Cling tightly to hope, all who enter here. 

Where I am I going?

The beast slumbers.

I must wake him, 

fight him,

tame him.

His mighty tantrums

bruise my soul.

Cling stronger to hope, all who enter here.

Fractures, fissures and cracks,

It will not hold! It will not hold! 

I cannot ignore the foundation’s imperfection.

Worn to dust in these past months,

distractions scatter in the storm,

I chase them, but come to realize,

that they had stopped working,

long ago.

So further afield? 

Away from the cave of conflict?

Would you dare push the limits of your ignorance?

I cannot go that way.

To that end I cannot go.

I must turn back,

I must become again,

I must have control,

I must…

I’m terrified.

No purpose to find,

no strength,

no courage.

I want to feel wonderful,

float upon a cloud…or drift among the moments

not miserable,

flail upon my soul…or bear the raging torrent.

I found my path of least resistance,

that key to ease and beauty, 

my home of brilliant stars!

To conflict? to battle?

What good can be had in pain and struggle,

anguish and defeat?

I can never overcome,

I can never withstand myself,

I can never…

I want know the value of my name!

I want to feel proud of my life!

I seek to know,

to understand,

to control,

to master…this.

This I’ve heard said, in some circles, the likes of which none of you have ever frequented I’m sure, as the first step to,

recovery.

The new dawn,

red and bright,

leaves a shallow heat,

a lingering heavyness,

surrounding and embracing.

In each morning, 

lies a simple grace,

beauty in possibility,

reaching toward a bloody horizon,

awash in the glory of the coming day.

Fever dreams of a burning star,

each light awakens that soild fire,

igniting a soul in remission,

a blaze that consumes the voices,

and heralds the ashfall.

A flare of action,

wrapped in a conflagration, 

that shining solar force,

we are flames of the flame,

brothers and sisters of self-immolation. 

Moments string together,

creating a soft pattern.

those before,

failing, useless, before the coming tide,

those ahead, 

straining just beneath the surface.

That which falls inbetween,

stretches toward all corners,

inescapable and un-graspable.

Now is a time forever frozen,

never ending and never there,

an understanding of ignorance,

a faith in this thing unseen.

To live, is to be trapped,

forced to live in this yawning canyon, 

this middle ground of un-knowledge,

un-reason,

un-logic,

un-sane. 

Trust in this gap,

that killing field

of undulating frustration,

disillusion and hate.

Without the rough stone walls,

those bitter reminders of our impotence,

we stand naked before past and future.

Waves toss our floating carcass,

torn halfway, 

shore and horizon,

the tempest is persistent and guiltless.

Sink among the quagmire,

accept that wretched truth,

mastery through surrender,

mercy without conscience,

devotion lacking love,

courage bereft of strength,

thinking hearts and feeling minds,

resigned to the task.

Functioning gears

replace pitted castaways

to maintain operations,

to keep my world going.

Like cogs of cognition,

they churn out tangents

past the delivery module,

confusing passerby.

Rust and grime,

soot and ash,

clog the casing

grinding this machine to a halt.

Psycho-mechanic,

mental wrench in hand,

mutters softly to himself,

“Repair or renew?”

Post-industrial wreckage,

the hammer never fell,

the nuts and bolts of creation

failed to reproduce 

your luster.

Effort and toil,

sacrifice and strain,

has stained you. 

The product,

a blackened form 

and a soiled soul 

impede necessary function

render you impotent

eliminate possibility.

Rust-born and inaccessible

the mental machinery

lacks components

seizes up,

covered in 

grime.

I am not myself.

This is not me.

Although you gaze upon the form,

therein lies no substance.

I cannot be myself.

I cannot lie to be myself.

I stand, naked, against the furious sun,

Burning to ashes,

revealing shattered core,

the self becomes unknown.

I stand, naked, against the abject moon,

Screaming to hide,

manifesting my inadequacies,

the soul becomes unknown.

I cannot turn this tide.

I cannot banish this terror.

I cannot be me.

Each shadowed thought,

every cruel reminder, 

halts me, 

sends me,

broken and worn,

though the abyss.

I cannot escape.

I cannot be free.

Who holds the key?

What power? What god?

My tormentor, my ghost,

rip at my flesh,

to keep my silence,

I could never let me be me.  

I want to die.

I want to be god.

My mind rattles,

struggles and strains

unreconciled purity.

A division,

rough and jagged

tore at cohesion 

and muttered pathologies

at my expense.

Dual purpose,

on either side of my coin

cannot cohabitate,

balancing on thoughts,

a tightrope act on razor wire.

Take my lessons,

and heed my howls,

for there is no innocence

no absolute naiveté

which would protect you.

Instead,

there is a storm of falsehoods

driving into stooped shoulders,

A divine devil

inspired, thus a dream,

opens the chapel door 

and beckons 

calling for my heart

offering peace,

offering power.

Incomplete thoughts,

scatter, travel and spread

resume the act

maintain the balance

I want to die.

I want to be god.

cuteboyswithcats:

paul says “i go home, and play power ballads while taking photos of me holding a cat. most nights.”

-paperscissors

cuteboyswithcats:

boyfriend with baby maori :3

-little-rabbit

Each step

leads further.

Paths, and processes

lead downward.

I was lost to my soul,

and eclipsed by my monument.

I had built it,

an honor to my gods.

Now I stand, 

covered by shadow.

Thinking…

All the self suffered abuse,

the mirrored insults,

the lost hope,

had a face.

Each heartbeat,

disconnected

raw and guttural,

had a voice.

My vision,

distorted by grief

clouded by memories

was of my sight.

Gaze upon me in awe and tremble,

for all I am has been remade. 

The scars on my face remind others of my pain,

and myself of the struggle.

To be complete is not easy, 

a feat no sane man would attempt,

purity by way of infection,

I know no heart unafraid.

(via theanimalblog)

So cute

lookatthisfuckinghipster:

“I don’t know what this means!”

Well!

theanimalblog:

green sea turtle (via bluewavechris)

:)

(via theanimalblog)

Cutetastic