☣The_ghost_within☣

when you ran your hands

over a lovers body.

Mapping out every part

that made them unique..

remember the intrigue

The amazement

as you discovered every inch

As you caressed every curve,

every line, every scar..

The wonder that God

could create something

so perfect.

...And then

imagine that you are no different,

you are perfectly formed

in every detail

and someone will touch you

with the same wonder

Is all of this worth it I wonder? To spend our lives quaking beneath the heels of society, building ladders of each others bodies, merely so we may gain level with the people who uphold its vast bar-less prisons?

Am I the only one who doesn’t think that living should be a race - set within guidelines that we never agreed to. That we should not spend our short lives following in the footsteps of our faceless mothers and fathers, finding it necessary to erase our identity and our individuality in order to merely exist…. That we should be no more than complacent passengers in a fast paced game that doesn’t make sense.

Sometimes finding peace is as easy as re-illiteraring and replaying each step that's gone wrong, and seeing it as a whole.

We obsess and focus so heavily on the momentary source of our pain. That we can't see the forest for the trees. And all of our emotions are centered around this disembodied moment of chaos. But it's just a moment.. And when we sever the emotional force that we push out pain with. It loses its momentum.

When the emotional choas is quietened. We can understand the moment the chaos was created. From where it arose. And once you understand it. You have the upper hand.... You can view the pain for what it is.. And what it isn't.

Those mountains of pain and chaos, half created by your mind when overwhelmed by your instability.. Were never as big as they seemed. Small hurdles. Not easy. But never impassable.

If your faced with something that seems so chaotic and consuming. Something so painful. Rearrange and replay the steps that created it.. And understand the turmoil in each of its parts.

It makes Molehills of mountains. And all those terrible things that destroyed you for the moment... will be made manageable.

-Drifts-

I feel it creeping in

The same way it once left

A slow drifting of space

Like the one

That took you away..

I watched smoke rise.

like the signal fire

Of your lit cigarette.

Those little drifts

The smell that always

signalled home

As I watch you standing

A world away

I feel it

Slowly settling

The way my Heart

Becomes heavy

With remembering.

half Homesick

From the curve

of your lips

.... And those little drifts.

I will miss you

Like this

Little meanings

In little drifts

Like Little drags

of your cigarette.

She has always inspired me, and after an age, I still feel her magic at work in my bones. Her fires lit my dreams. Even through the suffocating darkness, they have never burned out. It was the torch that guided me home, brought my wandering soul back to me. And I know that as far I go. She will remain in me. As I speak my name, I will speak hers also. And after all these years I would not be myself without her...

Is that love.. Or madness?

kept me safe from the storm

now I wonder who I am underneath.

Too long I've been wired

and with no sound to kill the quiet

I can't breathe.

No rest for the wicked.

how my ways have made me weak

wearing myself out

wearing masks that I don't need

a lesson learned in every hurt

filled with bridges I have burned

along the way.

though I try

im far too tired

and the faces I've acquired

That smell

Just before the storm hits

Sharp and clean

as the wind shifts.

Breath held

The world stills

Before impact.

Lets get lost together

Into the fog of the storm

Gone. And More on,

before dawn. I'd led her.

Create Places in spaces,

poured into forms of forever

Free from all, we untied

And tore from our minds

doors that defiled our heaven

All tethers were severed.

Memory before I'd Met her

Gave way and before all

Even those people who are closest,

That have known us their entire lives,

Are only on the fringe of grasping who we are.

Different personalities,

Causing disconnects.

In our understanding of each other.

They seem like ledges.

Jagged edges that don't correlate to each others world.

That always equal imperfect understanding.

An inability to ascertain all the meanings

That create us as human beings.

Its sad, just how alone we really are in that regard.

That we alone exist within the boundaries of our own world

That others, for all their momentary understanding,

Could not hope to comprehend in its fullness.

And share as we might

We are alone in our own thoughts,

Like gardens full of beauty and detail,

But confined in world

We cannot share.

I shake I shudder, I shiver

The humming thrum of thoughts

Too quick to catch

Half peices, half details. Half recollections

Of thoughts the flitter and flash

Beneath the sun-downs of my eyelids.

Voices, half chant. Half broken.

Memories, discarded and repaired.

Like fragments of deranged conversation.

Communion with the creatures

that inhabit my mind.

Scatter and scurry through the halls of my head.

No peace in the breach that opens between.

Little ledges in land of my dreams,

Stumbling, sliding, falling between.

Voices within, the din of chattering imps

In festering deeps,out of reach,

whispers from somewhere between.

Vision swims, Mind slips... clicks.. drips.

Pullling at threads,

Among freyed thoughts, like trails I try to catch.

I am caught by strings, like webs on my skin,

Something akin to the kind that spiders spin.

Vision swims, mind slips into wandering deeps.

Stuttering forward, Falling downward.

Into chasms of Ciclical thought.

Vision swims, mind slips, clicks. Drips.

Dante didn't dream like I do.

All the circles of hell

are held in my head.

No rhyme, no reason.

For this feeling.

My mind is a cage

Full of creatures

That rage at the silence

insane and violent.

Perhaps I'll find sleep

If I can block out thie screaming.

As I lie in my bed,

-Michael Simpson

And you're just a good person.

... I like talking to you."

Lisa...

I'm running out of the years

That were meant to be my best

But have instead been spent

Sad and alone.

Not happy with myself

or my place in the world.

I'm not failing

Any more than anyone I know

But my life still feels uninspired.

-

I'm sick of not trying

Sick of being this way

Despite the fact

that I'm wasting my life

I'm running out of years

... I need to fix my fucking life

"There was another..

Another one in the thingie,

it was attached..

It was attached

That's why it beeped..

That's why it beeped."