To Become Death; In The Pursuit Of Life

Love; the great saviour

Love; the great deceiver

We pursue the sacred feeling through every blackened, burnt out and hellish landscape we know but is it really a cure?

The blindly devout follower of positive instinct in me craves it, lusts for a safely redeeming hint of that sweet escape from reality’s damnation

The passionately dark Sharman of truth casts the word as a curse, a dangerously infectious idea that blinds it’s prey with merciless efficiency before the strike

I want to believe it will remedy my ills with a soothing malaise of healing calm, the ice to violently supress the volcano of negatively emotive feelings that burn my very skin with depressive pain

But the devoutly truthful Sharman’s words strike with as much painful regret as love’s own dagger, each a kindred in terms of purest power and impact upon my fractured state

Where the blade ends and my flesh starts twistedly merges into unholy mess, wilful offering of my body into the trap the most bitterly felt betrayal as poison metal makes it’s home amongst the other daggers protruding from my back

How I long to see the reassuringly red flecks of life proudly interrupting the black oily substance flowing through my veins, such endless nothing now so strong as to take physical form, and the truly disturbing reality that stems from this bleak realisation…

When the venomous black ooze spills from my wounded flesh, acidic smoke as it eats into the most hardened veneer of honest innocence; that I am the cause of the very much resented suffering that I have vowed to never cause

Love; the great saviour

Love; the great deceiver

In my broken, fractured and blackened state how would I even know how to tell which statement is truth, and which verse is merely a self-protecting lie

Dating Profiles and how NOT to write them!

Going by the sheer lack of positive responses over months/years/adult life from any form of female life it would appear I am more undesirable than an undead, hunch backed and openly canibal axe murderer at a wedding, who just knocked over the cake and spilt red wine on the bride’s dress to boot!

So I’m going to write my shopping list here and accept the fact that it’ll be diner for one until my mortal form expires, and should that axe murdering canibal want to invite me to his wedding as I suspect he will have more success than me; then I’ll add ‘human seasoning’ to my list, so at least then I can be part of his wedding diner and feel useful!!

Toilet paper
Kitchen towel
Milk – 2x 1pt green
Fresh pasta
Pasta sauce
Bread
Chewy bars/breakfast bars
Yogurt
Cereal
Biscuits
Chocs
Human seasoning
Olive spread
Eggs
Cheese
Salami Slices

PS; If you think I’ve left anything off my list feel free to let me know

Feb 14th

Her

The sight of…

Weakened by news from all corners that creates painful echoes of the lacking happiness and hollow pits in your own life where love should be

An emotional fugitive slips free of logic’s chains in an instant of weakening frivolity

A glitch occurs as you threaten to approach her and offer the most meagre of words

Rejection from the last time you asked purposely rejected so to propel an illusion it is not the screamingly bad idea you know it to be

She fades into background as you pause and leaves the space empty of wanted eyes as now you wander if she glimpsed the fire in your eyes

Logic’s hounds mercilessly drag bloodied emotion back into its cursed cage as free of poison temptation you accept the futility of finding love

The rarest of moments gone again in the decimal hell of mathematical impossibility that you will have such opportunity again

The moment is merely another ghost now in a graveyard of failed pleads to put misery’s heartbreak to rest in one of the many graves you only hope to fill

Ghosts of when you thought you might recover the status of ‘human’ and be happy again

Fire leaving your eyes as again ice consumes the fledgling hope born of a glitch in the system that forces mercenary rules upon the emotionless landscape of your mind

The system of survival that only ever accepts death as a reality in life’s bleak nothingness

Another Feb 14th passes without note

Bad Advisory Warning!

They said she was bad news
The noose like neckless and buckle heavy shoes
Lesbian bikers would give her a respectful nod
Faffy types commented her language was too crude
They said she was a demon
The preacher when seeing her walk by sprung to sermon

I said ‘I like you dress’
She said ‘say that again and your dead’
And now when they say she is bad news
I show them the wedding ring and say
“I’ll take that bitch from hell over your dumb advice anyday”

Inconclusive Resolution Blues

Weeks endured in the grips of an acidic burn cast against the logic that to act is a bad idea, caustic emotions create new worlds of torture at the sight of her as every second spent in proximity is an exercise in anxious exploration of the solely destructive idea that doggedly pursues, the hunters of your sanity’s ghost in the endless bleak void of knowing demise.

The numerous assaults of fear in every putrid sickening form of failure a demon can take and multiple in number so to make sure you know; that escape from your fate is a dream and that fate will seal your doom, each depressive blast a new pain to mask the blackhole sensation that love so viciously casts upon you.

It sits at the twistedly corrupt core of the tangled forest of evil; a heart as poisonous as the nest of vipers stalking you in the blinding daylight that it sent to ensure you feel every cursed bite of love’s corrosive burn, uncertainty the fangs that deliver in the end the rejection to kill all hope.

You ask through the myriad of anxieties flames flickering with the sharpened forks that demon’s minions wield in the face of good favour and luck in the dark arts, a moment framed in hellish pause as she stalls with her surprise; Have you broken her? Did you spoil the months of good will and polite exchanges to failingly pacify the corrupted temptation to ask a singularly bad question?

“Would you like to go out with me” stammers embarrassingly from your mouth pathetically with baited breath, humiliation held in judgement by the waited response she takes forever to voice in that moment you wait; will it be rejection’s merciful let down, acceptance of the offer to release the unknown chaos you haven’t planned for or will all destruction mercilessly rain down as it goes horrifically wrong with public damnation …but it’s not yes or no she says but instead some vague inconclusive

You thought of all the ways it could go bad, but the one variation that happened

Life’s laughter ringing out as the church signalling the day of happiness you damningly only watch from the sidelines, never a hope that your beloved will be standing next to you to redeem all the wounds that eternally bleed every fractured ideal of happiness once whole with belief.

The dark mirror echoing images of the nightmare lands where you find slim salvation in the joy deposing fact that at least the demons there are civilised, looking you in the eye as they deliver the shot of fresh pain into your walking corpse instead of a dagger in the back from angles unseen.

And the most stinging sign of life’s unforgivable betrayal; through writing all this I can’t even be given the release of a single tear, only the subtly creeping death of my ability to feel…

The sin of loves inflicted curse

To know the finer pain of life’s cruellest taunt

Is to lose the ability to smile, the freedom to feel

For fear of what it reveals and implies to others

Those who could be hurt or offended by a simple truth

As harmless at its core as a mere suggestive thought

That for the sake of others

To the detriment to your soul

You bury and ignore

The lonely price of protecting yourself and others

From the unwanted fallout of life’s cruellest taunt