Tag Archives: Hope

Old Habits

               It creeps inside like a trapped between lie, flexing and brushing as it worms it’s way through. Best defense cast aside and the child is shaking outside in the dark. Tears fall from his eyes as they stare through the wheat stalks, hidden by the innocence of youth behind the negligence of dreams and naive ideas. Staring up and out into the vast unknown, wondering on what wonderful things might be hidden in the countless twinkling lights. The night deepens and the dark becomes threatening. What unknown terrors await to trap and ensnare the unsure and unstable? Shadows flit and fly as his eyes continue their watery dance, all while the stars beckon and the moon forgives.

               His smile is represented in stone. It’s a tricky thing to talk about and even harder to think, when I see his eyes open in terror and then close against the fight. I feel the curse tightening daily and wonder at the theme. Benevolent creator save me from the knowledge of the end, I’m threatened by it daily and fear it always. Like a candle lit in youth and expected to last. Like a kiss from your soul that never lasted long enough. As the wax turns to air and the soul flees from thy side, so shall your smile too one day be represented in stone.

               Life flee me fast. Leave me dazed and completely unaware. Trace me from existence as a dying star. And love me all the more once I’ve gone.

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Posted by on February 17, 2016 in Paradise Drift


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I find myself far from home, floating through the vastness of space on a derelict spacecraft. I would fix it if only I knew what the problem was, if I only knew anything at all. I see so many stars but they are all just spots of light in the vast darkness that surrounds me and I’m afraid that if I don’t find out what the problem is, that I’ll be lost forever. The bed I sleep on is hard and uncomfortable and often I find myself just pacing the metal floored hallways at what I can only assume is night. Time loses itself in the absence of a life giving sun. There’s someone here with me but she never comes from the shadows and rarely speaks anything other than cryptic one liners that all equal out to the same five words. You are going to die. Her voice is soft and barely above a whisper yet it puts me back on my heels as swiftly as a roaring lion on the hunt. I know what she says is true. Know in my heart that it’s only a matter of time till the oxygen runs out. Know that if I were to be merciful to myself then I would move into the airlock and let infinity have me. I’m so scared of that thought and yet it only gets louder and more insistent. My ship mate must have heard me arguing with myself, for now she’s taken up a new phrase to whisper from the shadows. Do it without fear. It will be better. You are going to die.

Days or weeks or months pass. Like I said before it’s impossible to tell even the days out here. I have already scoured every room of this vessel that has become my home, just trying to find a clock so I can know how long I’ve been drifting. I wish I could remember how exactly I’ve ended up here, but I can’t even recall my last name. Surely I must have been important. Otherwise why would I be here on this spacecraft floating through the empty black? Despite the warnings of my fellow passenger, the oxygen doesn’t seem to run out and why exactly is just as mysterious to me as all the knobs and buttons in the cockpit. The lights however do run out and I find myself spending every waking moment hugging the windows where the light from the stars outside make it so I can almost see. The woman gets even more insistent now, her voice rising from a whisper to a distant scream from some back corner of the ship. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE! Then comes a whisper from right next to me and I feel her breath against my face as she repeats once again the phrase that scares me most. Do it without fear.

I don’t know how this story will end, or even my life for that matter, but I know somehow that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that I’m lost out here or that I will die out here. It doesn’t matter because I remember the puppy I accidentally jumped on when I was young. I remember it’s final whine as it lay broken before me. I remember running inside for my mother and through tears and gasps got her to follow me outside. I remember the tears that grew in her eye’s and rolled down her face as she realized the painful truth that the poor creature was dead. Only two weeks old and I had killed it. I didn’t understand why it couldn’t be fixed and why it had to be buried. I remember my mom explaining it to me and the end of my innocence. I know now that it doesn’t matter where I breathe, eventually the breath will stop. Be it by accident or simply old age, the woman in the shadows is correct. I am going to die. But this fact is not enough to sway me to the airlock. I refuse to give in. I will fight the infinite black until I am pulled there by force. And though the situation seems rather grim, there’s always hope for a brighter tomorrow. There must always be hope.


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Posted by on November 6, 2015 in Paradise Drift


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Corrupt Confinement

Blood. It is an imprint of everything biological in me. As unique as each individual snowflake that falls like regret from the glowing night sky. It holds all of me in the single drop that rolls off of my finger and stains the white world below me. Thoughts are tossed out into the flurry and are smothered by the oppressive cold before they even have the chance to fully form. I hate this part of the evening as the vomit splashes into the small dot of red drowning the beautiful evening in my sickness. It continues long after the last drop of liquid has been expelled from my stomach. What was it all worth? What was I ever really worth?

