Cassie's Poetic Nonsense

Editor. Writer. I write weird shit. I write what I feel. Welcome to my -almost- poetic writing!

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

The Quick and the Dead Fanfic

So I wrote something nasty.

What if Ellen aka the Lady had agreed to be John Herod’s wife? The whole point of the movie is her coming to the town of Redemption to kill him, but if she was too scared to succeed, what would’ve happened?

Welllll, here’s what I think happened. She agreed to be his wife and here’s what I think happened on one of their first nights.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

/ ᴍʏ ᴇᴍᴘᴛɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ɪꜱ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʙᴏx ᴏꜰ ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇꜱ

My depression is the depth of an empty room; filled with nothingness.

It is a hollow box of resounding thought that continues in an endless cycle of numbness.

Worries tumble round and round, bouncing off the walls constantly.

I don’t always hear or catch the thought / that is just how my anxieties function.

Sometimes they have no words, only emotions bouncing from sadness to worry, to sadness - to worry.

It isn’t a worry of anything particular, simply an overwhelming feeling that something is bothering me.

I can’t pinpoint one singular instance; it is everything.

Breathing is a struggle when opening my eyes is considered impossible.

Depression is like a coffin; it traps you inside and makes you want to sleep forever.

Endlessly trapped in a head filled with nothing, while your body continues to breathe.

You don’t want to stop breathing / - you want for nothing.

And that’s depressing in itself.

You may feel a spark of happiness or relief here or there, but it doesn’t last.

It’s a momentary speck in an endless sea of worries and doubts.

One things lead to another, irrational or rational thought; they combine into a stream leading to the sea of..

Nothing.

And that’s when feeling nothing is the loneliest feeling of all.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

I’m not okay.

No, I’m not okay -

but I have to be.

What are choices? -

when none belong to me.

I have no right to any emotion -

why do you feel this way?

Why do you feel like this? -

I don’t feel that way.

You’re overreacting -

stop being dramatic.

I don’t want to -

so you don’t deserve to.

You have an attitude -

I don’t know how to stop.

I’m hurting -

well don’t.

I just don’t care anymore -

I don’t have that luxury.

I’m numb, -

I’m not.

Why are you this way? -

I don’t want to be.

I can’t cry anymore -

good, you’ve no reason to.

Smile -

I’ll cut my lips, then.

Die -

I want to, but I can’t.

My life isn’t my own -

why not?

Obligations, fear, disappointment -

My life.

Suck it up -

I have no choice.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Depression.

Why can’t I be happy?

My fire is doused by the sadness that causes a lack of brightness within my eyes. It is a transformation of features and mannerisms obvious to others; a lack of energy, and less hugs given freely in moments of utter happiness.

Why am I this way?

This feeling of sadness due to change, and my emptiness acts as catalyst for my lack of interest in things I proclaim to love. I’ve lost that spark, and I fear I will soon become nothing to those around me. Without my energy, without my endless love, what is left for me to give?

I am rotting, inside out.

There are no tears I can muster, but I am always melancholic now. It started as a slow creeping lack of interest, and it is to a point where I cannot hide the wrongness I feel.

I want to hide it all, and bottle it up.

I want to take every negative feeling and throw it far away, but they are all I have at the moment. Every instance of happiness is overshadowed by a feeling of loss.

I don’t know how to stop.

Talking about it to others doesn’t ease the burden I feel, and I wonder if my chemical substances are overflowing and oozing out into reality. I want to take them back inside me, so no one will see the truth. I’m not this rotten core blackened by the weight of light; or am I?

I pretend, I think?

To be happy all the time. I want everyone else to be happy by my radiating joy, and I’ve forced it for so long. Sometimes I burst with the feeling of splendor, and radiate as though I am the sun; warm and wondrous. Now I am the moon; aloof, hiding behind the clouds, bearing the sadness and calmness of the night. It isn’t becoming. It isn’t me.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t want help. I don’t need help. I’ve never asked or needed it before, so.. why should I now? I can deal with it, I’ll get through it day by day. Or so I pray.

I’m lost.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

My breath; stolen.

I awoke, heart racing within my chest. Thoughts rushed within my mind even before I opened my eyes, and the knot in my throat only grew quicker with consciousness.

Even in my sleep, I couldn’t escape the anxiety that plagues me day to day.

I’m drowning in my own worries that are thrown one by one behind my eyelids. It’s hard to breathe; god, I just want to take a breath without this weight on my chest.

I’m panicked. I’m sitting, and I am deadly still, focusing on inhaling. Inside; a restless marathon of a beating heart and the monster known as anxiety rushing fast on a treadmill.

