The rain falls
The sky cries
Anger strikes
With lightning lines
The wind blows
The house creaks
The lights go out
The ceiling leaks
Inside he runs
Bucket in hand
To catch the drops
Before they land
And yet he trips
Slips on a rug
Spilling water all over
His favourite drug
The only noise he hears
Is the watery drip
As he rushes down the stairs
Only to trip
Down they tumble
And to his great dread
The guitar breaks
And is undoubtedly dead
“I only wanted to dry it”
He says with a sigh
The rain ceases to fall
And he starts to cry.
The End.
-Mango
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Collector 01
"Show me how defenseless you really are."
I cringed at the sound of his voice, at the feel of his hands as they crawled over my stomach. There would be no avoiding this, of that I was certain.
"You can't hide anything from me you know. Why bother trying?" I watched him tread carefully forward.
I stayed silent among the beating red objects that lay all around me, shivering from the coolness of the room. It seemed as though the room went on for ages. There were no walls and no ceiling and so I felt as though I was hanging by a rope tied to nothing, my arms bound helplessly above me. I could move my legs, but couldn't see what good it would do me and so I stayed motionless, my body prisoner of the motions of the wind. It sometimes came as nothing more than a light breeze, and in other moments in vicious, freezing gusts.
"So the heartless warrior has found her feelings?"
The quiet thudding and rythmic beating were unnerving. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at them, as though avoidance would save me. Naked with only the hair on my head to keep me warm, a violent series of chatters erupted in my mouth, stopping as suddenly as they had occured and starting up again.
"Might we here be seeing the shivers of guilt?"
No response. I would not let him get the better of me. I couldn't.
"You will speak."
I opened my eyes only to see him standing barely inches from my face. He smiled at me, teeth glistening menacingly in the apparent darkness of the area.
"My warrior princess could it be so?"
The breeze made my body sway, bumping my knees against his legs.
"Revolting."
It seemed like nothing more than a punch to face upon contact. Then I felt it. I could smell it. The warmth and wetness of it trickled down my forehead, over my eye and down to my lips. The relief it brought me was surreal.
"So it's true, you've found one. It won't last. Look at how many you've collected already! There will be no salvation, no hope for this supposed special one. You will do as you always have done."
He ran his fingers down my body, hoping to get a reaction out of me.
"You are weak." He whispered in my ear. "Perhaps I should lay yours to rest among the others?"
I took one final look around the room, finally ready to pronounce the deadly words.
"Perhaps you should... I won't take that one."
I cringed at the sound of his voice, at the feel of his hands as they crawled over my stomach. There would be no avoiding this, of that I was certain.
"You can't hide anything from me you know. Why bother trying?" I watched him tread carefully forward.
I stayed silent among the beating red objects that lay all around me, shivering from the coolness of the room. It seemed as though the room went on for ages. There were no walls and no ceiling and so I felt as though I was hanging by a rope tied to nothing, my arms bound helplessly above me. I could move my legs, but couldn't see what good it would do me and so I stayed motionless, my body prisoner of the motions of the wind. It sometimes came as nothing more than a light breeze, and in other moments in vicious, freezing gusts.
"So the heartless warrior has found her feelings?"
The quiet thudding and rythmic beating were unnerving. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at them, as though avoidance would save me. Naked with only the hair on my head to keep me warm, a violent series of chatters erupted in my mouth, stopping as suddenly as they had occured and starting up again.
"Might we here be seeing the shivers of guilt?"
No response. I would not let him get the better of me. I couldn't.
"You will speak."
I opened my eyes only to see him standing barely inches from my face. He smiled at me, teeth glistening menacingly in the apparent darkness of the area.
"My warrior princess could it be so?"
The breeze made my body sway, bumping my knees against his legs.
"Revolting."
It seemed like nothing more than a punch to face upon contact. Then I felt it. I could smell it. The warmth and wetness of it trickled down my forehead, over my eye and down to my lips. The relief it brought me was surreal.
"So it's true, you've found one. It won't last. Look at how many you've collected already! There will be no salvation, no hope for this supposed special one. You will do as you always have done."
He ran his fingers down my body, hoping to get a reaction out of me.
"You are weak." He whispered in my ear. "Perhaps I should lay yours to rest among the others?"
I took one final look around the room, finally ready to pronounce the deadly words.
"Perhaps you should... I won't take that one."
Monday, February 8, 2010
00.00.02
A girl walked up to me one day and said, "Kida, I'm sad. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want. I don't... There are so many things I don't know. What's wrong with me?" and all I could do at that very moment was to stare blankly and in awe at her because I didn't know what to respond. What's wrong with me? No one seems to think anything is wrong with her, and I try to believe them, and say that nothing is wrong, but I can't. It doesn't make sense. So I continue to stare at the girl in awe, and eventually walk away without speaking another word. She says nothing, she only sits and then all the lights shut off, and then they're back on again. All I hear is the sound of the piano playing in the song that I've become attached to. What's wrong with me? The world is falling apart, being eaten away by our endless desires, people are dying because the world is over populated, polar bears are drowning, that girl over there looks so pretty but she's actually an idiot... I can spot what's wrong with everyone else, but lack the answer to that one question.
I listen to the song and want to cry. I open my agenda and want to cry. A car nearly hit me and I'm still in shock. I'm crying. Nothing makes sense. Perhaps the tears aren't real, and if the tears aren't real, the pain isn't real, and that would mean that no one is suffering. There is no way for me to prove that the tears are real. Sure I feel them, taste them, but I could be mistaken. A disturbed person may hear voices in their heads, voices that direct them and control them. It is not though because they see and hear them that they are necessarily real. Then again, it is not because a doctor says that they are figments of imagination that they are without question extracts of thought. Who's the doctor to say what does or doesn't exist. He's a man of science yes, but what is science other than something that someone far off in the past randomly decided to create? What does two mean? Why two? Why does two times two give four? Why not thirteen? It's abstract. It doesn't make sense. Somebody made it up and it went way out of hand to the sciences of today that are based on something that someone someday created.