I know I will never see the answers so long as I’m still oxygen reliant and that fact frightens the hell out of me. The unknown darkness that hovers just over the horizon frightens the absolute hell out of me. It’s the ultimate spoiler alert. It’s the fruit that was forbidden and in consumption has obliterated the innocence of countless of tiny lives. The grains of sand roll out of my hand and crash back into the beach, only to be washed down and away by the inevitable tide. I see a man hunting to provide nourishment for his family. I see a woman tenderly picking up a fallen child and teaching him to stand once again. I see the hourglass drain the last bit of its sand as all of them turn to ash, and are blown away by a swift eastern wind.

If I could halt the unrelenting flow of time, I would hold it captive until its creator came back once again to claim it. I would paint the sun blue and dye the moon red. I would grip the lecherous monsters and chain them in cast iron cuffs, to be tossed into the deepest parts of the oceans. I would bathe the world in harmony and separate them from the vengeance burning inexplicably in all of our hearts. Instead, I will turn to ash and I will be blown away.


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Posted by on October 26, 2014 in Paradise Drift


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Bipolar Mine Trap

The kitchen cabinet opens like the curtains on a disgusting play, and inside she is chained up much the same way a rabid dog would be, sitting on her knees with a face covered in running mascara and food. Her moans are pitiful and haunting all at the same time. He closes the cabinet door with tears streaming down his face and turns and walks from the ragged house in the middle of the crooked wood, leaving behind the only thing he never wished to see.

The pistol feels cool and comfortable in the palm of his hand, almost as if it was invented and manufactured for this very purpose. He inhales softly and remembers the cold stone catacombs where he left his childhood wonder entombed. Chemical dreams and restless wandering took over the sandbox and toy soldiers that used to be enough. Medicated and halfway through the point of no return he realizes that he long ago forgot that magic was real and ghosts could kill. His temples are throbbing along to the beat of his weary heart as he places the cold steel against his forehead. The gun clicks upon an empty chamber and he surrenders to the fact that even this he can’t help but screw up.

The faces of long forgotten acquaintances stand in a row on either side of the pathway he finds himself walking down. They smile and greet him with as much empathy and excitement as a porn star would muster in an actual Hollywood production. He can feel the fakeness along with the anger as he finds the brick door and pushes it open slowly. Inside he sees a room adorned with crimson curtains around bricked up windows and a simple bed covered in blood splattered white sheets. Laying in the middle of it so still and gruesome is the one thing that finally holds some kind of emotion for him in this strange land. Her hair is black as the darkest night and her skin as pale as January snow. He moves next to the bed and presses his finger into her wrist. The pulse is faint but clearly there for one such as him to find. He lifts the limp woman into his arms and turns to the door only to find it gone. She is placed lovingly and oh so carefully back onto the bed where he found her and then he frantically searches the four brick walls for a way out. The bricks are as solid as the mortar used to hold them in place, still he punches and slams his body against them until blood coats his hands and bruises decorate his shoulders. Finally he moves back to the bed and the woman so still upon it. He tries to find a pulse, but he already knows there will be none.

Once the tears finally run dry and he is able to pull his face from hers, he turns and sees the doorknob that was not available to him when he so frantically and fanatically had searched for it. It was not available while it would have mattered. Once again he scoops her into his arms, only this time she feels so much heavier and also unbelievably cold. The door opens, and he sees a vast green meadow, stretching on for as far as his eyes can see. A concrete path mars the landscape and seems ridiculously out of place among the shin high grass and wildflowers sprinkled throughout. He follows it for what seems an eternity, with the corpse of the woman he never knew tucked lovingly against his chest, until off in the distance he makes out the faint shape of a tree. It grows as he closes the gap and he sees that the path will end at its base. He hits his knees when finally he reaches the end of the path and sits his precious cargo against the massive trunk. The tree seems to come alive in that moment and opens up to pull the cold corpse into itself. Where the woman once sat, only moments before, there is only bark. He rubs his hand lovingly against it and turns back to the path behind him. His footsteps are heavy and his hands shaky, and all the while he fights the urge to look back.


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Posted by on October 15, 2014 in Paradise Drift


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Exorcise the Mind

Reworked metaphors built upon the ashes of infinite bodies hover like a poisonous cloud above us. I only ever wanted a clean slate but the eraser was rubbed dry and the ink wouldn’t budge an inch. I often wonder if it would matter at all anyway. The world seemed to softly fall into gorgeous bonds of nihilistic chains as the sun faded to black and the stars, well the stars would have shined if they hadn’t all overdosed on chemical dreams and fractured circumstance. My head hurts holding it all in day after horrid day. The crimson stain left behind was washed clean by the callousness of yesterday and the smile was forgotten the moment the twinkle died out from his eye. What could I ever fucking say to make this world right itself again? What could I ever fucking hope to say?