The dream wasn’t real. My subconscious is hurting me, burning me with worries that I don’t need to have. Worries that aren’t true.

I am safe, I repeat to myself. It is the truth of awakening; I am safe and I am home but my body doesn’t get the memo. My mind has slowed but my heart still rushes that blood, pounding it through my veins so hard I can feel it vibrating my chest.

I am panicked -

I’m having an anxiety attack, and there’s nothing I can do but sit and wait as nothingness plays before my eyes while my body is a prison of restlessness.

I’m tired.

I wish someone would help me; but the only someone that can is myself.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324168

Inspired by @lethal-desires

A work of true mates, war, and bullshit.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Why say such things?

Your praises are sweet to my ears, and every word from your lips I take as God would to a prayer. You are what I imagine perfection would be, if such an ideal were true.

You are my infatuation; a creature designed to seduce me into orbit, and I find myself content revolving around all you have to offer.

Or am I?

For all your charms that keep me dancing to the rhythm you’ve set, there is something that causes me to pause.

“You’re enough, for now.” You haven’t said it so plainly, but instead, heavily implied in words and tone. It is truth, brutal honesty, and it stings.

Yet I knew what I was getting into, that this was only temporary for as long as you allowed it to continue. For as long as I turned my eyes, fooling my heart to become blind to the inevitable.

I am the lovely distraction you wish to brag about to others, the object you can fondle and touch because I crave what you’ve dangled before me.

Still, I am trapped within your orbit, revolving slow even as revelations come to light and I worry when it will end. I want you more than I want to breathe.

Is it better to stay, wrapped in the false love you offer? Content until something more beautiful; - something closer to what you want walks by. I burn at the thought, but for some reason, I am trapped.

Trapped by the seduction you weave;- you’ve stolen a portion of my heart.

I will be crushed by your leaving, and I’ll only have myself to blame, for I wanted this. But you are wrong too;- to make me want you so, to say such things to me.

Don’t break me before you leave, it is less I’ll have to put back together after you’ve gone. Because I can’t bring myself to step out of your life.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

[I miss you; a thousand other meanings]

When I say I miss you; I mean that I think about you constantly. That isn’t to say it is an obsessive stream, only I find you in the littlest things.

I am reminded of you by the dull ache in my chest that isn’t entirely sad, only fond in my remembrance. It isn’t a bad thing; things just are as they are.

You are like a beguiling, catchy melody that sneaks in throughout the day and I find myself humming to the tune of you. Perhaps you’ve invaded my mind, and maybe my heart.

When I say maybe, I know for sure that you are there, tuning my heartstrings even if you hadn’t meant to.

You are a song that I wish I could harmonize to, but - we are always far away. My hands are restless, and I am anxious, but there’s nothing to worry over (or so you say.)

It’ll all be fine, in time, and I will continue to say; I miss you.

I miss you as in, I worry over you though I know you’re fine. I wonder if you’re happier today, if the days are a little brighter though the weight known as depression still sits in your chest.

Depression, I have it too though it has quieted in tone and now just lingers in the back of my chest. Yours is deeper, more experienced and growing with every recent endeavor.

I wish I could take your pain away with every kiss I want to give you, but it isn’t my burden to bare. You wouldn’t give it to me to shoulder, anyway.

We are alike, in that way.

I miss you because you aren’t truly mine, and you aren’t a possession I can hold to my chest and protect. No, you’ve got to figure things out on your own and when you need a hand to hold, I’ll be here.

Because I miss you.

But when I say I miss you, I really mean I love you.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

[Sweet rabbit, called the fox]

You were the thunder that struck within my heart; the very pulse of a storm that thrummed beneath my veins. Frightened as I was of the lightning that pierced through my darkened nights, I still longed for the arms that would enfold around me.

Your arms were a comforting source, weren’t they? You whispered within my ear, and my heart sung out at the sound of your voice.

I would’ve done anything for you.

But you, no you didn’t want that.

As soon as I offered myself to you without condition, the thrill wasn’t as fun anymore. You lost the adrenaline rushing at the thought of what you couldn’t have.

I was foolish.

And I should’ve known better than to give in.

I was the rabbit who crooned when the fox came running near. You weren’t there to help when I screamed, you were there for the thrill in your veins at the thought of piercing my neck.

I fell within your trap; oh tender rabbit, merciless fox.

You ripped within my jugular, but when I began to like the thought of your teeth in my veins, you began to pull away. You started this game between us, these wicked games we both liked to play.

