Are you happy?

Crush, Mix, Burn, Repeat.

[icespicebooty]

lack of communication will eventually kill any type of attachment

[mrsuperman90]

You have lovely writing.

Thank you, it's nice to feel witnessed.

[mrsuperman90]

[mrsuperman90]

You were right.

Silence really does hurt.

[mrsuperman90]

Let me tell you about heartache.

[mrsuperman90]

I can't see you.

There is a hole though the universe itself, a void.

It pierces through my mind. Erased? Removed?

Did you exist at all?

Was it all a dream?

There are threads of you, frayed and dangling.

Like raw nerves exposed, the fringes of your existence hang.

They frame the abyss that has been burned through my heart.

I touch them to feel the agonising sting of loss.

So many words, emotions, memories.

But... I can't see you.

The tighter my fingers grip the tendrils that remain, the more seering pain scortches my sanity.

Where are you?

There is a gaping maw on the map.

A black hole.

All consuming.

The event horizon has long since passed.

There is no escape.

No light.

I can't see you.

[mrsuperman90]

[mrsuperman90]

This is what’s left of me.

A decimated chassis, stripped of flesh. Reanimated remains void of anything resembling life. Nothing save for the digital memories of some out of luck nomad, piloting their vacant corpse.

When the Devil offers the chance for revenge… you take it.

[mrsuperman90]

Keep running.

[mrsuperman90]

Season's Greetings

Numb lips. The cat is awake and I'm still sat here drinking, thinking. I let myself slip, daring to over-reach. Life is likely better without me, that’s understandable but I guess it hurts still. These jumbled letters spell out a tale of a night poorly spent; I was supposed to be drawing. More skeletons. A thinly veiled disguise for myself. I slip out of my skin and wreak revenge on the world, it's a dumb little story that no one will ever read. I'm okay with that. I don't think I’m destined for anything but disappointment. I tell myself that it's okay; that it's the world that's broken but I guess it's me. Give up on the dream, you can draw a little, sure... but you'll never be more than this. You won't be the first to seek a life less ordinary and you won't be the last to fail. My Buddy paws at my hand, no claws; just the velvet touch of a tiny miracle. A faint trill, head bumping at the door. I let him slip out. I'd love to make out that I was better but I know I'm far from perfect, the people close to me deserve more. I've gotten better at hiding it, is that the same? I thought it was when I reached out, the fool. Scratching at the doorframe. I should've been asleep hours ago. Scratching in my mind. Push it down deeper, it will be better when I wake. I wish you the best.

[mrsuperman90]

Philip, don’t you dare.

[mrsuperman90]

The storm of sorrow.

Once upon a time you wrote me a story. A girl, a grave, a boy and a bolt of lightning. With hindsight, the tale wasn’t what I had imagined, There was a girl, wandering alone through a storm, drawn to a grave where she sat and wept But the boy who struck the stone that night shattered what is sacred. That flash once meant the world to me, however in reality I was far from a friend. I failed.

[mrsuperman90]

The gay, innocent and heartless.

I see you occasionally, usually in the slightest mannerisms of strangers or a double take in a busy street, there have been less of those these days. Today I saw you in a movie and all I wonder was about the life after the credits roll. When I started this all of those years ago I had some kind of goal, to make some kind of an impression, I suppose. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to a lot of things that I am glad I never got. The strange paths we’ve been down and I still come back here. I know I always read in the hope that I might find a crumb left for me, still wishing to be noticed I suppose. We were friends once. I remember. I still think of you as a friend. I have a joke you would enjoy.  You may remember the differences I have maintained with organised religion for some time? Well, I am betrothed to a follower of Joseph Smith. Interesting considering the history but perhaps it is some form of growth. I wonder about your life after our credits rolled, where life has taken you and where it will go. I might not ever know but I will always dream for you.

[mrsuperman90]

Kettle.

[mrsuperman90]

Northern Downpour.

I’ve wanted to write something for a while. Never really knowing what to say.

I don’t know if I’ve reached a brief point of clarity and perspective in my life but I think perhaps it is time I was far more honest. I know if I were to read back through my posts, I will find years’ worth of words dripping in self-centred, manipulative, abhorrent bullshit. I know I have had the luxury of recreating my memories of relationships with a patchwork of convenient justifications that place the blame anywhere but where it belongs. With me. I’ve twisted words and hurt people that I obsessed over to an unhealthy degree. To an offensive degree.

I don’t doubt this critical reflection that I am currently engaged in will be overwhelmed by my own insecurities in time but I hope that isn’t the case. Some strange changes in my life have made me look at myself and try to analyse who I am at my core. There are a lot of lies in there. I have found it difficult to navigate what has happened and what I have told myself happened, coupled with the persistent snapping back and forth of hissing shadows, it’s tough to know just how far I pushed my luck with so many people. The answer, I know, is too far. I feel I should respect those people by staying far away. However hard I think I find it to keep my distance; it must have been harder to escape.

I often write about my mental health and my deeply self-indulgent fixation with self-destructive behaviour. I still deal with my issues poorly. I’m working on that. I hope I have grown; I hope I am capable of not breaking the life of someone else I care about. I was an asshole for a long time, which looking back I can see very clearly; I know I have a long way still to go before I even approach being a decent person, but I am thankful I am in a position where I can see some degree of an improvement. Knowing how harmful I have been to my friends, seeing exactly how my actions were not just harmful but insidiously so, in an attempt to undermine their own identity and project my own interpretation onto them instead, that makes me very aware that I have a huge capacity to dehumanise and damage others. It also highlights the importance of growth in my own life. Am I capable of moving forward? Worthy of it, or ready to allow someone close enough again, perhaps I’ve not learned enough? The moment seems to have gone… the chattering has returned. Candles are dimming and I doubt my integrity again. I’m still chasing ghosts. Heart and head. Grey daylight is creeping up the vague horizon and the stormy night sky is pouring its heart out. My clouds are pretty heavy too, and yet my dirt is dry as a bone.

[mrsuperman90]

[mrsuperman90]

Nachash

­There is a serpent in my room, he belongs to you. He sits atop the altar beside my bed and watches me, his obsidian eyes fixed and glistening in the candlelight. I see you, holding him by the head. You smile and look at me with those same eyes, calm and deep, mysterious. Your tongue slowly and thoughtfully pushes words past your lips, telling me of his strength, you then place him carefully in my hands. He speaks of you too. He whispers to me when he slithers from his perch and explores my bones, the twists and coils he makes as he weaves up between my ribs, around my spine and collar bones. I’ve been watching you in the darkness. You raised your head and tensed your neck, stretching the column of vertebrae that supports your frame, your throat was so exposed it felt like an offering. I watch myself seizing you just beneath your jawline, dragging a blade through the stringy muscular tissue, slicing through your jugular and the cartilage surrounding the trachea. I feel the warm gush of blood leak through my fingers as a smile stretches across your lips and your hands push up against my stomach, forcing through the flesh and tangle of organs, upwards into my ribcage, tearing my chest cavity open, gripping me by the heart and pulling, ripping it from the sinew. My lust for this exposure makes me swell and throb at the thought. Being met with the same twisted passion for pain fills me with a craving for connection and understanding. Your serpent hisses and wraps himself around my mind, so that the thought of you can’t ever escape. He belongs to you.