Revisiting Darkness

03/05/2006

Feelings are only one of the many faces of Hell.

19/06/2006

I was looking at myself in the staff room mirror, the other day, feeling quite depressed and hopeless, and I felt like part of me was separating from me as a whole. It was like my soul was looking at the human being, the mortal shell, through a deeper set of eyes, and the soul was feeling sorry for not being able to save the body, for failing.

How long is left?

18/09/2006

And here I am again, on the verge of cracking up like an egg, wide open for a blind world to see. Days are becoming harder to live, the pretence, the fake smiles harder to provide, the strength to do just about anything is fading like a falling star into the deep end of a big, giant void. Images of blood, sharp nails against the skin, violent scenes of all sorts are exploding, spinning out of control in my shattered mind. Death slowly becomes an epitome of beauty...Again. Feels like we've been there before, doesn't it...

Pretending is so hard, acting as if everything is fine when really you cannot take anymore... Wanting to cry, to burst into an ocean of tears, needing a release from a pain you know nothing about, a pain you fail to understand or recognise...Yet the eyes remain as dry as yellow grass burnt by the summer lights. If only I could cry! Let the wave of pain go free in one major outburst of tears! But what pain? What is this pain I feel inside, burning my chest, weighing on it like a rock that never shifts? What is this eternal  “mal-etre” ? Where does it come from, why is it here,constant like a plague for which there is no cure? 

So many people, so many lives around me,rushing all over the place, everywhere I look, yet the loneliness is always the greatest, no matter the number of souls dancing around. Nothing seems to matter anymore, nothing has a point, all is futile. The sky is dark and dull even  in its bluest. The wind is harsh, cold, venomous  even when scarce  Time is bloody, ruthless, even when ignored. Food is poison, evil, even when avoided. People are hurtful savages, even when caring and trying to be kind. Dreams are torture even though I chase after them relentlessly. 

Travelling down the river Styx, hopeless shadow of what I once was, I remember a little girl who would have been good. I remember the one that should have been and stare at the fraud that took her place, reflected in the dark waters of Nowhere.