Now you dissuade, you falter, you run.

I have become the predator longing for you this time; the threat of lightning that flashes through your eyes as I come near. I want to consume you, and you fear for me taking hold of your heart.

Run, little rabbit.

You won’t fool me again, for the thunder has broken through my heart and I have become the sound of sadness piercing the night with shrieks to the heavens.

I am the mournful cry, luring still.

You once called the sound romantic, but darling, it was all a lie. You weren’t a fox looking for prey, you were a rabbit playing with a predator you thought that you could claim. You didn’t want to get eaten.

Don’t come around next time, or I’ll ruin you.

I won’t play these games again.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

I think I love you.

As I lay here, I am filled with thoughts of you. There is a fond smile along my lips, eyes closing while I envision that you are here beside me.

You are the song in the back of my mind, echoing within my ears, and I am burning with your memory.

There are so many things I want to say, and I think I am falling in love with you. I want you closer, fingers interlaced with mine. Dance with me, slowly, throughout the night as we dream together.

Your gaze is always soft; with eyes the color of the skies. I could fall into them, and swim through the pale blue waters I find within. I am floating; falling for you, with you.

I don’t know if you feel the same, and I should probably cease my hopeful heart. I have always been sappy, filled with all sorts of emotion that almost make my chest burst with technicolor, sparks flying from my ribs as I try to hold all of it in with my hands. The colors of my budding love burst through my fingertips, fizzing into the air in joyful bursts.

I think I’m falling in love with you, and I’d give anything for you to be here right now.

Kiss me until there is nothing left but us together, beneath the harvest moon.

I will love you with all my heart, if you’ll let me. Just accept me, and give me that smile of yours again. Let me see that tender nothingness shine within your eyes.

I think I love you, so come a little bit closer. I promise I won’t go away.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Tell me the truth.

Where do we stand? When will it be time to fall? I wonder, as emotion slowly begins to bloom within my chest. I try to slow it down, ignore that it is happening, but still it is a persistent threat.

It is parallel with the thought that this may ruin me, another scar along my heart beside other jagged, deep lines that still ooze from time to time.

I know I should slow down, and it isn’t as though we are going very fast. There are obstacles, some I don’t believe we can get passed.

Yet you still keep me strung around, and I dance slowly around you with a smile. Yet within my eyes, there is pain and so many questions.

I wonder when you pull me into your arms, if this will be the time you drop me. Will this be the fall? I’m so uncertain, how could I be so naive as to allow this to continue?

False hope; and the smile on your lips. The way you look at me, the way you say you want me. Sometimes want isn’t enough, but yours is succulent and sweet. How can I deny?

There are no defined lines, I’m unaware of where we stand. You stay not to worry, don’t reflect on this too much. Little do you know, I am worried for every breath either of us take; that is the weight of my flaw. I have few, though you say they are insignificant even as you discover them.

But I see in your eyes and hear in your tone, you are coming to the realization I am perhaps not what you thought.

I am waiting for the fall.

I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the scars in my heart to deepen with the loss that is you. False hope has always been my forbidden seeds, and I’ve eaten them eagerly this time with you.

Please, just tell me the truth.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Your sun, my moons.

Longing.

The two of you linger somewhere in between the knot of anxiety that constricts my throat, and the fluttering bird known as Heart within my chest. Water and Earth combine near my heartbeat, dancing with one another ever so near, but I can never reach and touch with my fingertips the dew that drips from fragrant petals that used to hold my scent.

Fresh water evaporates at my touch, and tender faces embodying soft silk turn downwards from the sun. I am the sun sometimes, overwhelming with heat, too scorching to touch though you might want to hold.

My affections are the rays of my personality, extending forth, glistening and bright. However beautiful they are, remember that the sun also burns, and the wounds linger. I never meant to be a destructive force, but all dying things have their flaws. And like the sun, I too lose my luster, dulling in moments of anger and depression.

Sometimes there are devils within my head from the moment I awaken, - eyes open, heart fluttering, anxiety resting on my shoulder like an old friend.

Anxiety is the dark side of the moon, revolving slow, covering only a portion of the Earth as the Sun obstructs a full view.

We all have our stages, afterall.

Perhaps a portion of my problem is, I linger too long on my own overwhelming anxiety, the worry that turns my stomach to knots and my appetite to ash. I try not to, but it has distracted me from the two faces of the moon that once revolved around me.

I see them lingering now, always together, and I feel apart from them. Am I isolating myself in some self-absorbed way? I fear to smother them both, ravishing them from asunder, pulling both my Water and Earth down, down, down.

