Losing focus

All photos and writing are mine. You can look, though.

[forgonefocus]

There's a story about a person that found themself at the edge of the world. They knew it was the edge of the world because nothing else felt this close to the end. They spent years walking to this point. Their whole life, in fact.

The goal wasn't to find the edge of anything but to just keep going. And when faced with the realisation that they had got to the end, what did they do?

Some people think they continued, they braved the nothingness ahead. Others believe they turned around, went back at a slower pace, and took note of all that they saw.

What would you do?

[forgonefocus]

[forgonefocus]

They hold too many lies under their flesh, it's etched in their bones. Secrets weep from the marrow and flow through the blood.

Why won't they open their skin for the Forgotten?

He yearns to taste the truth.

Sanguine rivers of liquid iron, molten crimson, smelted to a necklace for His neck.

Worn tight and close, infused with everything they have hidden.

He smiles, a toothy grin, teeth of unpolished jewels that dare not glisten.

The tongue they speak with is not their own. Stitched in place with inedible thread, left long at the ends, dangling down their throat. Thick wire tangling their voice.

Give to Him words from your gut. Let him wear your reality

Happy Halloween

A couple of years ago, I wrote a few painfully awful "horror" themed shorts like this. They all just sit in my notes app like everything else unless I post it here. I begrudge sharing much of what I write, but I remember that it's just for fun.

[forgonefocus]

Most of the streetlights turn off at 2am.

I learned this today.

They gathered in the street, barely noticeable sillhouettes, silently standing and pointing to the sky. Dimly highlighted by the light escaping the houses that lined the road.

Every door open, slightly illuminated, only to be snuffed by the oppressively dark air.

I could feel it weighing on me. It was more than just an absence of light. It was a tangible entity, a sensation that loomed over me.

The shadows in the street unmoving.

Fingers extended outwards until they fade in to the black mass overhead.

An entangling shroud of the void.

Stars glimmering like a siren song.

Then the hum. A low, soft, melodic hum. A single note, but a lullaby still. It's numbing like sleep or petrification. Who needs to breathe now?

Happy Halloween

A couple of years ago, I wrote a few painfully awful "horror" themed shorts like this. They all just sit in my notes app like everything else unless I post it here. I begrudge sharing much of what I write, but I remember that it's just for fun.

[forgonefocus]

Be sinner or saint alike, and crumble under the mass of His hand.

Grip tightly to your faith, or to the chain of rebellion fused to your veins. You are chosen now.

Meat of the Word, now cattle like all decided.

Whisper slowly what truth you know, for they will come to take it from you, and they will grant falsity to cattle of their own. Carry a sincere tongue, or sever it from your mouth, biting through with teeth of ivory.

Slump not with slovenly nature, but with a refusal of pride. And ask those that listen, as they edge in close to the lips of the speaker quiet as unwitnessed mistakes,

"What of the flesh can be offered?"

Dear Chosen, cast aside reverence, we all must turn to the soil.

Happy Halloween!

A couple of years ago, I wrote a few painfully awful "horror" themed shorts like this. They all just sit in my notes app like everything else unless I post it here. I begrudge sharing much of what I write, but I remember that it's just for fun.

[forgonefocus]

Oh, they all seek it out. The sun grows until the sky is torn, and you can taste the atmosphere.

The ground beneath us all is just a place to watch from now.

When the birds stopped singing, and the world fell still. No wind rustling the leaves, which wilted before your eyes. It was overdue.

The faces on the hills told you, first as a whisper in the night, then a mutter every evening. But now they shriek with frustrated disbelief.

The world thrums with the dulling heartbeats of its victims.

The world cries with the fear of its children.

The eye from the heavens stopped blinking.

They gathered on the farm before the sun rose, and they chanted for the night to remain eternal. They pinched at the stars and held them in place, but it was always in motion. The time had already come.

In cotton garments of red and orange, unaware of the irony. They wailed until their voices gave out, at least until something awoke inside them again.

The streets smell like desecration. The air was heavy with shame. You hear your blood pulsing in your ears, you feel your heart writhing within your fingertips. The sky is blood red for just a moment, and then it's too much to be seen. This is just for you.

Happy Halloween to you all.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a few painfully awful "horror" themed shorts like this. They all just sit in my notes app like everything else unless I post it here. I begrudge sharing much of what I write, but I remember that it's just for fun.

[forgonefocus]

It's that time of year again.

The fog finally descends as the summer closes,

we become encased in the clouds we were looking upon briefly a few weeks ago.

Where the silhouettes passing through the mist

could easily be mistaken for you,

and I fear just as this grey sheet obscures you,

there is a fog in my mind taking from me each memory.

I do not remember your voice until I hear it.

But worse than that

I do not remember your face

even when I see it now.

[forgonefocus]

There's a type of quiet which is overwhelmingly oppressive.

An explosion of silence that echoes within itself.

No voices can break through.

I hear you sometimes.

I hear my name being called,

but nobody is calling.

I hear laughter in empty rooms,

and the sound of a mundane life

which is more than just my own.

Yet I know it's silent.

What loss of self has come

when I had so little of myself in grasp?

[forgonefocus]

I don't know how much longer these things last.

I float in hollow space, the nothingness seeps into my pores like a toxin.

l'm tethered to something,

but I can't see what.

l am to believe this is all part of the process,

but it is an absence of everything.

The steps required to regain footing do not explain how the disdain at a shallowness of myself can stop me from wanting to stand, let alone walk.

Wait out the silence of the storm,

wait out the tremors and the winds.

Wait out the rain,

the scorching sun,

the grey of life.

Wait out the numbness,

don't fight the sensation to drown.

Drown.

Return again.

Breathe fresh air with lungs that still burn.

[forgonefocus]

I stopped growing

when my heart started to beat

to somebody else's tune.

[forgonefocus]

I'm tired now. Tired of shadows from the leaves overhead,

of the birds singing in the morning,

of the smoke and the ash,

of the midnight rain.

Tired of that evening drink

and the morning tea.

It's a physical exhaustion, limbs like lead with a bone-deep ache, a toothache of every limb.

It's a mental fatigue, memories are too heavy to hold,

so they float by like sharp lights you see when you close your eyes after looking directly at passing cars at night.

It's raining somewhere, and that's where I am,

weighed down by an element I love unreasonably.

Sometimes, I think maybe the price for loving life so deeply is that I lose love of my own.

Why would I be punished for a gentle appreciation of the world? What disease of the mind takes this form?

To keep up with my own desires is like seeing a child fighting sleep to watch their favourite show that is just minutes away.

But even if they can stay awake, they won't enjoy it as much as they usually do.

[forgonefocus]

I think sadness has a smell,

and when you sense it on another

you try to hold their nose,

make them forget the stench

they've become so accustomed to.

And when you let go,

you hope they notice the smell

and finally do something about it.

[forgonefocus]

I don't want to feel

like part of the furniture

anymore.

[forgonefocus]

A smarter person would remember

how to escape the prison they made.

But you

aren't even trying

to look outside your cage.

[forgonefocus]

I am homesick.

In the walls of the house I grew up in.

I am homesick.

Hearing the voices of my family muttering the floor below.

I am sick of home.

Wondering if this is how it always felt,

or if I once felt excitement to return instead of dread.

From the place I have never left,

and my eyes are starting to burn from the smoke.

[forgonefocus]

I feel as though I have woken up

with a destination in mind,

but I spent too long preparing.

Have I missed it?

[forgonefocus]

I want to change the world.

If not the whole thing,

then just yours.

Or maybe

just mine