fragments

a poem game i played with a friend. i took out theirs and just left mine in so thats why its fragmented and might not make sense. these are really old so theyre probably horrible.

like a shadow on the wall, i mean nothing i am nothing, and only those with stars in their eyes find me beautiful.

i hear them in the clicking of my heels, the snap of my neck. when the poison infects the bone there is no going back.

as darkness seeps into my skin the questions run through my mind. what makes people believe? what makes their hearts beat faster? like a missing puzzle piece, the words die on my lips.

ike standing on the fence, the monsters pull, the angels call, even though its hurting at least its something.

in a dying world, it was all i had. this broken dream filled with all the words i cant remember. i could once pull the diamonds from my mouth but now my tongue is laced with ice and ash.

the world embraces the rushing waters and they fall away from me. while i am killing myself swimming up the current trying to get back but i go no where. the messages in the bottles float right passed me. ill never know what they were trying to tell me.

ive hitched myself to a falling star; second star to the right and straight on till morning. you lied to me you lied to me. the foul thoughts still ate my soul and the world still holds me prisoner. i thought i wasnt eve. you told me just one bite. an apple so sweet, the well of all poison.

m at a loss. how can i keep myself alive when i live to run, to feel the wind and feel the ache in my legs; feel the rush, the high- but it makes it that much harder. faster faster. every time i have to run faster to beat myself, to catch the dream. maybe if i run fast enough i will melt into the wind and dissipate into a beautiful nothing; a beautiful everything. breath in. find peace.

you feel whole, and you feel love; the overwhelming over flowing of everything and nothing. make a space to fill you up. break your bones to feel the pain. hide to see if anyone will come looking. drink the poison bc it was in the pretty vile. hold it all together with the flimsy veins of all your broken hearts.

when try to think of it all i can see is something like a butterfly. glassy wings and a crystal cage. a misty view and teardrop rain. if i could drown in it i would, but its not enough so i swallow it whole and breathe it in so at least i can say i tried.

a broken harbor in your mind; a message sent through the nothingness. spiderweb lace spun around your neck; it eats you alive and becomes all you can breath- the lovely infection and your only dream to die by it's velvet black finger tips.

Editing old stuff

“Run”


A hitch-

A crack-

A sonic boom:

The speed of sound.

You are running.

You run because it is what you are good at; you are fast. You run because it is who you are; because you always have. Speed has saved you from the most impossible situations; saved you from death. But what you are running from now is far worse than death and all the more inescapable.

You know it is inevitable, but you run anyway. It is the only thing you know how to do.

You've found years and years of being a hero is like years and years of building up calluses, tearing your touch receptors to shreds. And eventually when you are cut you will only notice it when you see those thick oozing drops of crimson slip down the side of your leg.

You are the ever cheery hero; unfazed and always ready for the unexpected. You are unaware of pain; you are unaware of sorrow. But you know it’s all a lie.

You can’t quite recall the exact moment it happened nor how- but you slowly came to find praise seemed empty, smiles felt forced, and you felt sharp pains when you tried to laugh. You started catching yourself doing things you never have before; like counting all the lost ones- the ones you couldn’t save.

When you cry the violent sobs are not the healing kind, slowly inviting the calm with every gasp. It is the empty kind- the kind that makes you wonder if someone upstairs made a boo-boo; if your time on this earth has been overspent. But you can’t leave; not when so many are depending on you.

And that is why you now run.

You run from feeling. You run from memories. You run from yourself.

You are weak.

And you know it.

END.


an emo sonic story i wrote back in high school. i edited it and hopefully made it better? just dabbling in character psyche. nothing big.

ergamuffins

sometimes i like to play a game and read what ive written, play a therapist and look at myself in all black and white.

ive been up for 5 days straight (no exaggeration) so sorry if my brain is retarded.

fears loss of identity, loss of innocence, feels alone- doesnt belong anywhere, delusions of grandeur- though also feelings of insignificance, sees things-possible schizophrenia, extreme harboring of guilt, fear of change, feels inadequacy, a perfectionist- if it is not perfect it is worthless, obsession with disturbing concepts and situations, vicarious (feels numb so she must seek new and more shocking fantasies to make herself feel alive), odd combination of hopelessness and optimism, constant conflict between living in the moment and in reflection, extreme awareness of self, obsession with the past and memories, erg theres more but i prolly shouldnt procrastinate anymore.

collection of angst

get ready for a mega update.........




why am i so held down to the earth? ive never felt more mortal in my life. its suffocating, easy, and a part of me doesnt mind. its so much easier to let myself die then to fight for something that might not be worth anything. sometimes i can still feel it calling me, but barely a whisper. a long lost memory, a taste on my tongue i cant quite recall. either path is just a different kind of addiction, both as self destructive as ever. one way i live a normal life and i dont think and i dont care, the other is chasing a dream i will never catch till the day i die, and who ever knows if it is all real. i know which one i want. but apparently i do not want it enough, or i have been so infected by the sloth ive been trapped in i cannot for the life of me think for myself anymore, held down by trivial emotions. so heavy the weights and so thick the fog. she screams at me as i burry her alive; everything it meant to feel real; to be real. and i am alone. ive isolated myself out of fear and laziness. i am weak and it makes me sick. no one knows how bad it really is. my legs sunk so deep in the mud i cannot move or make a choice. the cracks are sealed tight and i cant see through. so far away from who i am; who i am supposed to be. each mound of dirt and her crying gets softer, farther away, no more pain, no more memories. goodbye elise goodbye elise. its only whispers now. an empty shell, there are no more words inside.
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i cant remember a time when ive been more aware of the freckles on my face or the bars across my window
i want to live in between the dark and light, the mili-second that no one ever thinks about; because thats what i am.
neither one or the other; i never really fit the mold of either.
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she had so much potential, but she fell victim to the cracks between the floorboard. no one will remember her; and if they do it will be as a falling star- beautiful, tragic, and brief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