Has my fear smothered them beneath the heat I embody?

Did I do this to myself?

I just wanted their love.

I’ve scorched my own chances, created instances within my brain filled with doubts without true answers.

Love me again, today, tomorrow,

I’ll take it now and forever,

just reassure me.

Please.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

To burn, to love.

Sentimental old fool, you’ve always said.

Yes, sentimental. That feeling, or so I have come to learn, is equivalent to the most wrenching of pains within the pit of my heart. Anxiety rises and coils, much like a serpent constricting my throat, squeezing until memories become a lack of air flow.

Remembrance, of what once was. Of what was imagined in this ideal world formed at the backs of my mind, of what could’ve been. The illusions I was under.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have agreed, and perhaps I shouldn’t have insisted. You’ve never been able to tell me no, not entirely. Therein lies the destruction of us both.

You should’ve denied me, but instead, I flourished around you much like an endlessly blossoming garden on a summers day with my face looking towards the skies. My eyes were made of golden amber; precious honey and nectar that you greedily swallowed.

Until the day you found something more, and the honey within my eyes here on Earth was replaced with a need to touch the skies. You became Icarus built upon stronger wings, and throughout your tribulations and the truth you deny yourself, you are strong enough to reach the sun.

The sun, whom you impressed upon, because he and you are one and the same. Perhaps that is why you’ve turned from me, leaving me in the wake of your paper trail that I may never touch for I am the fire; the passion never once in your bed that is slowly dying. Yet, I am still too much.

Was it because I tried to touch? To rouse within you the love I felt? Why have you turned from me?

Too passionate, too lively, too bitter to stand without something to chase. You’ve found something riddled with more travesties and yet, you flock to a pit of fire even greater than I.

I am not what you need, anymore. Your paper wings no longer need my heat to fly, and my heart is laden with your wax, sluggish; tired. My soul is aching, reaching and yet the only thing you offer is a glance in return. Something full of pity, before your face is turned once more to the sun.

Because he can offer you more than I, and he is the force you need.

Not even he pays heed to me anymore, and I have never lost the sun before. I am trying to find the place where my heart can rest now, as it simpers and withers in the pit, holding fast to it’s degrading emptiness.

I wish I knew what I could do, but it is both me and yet not.

Story of all lives; someone will always need you, until the moment they don’t. And when they don’t, perhaps don’t take it personally, we don’t always have what people need at the time.

But my heart still hurts from the lack - of you.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Tremulous, my heartbeat.

There is an icy fingertip at the base of my navel, swirling slow around the tiger’s stripes foretelling the expanded curvature of my hips. It teases, taunting upwards with featherlight strokes, leaving goose flesh behind a path drawn along trembling porcelain skin. Fingertips plunge within the depths of my belly, bypassing muscle and nerve that tightens and convulses at a mere touch.

It is the touch of anxiety, clenching it’s fist around my stomach, sending revulsion easing through my esophagus, acidic copper burning the back of my throat. A groan of ravenous appetite rumbles within the pit, and that hand tightens-tightens-tightens, cutting off all want for nutrition.

It’s as though a thousand melodies are running through my mind at once, with the accompaniment of thoughts and voices that I cannot decipher from one another. Inconsistent worries swirl, intertwining before splitting into lines that mimic the frantic pace of a heart that has very rarely known peace.

The beat of my rhythmic fear is much like a drum line, the constant bass of a song that is slowly leading me further into the pit of insanity. Further-further down I go, and the more I long for dreamless moments of sleep where my mind can at last rest.

I long for the moment when that chilling hand leaves, and I almost wish I could disassociate from the anxiousness that churns and produces a noxious bile that I swallow down as easily as it formed. The disassociation isn’t so bad today, I suppose that is a little bit of a reprieve.

But.

Of course there is a pause, a but.

I am never free from some form of displeasing illness that exists only within my own heart and mind. My pulse is a remix version of a classical song, thrumming, beating fiercely until it is so strong I can hear my blood rushing within my ears.

Fingers of an indistinguishable, imaginary consistency lightly tap a pattern over my breasts, mimicking the butterfly wings that panic and frolic within my chest. I am frozen within a period of existential dread, digits wrapping around my throat to hinder the air supply that I so desperately need.

Tighter, tighter.

I am pulled asunder, enraptured within my own sheets that reek of clean sweat and the vicious clenching of my teeth reminds me that my jaw is of mortal kind. I have no consistency besides the darkness, waking in the middle of the night, disassociating so far within my own head that I think I am asleep and dreaming but my eyes are wide open.

