns into a world I can scarcely live in. I feel weak as I tredge on trying to figure out these simple questions as they pass through my idle mind while my body lives on. I think I understand my weeping face and can say what my true name is, the name that gives me strength and power to continue on. What is it? Ah, Hope.  I know now why I’m in this hell. I give Hope to those who need me, I can tell you your true name and give you the strength to pull through. Will you take my hand and walk aimlessly with me? No matter what I will always love you with every bit of blood stinging my body, I will always care with every bit of my burning soul, I will always be here as my blood spills and my eyes cloud over. Yet, I fall. It hurts so much to fall on my face, no longer looking into the sun but to the cool dirt below me. I can smell the delicious earth that has caught my fall, I am too weak to stand and yet you walk over me to take my place. Take my burning blood, my placid eyes, my smoldering soul and my bloody souls. Walk with my ghost as the rest of us do. Yes, more of us walk beside you though you do not see us, we have given in. We will help you to walk into the horizon, aimlessly, we see the sun, we live in it as light beings as little angels protecting those who seek that horizon. Let me walk with you into the horizon though you forsaken me in my lively state let me ghost you into a new era of life. Carry on dear love, carry on little life, carry on where I could not and give me the strength of my one true name to be reborn and live again, walking to the ever moving horizon. Give me, Hope.

(An excerpt from my book Infrequentia) ((Spelling mistakes and grammar, I no longer have the finished copy just the final draft, apologies)

And he did pray

He sat in his room and sighed softly at the poster on the wall, smiling teens were looking down on him while they held hands and walked toward the mall. He found himself smiling too and saw his body in that poster with friends he knew all his life and going to the mall to hang out. He frequented this dream world and it always started with the poster and from that poster he would move onto many wonderful things. He wouldn’t go into Hollister alone anymore his friends would be all around him laughing insanely at a joke he just cracked. While they are on their way out he would spot the girl he had a huge crush on since middle school in the store across the way. He would be brave and go in and flirt, a touch here, a joke there, and a bunch of mindless conversation then she would join him and his friends for some iced coffee at Starbucks. At the end he would say goodbye to his friends and wrap his arm around her waist and whisper sweet nothings in her ear so romantic even an adult women would blush.

            He would swim in this fantasy and every time it would change, maybe they aren’t in the mall but at a friend’s house or even a pool party but it all ended the same. He would get his girl, his secret love, and have friends that were genuine. Though he did have friends they were but not the criteria for what a real friend is to him; there weren’t there when he needed them like he was always there for them. To make matters worse he couldn’t tell the girl he loved how he felt since he hated rejection and didn’t know how to talk to her the right way. His life was less than the perfect poster staring at him; his life was empty and meaningless.

            Whenever he felt so empty inside that he was ready to burst he would try and play some music so that he could turn his mind onto something positive. He dreamed of playing her a song from his heart but all he could do was slip in a secret message or two to her through his art. He also used his art to express his aggression of hating the fact that he had to be alone in this world. When music couldn’t save him he laid on his side with his eyes closed and his mind screaming at him to just give up and that it wasn’t worth the pain. He would think about leaving the world behind and thinking that things could be so much better without him.

            He would stare at his fathers’ gun collection and just imagine the possibilities. Which gun would be the best to use for a quick clean kill, what he should put in his goodbye letter, and where should he let his body fall. Then he would think about his mother who would be so devastated if he left, his father and the disappointment on his face, and his brother just shaking his head in disgust at his corpse.

He slowly left the thought of death behind and just thought about staying in his room for the rest of his life. It’s not like he would be dead he just wouldn’t want to come out and face the world because of the constant rejection and fakeness it had to offer. What was the point in facing such a world? He wanted to find people to love and who would love him for being him, not for being handsome or tall but for being whom he was inside. A slightly obnoxious comedian with a heart of gold just trying to find his way in the world, that was him and he wanted to share his personality with all that would allow it.

The conflicting emotions in his soul finally collided, the anger for being alive, the angst for leaving his family behind, the sadness from being alone, and the emptiness from life itself. He lay on his bed almost every night after a day of light happiness and jesting with his acquaintances and would stare at the ceiling before he slept. He would pray. He prayed about what the day might bring tomorrow; he prayed that the Lord not take him before he could tell her how he felt about her. He prayed that loneliness wouldn’t take over his soul, and he prayed that he could hold on for a little longer just to see what would happen next. He prayed and prayed hard.

© ChaoticlyYours 2008

Memory Monster

A Story by ChaoticlyYours

 

What memories are made of

 

© 2011 ChaoticlyYours

This pretty much sums up my life, without the rescuing and whatever the ending is just hopeful and the reality of things. Btw, lots of grammar issues and spelling as this was a rough draft for my finals and my actual final cut is in book form so…eh, this is pretty much me, more or less, and the steady decline of my mental state. How I wish someone cared and was ok with how I am now, killed from the inside out, by society. 

Missing Milly 

A Poem by ChaoticlyYours

 

This is a story about a girl named Milly who is ravaged by loneliness so great that she goes insane. This is part of a collection of short stories called Infrequentia.