and i know the fingers that had sewn your lips shut and hollowed out your heart are my own and God knows my words are lost before they even reach my head and you don't know but this silence that stands between us is enough to make me feel like dying and when the wall finally breaks down it doesn't matter how hard the waters pull me under because at least feeling like you're drowning is better than feeling nothing...

and now every time i hear your name a bone breaks inside me and i dont even know why but as i look at these broken stars hanging from the sky i know the dream has died and i dont care if everything ive ever lived for is a lie just please let me know you're the one thing i have that is still real.

and i can still hear your voice in all that surrounds me i swear the leaves sound like you laughing and i think about it and i realize what ive been doing to myself and as the days grow darker im sitting here wasting time because im too scared to do anything else, im too tired to do anything else, so i watch you slip through my fingers as sand slips through that hour glass as time slips through the seconds i waste standing here in front of you trying to say....

..nothing.
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I love you little star
because you burn so bright
untouched by dark
you lit up the night
My little star- you pierce the clouds in my eyes
bore through flesh and bone
to reach my heart trapped in ice.

I love you little star
Because I see in you
The child that died in me.

autobio... thing...?

i often wonder if i am really an artist/writer or an expressionist. i use characters to express what i am feeling and i rarely step outside the realm of my emotions. i feel that the emotion and all around odd, raw, and often disturbing content and metaphors i use are the backbone of my style. i dont consider myself a good writer or rather a "user of the english language" as much as i used to. i find myself playing with words less and playing with concepts and shocking imagery more than anything else. many times i find the things i write to be very awkward and disjointed. sometimes i like the disjointed feeling and sometimes i dont. it depends on w/e works best with the piece.

i chose the name "this crushing metaphysical crisis" because feel it best describes what my writing consists of and my over all writing style. i write using many metaphors and symbols and it is often very ambiguous and is not grounded in reality or what many consider "real" or relatable. the stories are not structured in a traditional way. many times i like to give snap shots of moments and then bring them together as a very disjointed whole. my blog name is also the name of one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands and i actually posted it as my first entry.

i am not a real writer in the sense that i am writing all the time. however i do seriously consider myself to be a storyteller. lol i dont really know what im doing anymore. mostly i was bored and wanted to procrastinate a bit so i thought i would do somewhat of an autobio thing about the things that im going to post here. hopefully i will e able to capture things more smoothly as i go on and continue to do what i do. its been almost 2 years since ive written anything and ive just found the confidence and the soul to start again. in the recent past i had lost my identity and i didnt have any substance or well of inspiration to draw from since everything i do comes from me.

so thats that story. i really need to start hw now.

peace.

lonely city

Looking at him was like staring directly at the sun. blinding, irritating, bright, and afterwards everything seemed a little darker.

a little colder.

but not enough.

not enough to be used as an excuse to keep staring.

*****

his heart was grey and icy. a death poison that spread when he smiled. a lot like this city that towered above you. as you strained your neck looking to the skyline a chill crept into your heart and you knew you would never escape.

*****

eventually the words meant nothing. they fell from their mouths like shit fell from they're asses. it was all to make sure the circle would not be broken. Their biggest fear.

they werent living anymore. they were just existing.

*****

he had died a long time ago. you kept him under your bed so he knew he would always be beneath you. you wouldnt let yourself think about it too much, but there were times you've woken to find yourself lying under your bed next to the bones and stench. you spit and grimace.

you are sure it means nothing.


*****

when you come to this dead end you can do nothing but fall to your knees and eat your own feet off.

you walked all this way.


End.

about living in the moment or living in reflection

is it wrong to want to be the savior? is it weird? whats the right way to live this life should i stop and stare the whole way through or should i just run and feel my legs falling apart, but im too preoccupied with he wind in my face to know the difference

should i just let the words come or should i stop to think

do i know anything at all does anyone know anything at all those wise men who spill black from their mouths have rotten their taste buds. they cant tell whats good and what isnt. all i know is my heart is over flowing with the consciousness of death and suffering, the suppression of of a burning fire eating away inside
caught in a whirlwind of everyhting and nothing

everything is nothing and nothing is everything
i forget my name but i remember the

7
7
7

does it even mean anything? tell me yes tell me yes
the smell of her hair, the sound of the birds, the chill on my cheek
if you make it the right way it will take you back
are u dead if all that u live for is the part that wasnt so broken

u cant write down everyhting it is impossible
if you look above you miss the below
if you look anywhere youll miss the otherwhere
what if it was important

what if missing everything is important

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i did not stop to edit this or anything. this is just the way it is.