Unstoppable Images of Death

When everything seems to be against me

I feel like I am bound to a post

All and sundry throwing rocks at me

And me helpless to do anything but take it

When everything seems to be against me

The repulsive fantasies begin anew

Heralding my death in a myriad of horrible ways

Becoming all I can think about

Trial By Fiery Water

As I step inside the cubicle

And feel the anticipation rising

I take a deep breath and

It smells like freedom

The relief is like a living thing

As the warm droplets slide across my skin

And I make the tiny room my home

I feel the tension leave my body

But I know it will end too soon

The fear begins to constrict my throat

Swallowed By The Blessed, Awful Darkness

I awoke in utter darkness. The fear gripped me first, and my muscles snapped taut. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. I heard a low moan, and realised it was coming from my throat. I detected more than fear in it—despair maybe, something horrible. The sound reverberated off walls I could not see, echoing all around. I must be in some room, I thought. Only then did I realise this was only the most recent of awakenings in the gloom. The darkness was my prison, and as yet I had not been able to find a way out. 

I felt along my body. I didn’t have any clothes on. I was naked in the dark. I felt around for something, anything. My fingers touched something hard. It was long and sturdy. I slid my fingers along its length, found some protrusion. I pushed it. A light came on. In my hand was a flashlight. I stood up and looked around, moving the beam in all directions. I was in some kind of cave. At first it seemed like it was completely silent, but then I noticed the low, eerie hum in the distance. I swallowed, and it sounded very loud to me. There was only me, and nothingness. The flashlight flickered and died. I slapped it, and it turned back on. There was only me and malfunctioning equipment to help me get out of here, I corrected.

The Monstrosity That Is Hope

How to give words to nearly uninterrupted depressive thoughts and feelings in a way that remains fresh and interesting? That is, if its poison can be called interesting at all. I feel like little is changing: it is just unremitting depression, infecting my every thought, that basically feels like nothingness blended with disgust. It is listlessness sprinkled with despair. It is a cake that saps the life out of you with every bite you take.

Nothing changes, and yet everything gets worse, all the time. And then life confuses you when you suddenly have a fun night with friends, and everything seems alright for just a little while, but when they leave or you go home you step into the awful pit trap you have climbed out of numerous times before, and still you keep fooling yourself into believing there is no trap, and that when things are good they could actually stay that way.

Apathy In The Face Of Finality

As I feel the days run out

Again

I ponder what to do with them

Again

The sense of déjà vu is

Overpowering

But the questions remain

To haunt me night and day

Should I finish this one story?

Should I get together with that friend

Just one more time?

Should I leave anything at all behind

In a certain way?

Born To Pay

I do not hate life. This might seem contrary to much that I have written over the past year, but it is true: I do not hate life itself. I do consider it futile, without purpose, and have many complaints, as I have been making abundantly clear. But despite the fact that I hold no hatred for life itself, I do despise my existence. I loathe being alive in this society, in this time. And, as I have stated many times, I thoroughly detest mankind. Man, and the society it has created, ruin it for me. And there is no place to go. The least unspoiled natural wonders and peaceful environments are inaccessible to me for a variety of reasons, not least among them the financial obstacle.