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Insight

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If you don’t know me and you’re reading this or potentially some of my other scribbles, then you may have already guessed at some sort of tragedy that plagues my waking mind. A close friend of mine was stabbed three times less than 15 yards away from me. At first it just appeared that the phantom had simply hit him with a brick, as sadly I had seen that happen before and the spray of blood was very close in resemblance. What really happened was he was stabbed in the throat and then the chest twice, rupturing his lungs and causing him to have blood now rushing out of his neck but also into his lungs. I tried to get there in time to get my hands on the ghost that all too quickly had slipped back into his car and was gone in a matter of seconds. Friends wanted to get in cars and give chase but we were all drunk and I protested against the idea, I walked over to where two of my friends hovered over him, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, without thinking I took my shirt off and handed it to them lamely, as if it would make any fucking difference. He choked on red bubbles and looked straight at me with so much fear and an indescribable panic in his eyes, then the panic was gone, and so was my friend.

I’m not explaining this looking for some form of sympathy or attention, for I am well aware that neither would help at all. I’m just trying to offer a little insight into my poems and stories, for I know many find them complex riddles with no explanation ever clearly given. I’ve had people ask me with genuine concern if I’m suicidal based upon their misinterpretation of my poems, at which I can just explain, yet again, that my problems and worries come from an extreme fear of death, so why would I ever embrace it? I have seen the edge of the fall and have watched the impact, and it has forever changed something in me.

I used to enjoy going to movies and concerts, loved the thrill of potentially meeting someone new who was worth talking to. I would offer up conversations to complete strangers and was enriched in many ways for it. Crowds frighten me now. I get shaky, and when people look at me, which they are often prone to do given my large stature, I instantly feel suspect of the stare and my skin crawls the longer it continues. I no longer crave the company of strangers and in fact even polite conversation with the lady selling me cigarettes, has turned into an unwelcome inconvenience. When I drive I picture the wreck that kills me at least five times before I’m finally safe at my destination. I’ve become so petrified of death that I’ve developed a new fear on top of it, I’m scared that I’ll be so fearful of death that I’ll spend the rest of my life watching the second hand on a clock.

I smoked weed before the incident but rarely. It was more often than not a special occasion sort of thing where it was probably only once or twice a year that I would partake. After the incident I couldn’t sleep, I would just stare at my ceiling for hours but my mind would never shut off. I tried my old failsafe method of writing everything down, but it would just send my thoughts spinning and I would just end up a shaking and blubbering wreck of a man. When sleep would finally decide to take over, it was full of nightmares and I would wake up shaking and drenched in sweat. A close friend of mine was concerned and came over to see how I was. I had been drinking heavily for around a week and was just mentally done. He had some marijuana with him and asked if I would like some, honestly I’m glad I have good friends because I was wishing for a handful of heroin and not marijuana but I said why not, can’t hurt. Part of me was scared because in my youth I had experienced many aweful paranoid highs, where things in my mind that were already buzzing would go into a full blown rampage that would either leave me crying or punching something. My fear was unfounded, for as I took a couple of rips from his makeshift joint, I immediately felt a calming sensation take over me. We started a movie after that and I smiled for the first time since it had happened, and within thirty minutes I was fast asleep. No dreams or nightmares. Just sleep. Since then I smoke a little weed everyday, enough to take away the noise without removing my common sense. It helps me but if I were caught with it I would end up in the same place as the man who murdered my friend, what kind of sense does that fucking even make?

I’ll end this with just one more piece of me splayed across the page.

See I saw the light leave his eyes, hope choked out because of prideful lies and the wicked movements of demons in disguise.

So when you ask me if I’m fine, well immediately two things flash through my mind, the first being a flash of crimson and the image of the crime.

The next thing I see is sand, falling from an hourglass held by Death’s hand, swinging back and forth across every land, claiming every nation and every single man.

Am I fine? No one is.

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Posted by on April 30, 2015 in Paradise Drift

 

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Hardened

I’m not sure that the words will ever be enough to express what it meant to me. Not only the smiles and the warmth. Not just the faith that was expressed through open hearts and free flowing emotions. No, it was something more that broke the chains of mortal entanglements, it was the peace. Never before, nor since, has my soul soared so high into the infinite cosmos and danced alongside something as beautiful as that moment.

The hurt exploded from within our weary hearts, and turned outward at the only reflection that exists of that which we truly hate the most, ourselves. So if I were you and you were to step inside of me, the memories would remain as intact and pure as they stay locked within. The world would never grip or grasp the melody that stole the white noise from our ears and pierced straight through our ruined cores, leaving us only stronger and lovlier because of it.