I’m falling, but I’m right here.

Over and over again.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Disassociate; are these my hands?

The dissociation is taking over, little by little it wormed in right beneath my nose. I should’ve recognized the lack of hunger in the pit of my stick, the nausea rising like acidic bile within my throat. There’s a tinge of surreality encasing all things, and as I look at my hands, I wonder if this body is mine. I know it is, I know who I am and yet I don’t fully feel as if this is my reality.

It feels as though I’ve just woken up, foggily groggy, with the world tilting slightly as vertigo spins. There’s an ache at the base of my skull, and it is not a comforting hand caressing the back of my neck. It is an oncoming migraine I’ve felt for days, and I wonder when the relief will come and when my mind will settle.

My soul is bristling as my consciousness is overwhelmed by the trivial. Why do I allow my anxious nerves to overcome, to warp the versions of my reality with fingertips that smear and force time to move faster?

I’m losing time, faster today than any other. My conversation last night over the phone felt like I had pressed the forward button, over much too soon and I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. I’m a glitch, I’m glitching and this is my reality. First it was 8 and now it’s 3, where am I supposed to be? Times are passing, my heart is racing.

I can’t take these mini-attacks of paranoia, anxiety and lost time anymore. I shouldn’t worry about the trivial, I shouldn’t worry so much about what others think.

I’ve never been strong enough to block out the thoughts of others, my empathy too strong and my curiosity dangerous. Will I be much like the cat that found it’s death at the hand of merciless inquisition? The minutes are ticking by, much too quickly, someone please slow me down before I lose myself.

I want to stop falling down. I want your arms around me, and if only I knew, perhaps the world would stop spinning. You are but one aspect to this roiling pit within my stomach, and my head-

It is still aching.

I’ll be fine another day, when I calm, when I smoke another cigarette and the world stills if for just a moment while I listen to the soft sway of nature itself. I keep phasing, falling, losing myself with myself by falling into thoughts. I’m entrapped, enraptured.

Escape, that’s what I want to do.

Yet all I can do is wait for this to pass, until again I go through this revolving cycle. This is my world, this is how the world works.

I better learn, before it drags me..

Down.

Down.

Down.

I’m still spinning.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

I saw; you withered.

I saw a portion of your soul. You offered it betwixt your weathered palms, hopeful, unguarded. I saw the love within you, what you wished to give. You wanted me then, and I scorned you.

I rejected the forbidden fruit along your lips, tempting me at my darkest hour. You were pomegranate; dripping through my fingertips. I did not grasp the seeds of your budding affections, and so to ash they withered.

Perhaps there is something tantalizing about something no longer offered. I do not long because of that. I long for what I thought was steady, until you discovered the darkness within me. For though I wished you to be Hades before me, it is I who sit along the throne of porcelain skulls, fractured beneath the weight of all my flaws.

My light; though you insist you sit within the obsidian void with hatred coiling like a festering hand between your ribs. You’ve dealt with much, and still the world seeks to tear you asunder. I hear your soul screaming, echoing within a swirling vortex that tears you in every direction.

I want to save you. But my rejected love isn’t enough. Nothing comes from my wishing on stars, nor can my voice heal the crack within your heart. Have I wedged the dagger deeper, my fingers wrenching apart your ribcage to seek the treasure within?

My temptation flows from my lips; drink my honeyed wine. I want to be yours, and it haunts me. I say it, over and over, as if that’ll change what is and what will be. I miss the way things could’ve been, the imagined versus the reality.

I would be yours, this time. Devoted, settled at your feet. Yet I must learn, I must resign to what I have done, of what I have lost. I forced your hand, twisted it to force the edge farther between our hearts.

I’ve broken the gate to your Underworld;

but still will I sing;

and wait,

for how long?

Not even I know, my light and darkness. Only until I delve my fingers within my own chest, and force the vestiges of my heart to stop longing for yours. I’ve not the strength.

For however long.

[cassiespoeticnonsense]

Seasonal Depression

It slowly gets worse every year. The feeling of detachment. Christmas is right around the corner, yet all I feel is this looming feeling of depression. Yes, I smile. Yes, I seem happy and sometimes I am. I’ll have my high days, but then there are the lows. I hate the lows, when my anxiety creeps in, and I feel like my burdening of everyone increases ten-fold.

I would distance if I didn’t feel such a sense of loneliness; my hesitant silence is a call for something more than I can express. There’s no fix for it, and it isn’t a call for attention. It is simply the way I am; what I hide.

My sister says, “You’ve nothing to be depressed about.”

That doesn’t make the feeling any less real.