What's wrong with me?
Perhaps then the voices are not fake. Perhaps polar bears are not drowning. Perhaps people are not dying. Perhaps...
In bed I close my eyes, the lights go off and then back on.
"What's wrong with you?" I ask.
"I'm self conscious, fat, hard-headed, ruled by only vanity and envy, a most vile of duos", she says.
"What's wrong with me?"
"You talk with imaginary people that live in your head."
-Kida
I listen to the song and want to cry. I open my agenda and want to cry. A car nearly hit me and I'm still in shock. I'm crying. Nothing makes sense. Perhaps the tears aren't real, and if the tears aren't real, the pain isn't real, and that would mean that no one is suffering. There is no way for me to prove that the tears are real. Sure I feel them, taste them, but I could be mistaken. A disturbed person may hear voices in their heads, voices that direct them and control them. It is not though because they see and hear them that they are necessarily real. Then again, it is not because a doctor says that they are figments of imagination that they are without question extracts of thought. Who's the doctor to say what does or doesn't exist. He's a man of science yes, but what is science other than something that someone far off in the past randomly decided to create? What does two mean? Why two? Why does two times two give four? Why not thirteen? It's abstract. It doesn't make sense. Somebody made it up and it went way out of hand to the sciences of today that are based on something that someone someday created.
What's wrong with me?
Perhaps then the voices are not fake. Perhaps polar bears are not drowning. Perhaps people are not dying. Perhaps...
In bed I close my eyes, the lights go off and then back on.
"What's wrong with you?" I ask.
"I'm self conscious, fat, hard-headed, ruled by only vanity and envy, a most vile of duos", she says.
"What's wrong with me?"
"You talk with imaginary people that live in your head."
-Kida
00.00.01
"Making mistakes is what people do."
I'm uncertain of how many times I've heard this phrase and all of its many variations. It doesn't make me feel any better. If anything, it makes me feel worse seeing as I would rather enjoy being something other than a mirrored image of my surrounding population. Inside me, I hear a constant ticking, not the rythmic beating of my heart, no, more like my life clock. It ticks away, and with every ridiculously avoidable mistake I make, I feel the little Kida inside me play with the mechanics of the clock, sabotaging it and bringing it ever closer to a bitter end. She takes out her little wrenches, her hammers, her screwdrivers, anything she can get her hands on, and then she tinkers with it. Always closer to the bitter end.
It's never easy to be in constant dispute with one's self. Little Kida disagrees with me most everyday, and it's gotten to the point where I wonder if perhaps Kida's the one that should be seen on the outside. She could be so much better than me. All that I seem to be good at is disappointing those that care most about me.
Drowning in self pity, I look forward to the first chance that appears before me to give myself up to impulse or whatever else the substances cause to arise inside. The vile poison goes in, flooding my insides with numbness. I stop caring about the world, forget about it entirely. I can feel myself letting go as though nothing in the world matters to me anymore. In truth though, many things do. The choice is mine to make and pitiful as it may be, it always ends with less than half a mind and double the pain.
As the hours go by, the pain worsens, the guilt made more potent as the memories come back, as little Kida cries over my idiocy and selfishness. "Everyone makes bad decisions." It brings no consolation. The ones I love, the ones that love me most, why is that I always make them suffer?
I made him cry. I lost control amidst the temptation of a glimpse of false freedom.
He may have forgiven me, but I can't forgive myself. There is no forgiveness to be given to those who don't deserve it. It will not be forgotten. No...
I hate myself. Yes, and Kida hates me too. Another knock on the ticking clock and soon it all goes boom.
-Feather
I'm uncertain of how many times I've heard this phrase and all of its many variations. It doesn't make me feel any better. If anything, it makes me feel worse seeing as I would rather enjoy being something other than a mirrored image of my surrounding population. Inside me, I hear a constant ticking, not the rythmic beating of my heart, no, more like my life clock. It ticks away, and with every ridiculously avoidable mistake I make, I feel the little Kida inside me play with the mechanics of the clock, sabotaging it and bringing it ever closer to a bitter end. She takes out her little wrenches, her hammers, her screwdrivers, anything she can get her hands on, and then she tinkers with it. Always closer to the bitter end.
It's never easy to be in constant dispute with one's self. Little Kida disagrees with me most everyday, and it's gotten to the point where I wonder if perhaps Kida's the one that should be seen on the outside. She could be so much better than me. All that I seem to be good at is disappointing those that care most about me.
Drowning in self pity, I look forward to the first chance that appears before me to give myself up to impulse or whatever else the substances cause to arise inside. The vile poison goes in, flooding my insides with numbness. I stop caring about the world, forget about it entirely. I can feel myself letting go as though nothing in the world matters to me anymore. In truth though, many things do. The choice is mine to make and pitiful as it may be, it always ends with less than half a mind and double the pain.
As the hours go by, the pain worsens, the guilt made more potent as the memories come back, as little Kida cries over my idiocy and selfishness. "Everyone makes bad decisions." It brings no consolation. The ones I love, the ones that love me most, why is that I always make them suffer?
I made him cry. I lost control amidst the temptation of a glimpse of false freedom.
He may have forgiven me, but I can't forgive myself. There is no forgiveness to be given to those who don't deserve it. It will not be forgotten. No...
I hate myself. Yes, and Kida hates me too. Another knock on the ticking clock and soon it all goes boom.
-Feather
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