#journels

[she-went-with-the-words]

[jaqsmix-blog]

Imagination is the greatest gift on earth, come and have a look at mine. Book excerpts, writing,artwork,poems,illustrations, Blogspot.

[faverto]

I don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision

Allen Ginsberg

[riptidecomic]

I’d write the date, but I’m not actually certain of what it is anymore. At this point I’ve lost track of the days, and finding myself spiralling down into an abyss that was not of my own doing. Or maybe it was? I should have seen this coming, or predicted or premeditated from day one. Consequently, a lot of the crew are indifferent to what happened, as they should be. There is no way that those roguish men with their lack of empathy and remorse for their wrongdoings would give a second glance to someone like me.

It’s difficult to hold the quill; I can’t stop the violent shakes. The quivers come on ramped when I feel the bed dip from either my love’s weight or that of a weapon, treasure or even the lightest scripture. They occur when I feel his hand come to my shoulder, or wrap suddenly around my waist and whilst normally I would relish and find calm in this contact I can’t help but shy away from it – well, I say shy but I reacted much more erratically the last time.

I can still feel that thug’s hands on me. It fills me with sickness.

Part of me wants to flee now. But there is a heavy anchor holding me from shore and is one I am bound to with delight… yes, that’s right. Isn’t it? I’ve become so uncertain now. I still am yet to recall who this man is I am in company with. He promises me that I’ll remember, and my foolish heart believes him so. Swears to me that no harm will come my way and yes there was no fatal, nor permanent physical damage but… I am anxious- far more than I was before. I’m even scared of my love; and that isn’t healthy, is it? Whoever it is I am writing to, you must have an inkling of my own sanity. He ripped out that man – no, that monster’s – guts and walked him out by them and he… I can barely describe it and I am refusing to remember it. Pretend everything is alright. Forgive, forget.  I can do this. I can do this.

I can’t do this.

Help me – I am captivated by someone so wonderful, but also so terrible. Someone who murders at the drop of a hat, the slip of stolen gold, the foreign hand on what he claimed as his own…

But he saved me. He rescued me from the demon hovering over me in the bed that was ours, with memories imprinted in the sheets which are now twisted for me with darker meaning. Yet in that rescue, I saw another hellish devil – the one that everyone feared so much. The one who mother’s told their children about to get them to behave. The one on the wanted posters littering naval forts. The one name who only leaves the tongues of the brave, else it lingers on the tip with that aching, alien impulse that yearns to be said but dares not make a stand.

Mother, I am in love with a monster. I’d say to her, should she be released of bedlam. He keeps me warm when I am cold, healthy when I am on the brink of sickness and safe from the beasts under the bed. But he came up with them, lulled me with seductive tongue and lashed me into bond under his enticing spell. Oh, I would cry and scream and kick for help ought I be able, but mummy, you don’t see who I have seen. Not the man who would brutally slay his own crewman, slice him from nape to chops in front of everyone with such ferocity in his amber gaze. I am ensnared by the man behind the spyglass, full of cheeky grins and words that send the world a-spin. Pyrates of fantasy, of poetry, of lullabies and bedtime stories. Lord, how I wish he were as sweet as I see him through my rose-tinted gaze yet I know who he really is now… Mother, did I know then? When I was closer to your breast? When I took my first step? Played my first note? Did I know I would end up leaving your nurturing hand to leap blind into the arms of a murderer?

I am a fool. I am sick. I would ask for help but you wouldn’t know… how he is with me. The safety I feel locked in his arms, the swirling delight in my stomach at the sight of his smile and the burning excitement of his skin brushing against mine in the most innocent and lustful of circumstance. The true beauty of the devil.

I am torn, yet I’m not I am scared, yet I don’t flee I am sickly, yet I linger

I am in lust, I am in love with a crook and a thief I am in the agape jaws of the demons, yet I am in the embrace of the love of my life I ought to be a damned fool,

Yet I’m not.

                            --- Rupert.

[plantre]

journals are fun but my italic type writer is even more fun

[gemmalovesjustin11]

love this song! 

[2lame2exist]

I kind of want to put some of my journal writings on my blog, but I kind of don't...

It's like not about my life or stuff, but it's like me thinking about stuff. It's weirdly personal. I just need to make a choice here...