Running a Fated Race

To run a thousand miles a wild pace of unabated pace is as pointless as the knowledge of death a mere second before the fated event, equal if not cruelly on that same torturous level as when every fibre of hope leaves with not so much as a coldly scribbled note.

From which do we run?

Even if we know the futility of trying to escape in desperate fashion the most unavoidable damning fate, so should the questioning logic not insidiously twist into the question of; why do we bother to run?

See all happiness flaunted brazen and boldly large in everyday places we are forcible dragged into on a daily basis of painful survival, every happiness festering person unknowing in the war that life wages on the condemned, as with grossly spewed platitudes the acidic burn of well intentioned words erode further to the fatalistic core of broken forms.

“I am not of the living, nor the resting dead but in that place where all a demons cries will not bring pain as it would to my betters, to me and the broken legions such demonic choirs inspire quieting storms of world ending fury”

To stare deeply dark faces down which go by the taunting names which are the same as our names, till it reveals the darker still truths all who see those faces grudgingly know; it is the mirrors jagged edge into which we look.

“An open wound bleeds all of my soul’s most positive self to the ending flames of everything I hate of my nature, now the gravely clung to warmth that keeps the razor from my wrist as fresh promises of hope now lure me to the edge of the cliff”

So run we will and make speed on bleeding feet, make worthless haste in haze ridden dens of poisonous fields of depressions fruits and turn coldly from formerly warm places where old friends hath turned to symbols of all the painfully lacking pits branded with hollow happiness’s promises lost, those pits we hazardously step around for survivals fated sources of a declining will to live.



Comment Roundup PT2

“I’ve had a lifetime of those nights” lamented the darkly reflective drunk, his lingering glass haunting the gravely occupied bar top

“She was the trigger, my nature the gun” a shot glass fired back as fast as the barman’s delivery can fuel each measured chapter of the destructive act

“The hour of that eternity, the second my sanity left” the barman lets the drunk further into a bottles drifting stupor retreat, merci ridden is such an act when faced with the grim looks he serves every deathly night he fuels the internally dead

“Now let me never be sober, or I’ll catch a razor blade death” as into the night fades all that makes the barfly’s mood so stained an unhappy shade of black, blissfully darker with each liquid bullet downed in increasingly uncoordinated shots

“And if that bitch says I raised a finger” a pause in bleak spirited pace, slurring words to a timely length equal to the rope each depressive uses to tie their noose

“Let it be known, lies and an empty bottle carry more weight in the eyes of a judge” the shot glass dismissing its contents to the floor, the intended drinker passing out

Not a grimace of pain upon impact with the floor many have called a bed, but a look of content to mark the hallowed event to be free of conscious memory of all he drinks to forget

Recent Comment Roundup

                        The edge of suicide is the limit of life
      A knife on the wrist a dark lament
               The time until the deed full of unhappy moments
As into the fading black I release a final breathe

—- *** ! *** —-

“I would rather live one day as myself than a lifetime as a lie
As I must die inside to play role that others demand”

—- *** ! *** —-

Ask a depressive the remaining time they have to claim
That’s like asking a raindrop how long it takes to fall
The resulting fatal conclusion of each very much the same…

—- *** ! *** —-

“A smile in lonely silence carries more emotion than a forced grin in social survivalism”


A Thankyou to all those whose brilliant posts inspire me

Shame; a reminder

            All     the world a    blaze

And    only me     to sort it   

  Me who  lit the  match

All the world a blaze

           And for me the blame

The devil to pay