A Pen But No Paper

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

When was the last time I just watched a show Just watched it instead of using it as background noise while i do something more productive

How long has it been since I just relaxed and enjoyed a day doing nothing with no guilt

How long since I enjoyed something, not as an obligation or an event, but just let myself enjoy one thing without it being a test of my worth

When will I let time pass without the fear of wasting it

When will I live without constant anxiety of failure

When will I decide its worth it

To simply be?

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

When I dream of you

What I see is impossible

What I hear is unrepeatable

What I feel is indescribable

And waking up is Inevitable

But without a doubt I know its you

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

So speak to me,

The words that once tore me down now build me up

The echoes of screams fade with the anger

There is nothing now but doubt and shame to be washed away by the sound, drowning out what remains

So speak to me,

And tell me how to rebuild a flooded bridge

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

All their existential breakthroughs are always 'You just have to accept it', but fuck that. If you just accept it you run the risk of leaving too early. I wanna live every moment I can. I'll never accept death, I'm gonna fight with every last breath in my lungs, last beat in my heart, last pulse in my brain. Death will have to hunt me down, and I'll go out swinging. I'll be their greatest challenge. I want death to Remember me. I want Death to Mourn me.

Quirk

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

Strength

They say you have to be strong, when things get hard.

I remember the conversation well. We were talking about gun control, you know how it goes. They asked if I had ever fired one before.

“I own a gun, if that counts.”

“But I thought you were against gun ownership.”

“I am.” I stated flatly.

“So why do you have one?”

It’s hard to explain, but I tried my best. Things get hard. I’m not doing the best, mentally, and it’s the easiest way out.

“You can’t do that! You have so much to live for!” The usual stuff people say. They missed my point though. I haven’t used it. I’ve had it for years, in a special box at the back of my closet, with a bottle of my favorite whiskey. It would be so easy. It’s always there, but I haven’t done it.

It’s there cause it’s so easy, and everyday it stays in my closet is a day I’ve won, a day I was stronger than the evil in my head. Each day it gathers dust is a day i get to see. It’s there so I can prove to myself that I won’t use it.

It’s a reminder that I’ve survived this long, that I can survive today. Not because I failed an attempt, or because I didn’t have the guts, but because I was strong enough to keep going.

“That’s too risky, man.” “You should probably get rid of it”

Probably. If i slip up that's the end. 

But thinking I made it this far gives me just a bit of pride, of accomplishment. It gives me a reason to live. I’m alive because I’ve survived. And that’s enough for me.

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

The days are getting harder, all i can do is sigh

it seems at every turn the world is pushing me to die

I have to turn my head above, and all I ask is why?

The only answer i get back are clouds in the blue sky

It’s raining on my face, but the concrete round me is dry.

I tell them all I’ll be alright, but I know that's a lie.

I need to leave, escape, be free. I have to try and Fly.

But I know I never can. I was never good at byes.

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

I must be strong.

But what does that mean?

Tragedy strikes those around me.

My own mind torments me.

They need me to help.

I can’t slip, or I’ll fail.

I must be strong.

I have to hide this helpless pain.

If i can’t feel the pain I can help.

I must be numb.

I must be empty.

So i can fill myself with lies.

Lies that can help.

Numbness is my new strength.

And if I can’t go back?

I’ll stay numb.

I’ll be strong forever.

I’ll be strong for them.

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

I Was Scared.

I Was Scared.

When I was younger, i had fears. Maybe a bit of an over active imagination. My fears were Giant invisible snakes. Sentient spiders behind the panel in the bathroom. The Ghosts in the basement. Silly things.

I Was Scared.

I got older. My fears changed, though they still seem silly to me now. I feared a dark spirit who i was convinced was going to take me a way. I feared an assassin who would try to run me over with their car. I feared getting lost and never found.

I Was Scared.

Older still. My new fears were more existential. Losing my friends. Not mattering. Not Lasting. I feared Being alone and forgotten over time. I feared no one would miss me if I was gone.

Then things changed. My friends stuck by me. People told me they loved me. I know I made a difference and I know i’d be missed.

But I Was Scared.

Now a days. Those aren’t my fears. They were real to me at the time and now seem like fragile illusions i made for myself. The hardest things i had dealt with so far but over time they looked like molehills from mountains.

And Now I’m Scared.

I’m scared now that I’ll do something stupid. I never made mistakes before. I was too full of fear. I never lived like the others around me. And yes, I regret it a bit. And now i have a tear in my head. between the fear of doing something I know I’ll regret, and the fear I won’t, and it’s destroying me from the inside out.

But I know I’ll look back from another mountain. See how far I’ve come. How many impossible battles I’ve won before, just as I am now. I’ll look back on this, no matter what I choose, and I’ll say: Why was I so worried of something that small.

I’m No Longer Scared.

[quoth-the-writing-desk]

The grey sky had just begun to drip when he found her. She was back at the cemetery. Surprising since she hadn’t come here in years.

Hiding her face in her arms, she sat, her back against the gravestone. By now, he thought, she must have left an imprint on it. He wordlessly walked to where she sat, and crouched down beside her. It had been a rough week for her. Work stress, finals coming up, still trying to figure out who she is. It’s hard at that age now a days.

She finally peeked out from behind her elbow. He smiled and reached out, gently putting his hand against the side of her head, stroking her hair with his thumb, like he had when she was so young. Like her mother had, before.

Tears had stained her sweater, reddened her eyes. She’s gone through so much, he thought. Too much. He leaned in and gave her a the hug he knew they both needed. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

He sat next to her then. For another hour they sat there. Slowly, he started talking about how things have been lately. She already knew, of course, but he wasn’t talking to her, and she knew that. After a bit she also started talking. Just about customers, how hard calculus was, that hilarious thing Steve said last week.

By the end they stood up. His arm around her, they took a last look at the gravestone. She looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you,” was all she said. He smiled back. They turned and walked home. After all, the rain was clearing up, and it was looking bright ahead.