Attention? Fucking please. I would rather dwindle into dust with honor and quiet contemplation alone. All I’ve ever had is my mess of angst ridden thoughts and splintered disbeliefs. I was left alone and thank god for that. Thank God my cancer has been contained and nailed down with plastic smiles and hopeful wishes. I cast the reflection upon the surface of glass lakes covered with the mists of forgotten emotions and broken hopes. The tears ran dry, as dry as my corpse will one day rest at the bottom of a six foot drop, as will all of yours. So I should persue the golden goblet, I should clutch it to my cold chest and pray that it shall earn me redemption at the end. I should… but I never fucking will.

Admittedly maybe I’m more than slightly lost. Maybe I fell through the looking glass and was tossed out the other side with this malicious smile in place. Maybe I was born the maniac I was always meant to be. I rage against the nightmares that stalk me like fresh prey in a predators hunting ground. They always end the same way my life will. I wake blessed with one more day of knowing that I’m still fucking nothing.

Only the young die good and free. Just let it come fast. Let me end the same way I began… oblivious.


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Posted by on October 8, 2014 in Paradise Drift


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Hand in Sand

Inevitability shall run its course and the courier shall bleed out and turn to dust. Eternity is vast and complicated by human hubris and bloodshot pride. The bullet resting in the chamber is getting more than bored as the sun sets on another dysfunctional day. The bird struck the mouse and no one will ever know his name, no one will ever really care that there is no name. God it’s so damn feeble and fleeting, much like a star shooting its way across an open night sky, burning so bright, only to fade away.

Calm yourself… breathe deep and feel the air…  focus on the rush of the blood… bathe in the rush of life.

I would be here if I wasn’t there and I may possibly not push at all, if all you ever did was pull. Because the middle ran dry and was laid bare before the desert sun. The wind and sand wore the smiling thing down into unrecognizable stone and bone. A single petal from the first bloom could have saved the mind.  It would have saved the mind. It should have saved the mind.

So fight the burning hole pulling you beyond current vision. Understand that you will never understand and continue to blindly hate. I was what they made and nothing in between. So I stand apart from you because you can’t handle the reaper hanging around my head. It’s written plainly in my seemingly “passionate” eyes. A mystery wrapped in black and accompanied with crimson subtitles. You will never know for you shall never see… this vast black hole… that has swallowed the core in me.

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Posted by on August 30, 2014 in Burned.


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My Kiddie Pool


Home becomes a distant promise as the sand increases its speed daily. Children of his blood stand abandoned and alone in an empty wasteland. The choking has begun as brittle bones slowly begin their collapse into the roses of yesterday. The villain captured the victim and with Frankenstein like brilliance, fused the poor bastard into his mind. Fresh perspectives and broken faith cause a sense of twisted euphoria in the shade cast from death’s perilous shadow. What is there for the weakened when all that’s left is a broken promise made in heated embrace?

And when the venom was flowing he felt the fangs pumping it into his open heart.  Worn like a traitors mark upon his open sleeve he dreamed of drifting through torn airwaves and open streams. She held his hand with a grip built upon an urgent need burning inside her torn heart. She led him through the crimson bath and opened the door to his redemption. The bullet tore a hole through the open door as broken waves crashed upon a desolate shore. Betrayed by convictions and closed faith, there’s no smile he can find beyond this shaded empire. Paint the clown in plain view and they still never seem to fucking see you. They can keep the truth locked and bound but they will never manage to fully cage light.

So keep your crimson bloodshed and shove it straight up your ass. You know nothing of truth and honesty nor love. It’s a broken concept in the light of your self-righteousness and your hypocritical crowns. Take your golden treasure and burn it while you hit your knees in prayer for your souls safe return. Remember the eye? The eye of a needle? Remember the meek are that way because you can’t break the unimaginable. You can’t grip dreams in your hands nor burn hope away. So bash the flesh and disguise the plan. Keep your coffers closed and hold the worlds salvation hostage behind gold-plated doors and granite walls. The Lord cares nothing for your buildings of brick and bone. Love is his currency and forgiveness and judgement are his offerings alone to give. He hears me when I cry, and he shall also embrace me when I die.

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Posted by on August 4, 2014 in Paradise Drift


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