And I love the way you broke the most. It burns of familiarity and pulls me in like a home I never knew I had, leaving my feelings of loneliness shattered and bleeding out upon the floor like a fuckin’ murder scene. Goosebumps followed your fingers as they lightly traced a circle upon the bare flesh that covered your heart and my soul. If I could crack the shell then I would crawl back to you and trade my life for a chance at redemption. Sadly the years have thickened this layer of brick and bone into an almost indestructible thing.

Death will come and I’m only ever consciously aware of this fact. What worth is there left in this blank grey world of dust and ashes? What can I do when the ending was written in crimson ink before I was even aware that I could love something so much? And I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin sorry, but I can’t grip something that never stays still. And I know that as the sun sets at the end of every day, I know I’ll always love everything that you are, and everything that you’ve done for me. Death will at least have failed to steal me before I knew the joy of falling asleep, fully within a world not composed of a single being, but something much more beautiful than simply that. Goodbye love, and know that all of mine that remained left with you.

 
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Posted by on April 26, 2015 in Paradise Drift, Poems

 

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Passing Grace

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Dreaming the day away with a sad sort of smile plastered against his face. He stares blankly out the window as drool forms in the corners of his mouth. The nurse is kind as she makes the rounds and dabs the spittle from his face. He offers her a barely audible sigh as a show of thanks, she gently squeezes his small shoulder before walking away. Then he’s back into that sacred home he has carved out in the corner of his mind, a haven from it all.

He is running. Moving with the speed of an Olympic gold medalist. He doesn’t remember when he started or exactly why he began to run. He just knows that he will never stop. He takes a deep breath and leaps thirty feet into the air and lands softly and nimbly. He breathes deeper the next jump, and he is floating softly all the way down to the earth below. The next time he leaps he doesn’t come down at all, instead he is soaring through white cotton candy clouds. He looks below and watches the earth get further, and further away.

A cry splits the sky and sends him crashing violently back onto the earth. Blood rolls from his eyes like tears and it stings like apathy. He can make out the faces of the people hidden behind the blood, and the crimson tears increase as a result. They were all taken before their own flight through a warm summers evening, through the ruthless autumn, and into a proper winters bed. Gone like the white cotton candy clouds and brightening night sky.

It was cold that day the concrete proved stronger than her fist, and his apathy was cured by the violent response. Pride dropped low and doors swung open. Its an instance that occurs in an instant, and is nearly impossible to find, let alone describe. It’s like a cool breeze on a warm summer afternoon. It’s much like a drive through red and orange mountains in the crisp autumn air. It’s almost exactly like curling up under a heavy blanket on a biting winter night. It’s almost just like… letting go of everything… and becoming weightless.

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2014 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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So I Had A Drink Or Five

skyYou left me defenseless.
Tore me down,
left me senseless.
Falling,
losing control.
Losing it,
giving in to this pull.
Let it take me,
drag me down.
All the way,
I love the sound.
I don’t care,
what have I left.
A broken shell,
with nothing but ashes to sift.
Dripping,
falling,
all the way down,
kissing your lips,
right before I touch the ground.
Dashed,
upon the rocks.
Begging for just a glimpse,
before the door locks.
Click click,
goes the loaded weapon.
I can’t even,
make it to heaven.
Bang bang,
goes the closing door.
Now only cold waves,
crash upon my shore.
Darkness,
dwells here no more.
However, my wings,
never again shall soar.
A victory,
small as me.
A loss,
cold as can be.
Shaking…
Waiting…
Anticipating…
Dreaming…
Screaming…
Shaking…
Waking…
Baking…
Staying…
Laying…
Under skies of eternal blue…
Lost in a memory…
of you…
Jake Sellers ‘at the end
 
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Posted by on December 1, 2012 in Poems

 

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River Dreams Pt.2

It is human nature…
to question our nature.
It is human emotion…
that has destroyed all emotion.
It therefore absolutely must be stated…
that our ability to think,
is what shall destroy us.
Or rather perhaps…
our ability to hate…
to murder…
to take…
take,
and fucking take…
that shall destroy us.
We collect trophies of the lost,
keeping them proudly displayed,
upon each of our sleeves.
What is it that drives us…
drives us to war?
What is it that takes us…
takes us to war?
Looking inward…
then outward…
then up…
then down…
finding little more than more questions.
For every question answered…
is but another found.
They keep piling,
and all the while the war machines,
they keep firing.
We are drowning in them,
answering and finding,
questions…
so very many questions.
More need to turn inward.
Remove the physical,
remove borders,
remove nations,
remove God,
remove yourself…
and see the river.
Watch it flow eternal…
watch it…
dance.
Feel the pain…
feel the loss…
but know love…
know happiness…
know yourself.
Find the center…
expand it…
till yours and mine…
collide.
Let us grow outward…
together…
please…
let us end this…
war…
together.
Jake Sellers 12
 
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Posted by on November 20, 2012 in Poems

 

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