When the world turns dark


I realize I imagine it still– slitting my wrists. No, not exactly; not so much that action of slitting as the sensation of having your wrist slit. A numbing, tingling sensation and hands going cold, limp and weak.

I’m so angry– angry at the world, angry at everyone for being such a disappointment. But most of all, angry at myself, and thats’s the worst of all, the one that makes everything else crumble.

What is the point of it?

Too often, it is. The number of times I wish to disappear. Too often, to not exist. Too often, that there’s no point. Feeling too helpless, useless and trapped.

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Demon II


Dear demon,
I know you inside and out;
you don’t scare me. (Much).

Dear demon,
I can’t block out your whispers.
They swirl and lodge in my brain.
But I can ignore them as best I can–
Delegate them to background noise.

Background noises may eat at your soul
Slowly eroding away your sanity.
But at least they can’t reach controls
And I live to see another day.
(Although you tell me I don’t want to
and I half believe you.)

Background noises “disappear” as you acclimatize to them
Even though they’re always there, plaguing your subconscious.
“The secret is, I’m always angry.”
You could hope they’d fade for real, in time
But… how can you tell?

Dear demon,
I know you through and through;
you don’t scare me.
You are me.

You’re not external made internal
I’m not ‘demon-possessed’
(People who think otherwise–
out sourcing your ‘bad’ to demons and your ‘good’ to angels–
who are you then?)

You’re internal
made detached.
Filtered out and quarantined
Leaving just the sane for the world to see.

We all have demons
The only demons we ever need to battle
are ourselves.

Ripped Heart


Sudden, unexpected, violent–
All that’s left, a gapping hole.
The magnificent tree that had been seeded
that had taken root
that had been growing beautifully
under tender loving care
unceremoniously uprooted.

By what? who? where? how? why?
In shock and reeling from injuries
can only stare.
Stare and stare at where it used to be
as the wounded heart bleeds.

Reaching out frantically–
Where is it?
Just a mistake. A wayward wind, maybe.
Wrecking unintentional havoc.
A trial to be overcome.
Re-plant the tree, quick!
Put it back where it was, fill up that hole, tis not too late.
It’ll recover, and be stronger from this.

The tree… is gone.
Twas not a wayward wind.
I see that now.
Twas a deliberate act.
To rip, to hack, to chop, to destroy.
There’s no hope left for it.

Well, maybe– start again?
Here’s a seed from the beloved tree.
Should I place it in the hole?
Start a new chapter of the same book?
It’ll be good–mistakes made with the previous tree won’t be repeated.
It’ll outshine it’s predecessor.

The seed’s… not growing.
It’s not receiving the love or care it needs–
or perhaps it was a bad seed from the start.
Bad trees bear bad fruits which give us…
dead seeds. Not worth the time.

The gapping hole stares back.
Blacker, bigger
each time you look.
The edges harden–or are they healing?
No, they turn black from poison.

The darkest, roughest parts
are those in contact with the roots of the missing tree.
Once full of life and joy,
now only death.

It’ll be a slow and painful
but necessary process
to weed out every single last tendril
deeply entrenched and entangled
in the soil of the heart.

Great care is required
to not cause more damage
to let the heart heal
to extricate
every
last
memory

and send it the way of the obliterated tree.

(How inconsiderate
to take the tree but leave the troublesome roots.
Leave it there to develop and flourish
else don’t even start to grow it at all.)

Forgiveness


Live and let live, forget and forgive.

Seldom do people dispute that we should; but when someone wrongs us, we may find ourselves asking: how?

What is forgiveness?

Is it something you give to someone? “I forgive you.” with emphasis on you. To erase their guilt, to accept their apologies, to unburden their hearts, to clear their name? Forgiveness happens when someone asks for it.

Is it something within oneself, something you come to terms with in your own head? “I forgive you.” with emphasis on I. A mental act of letting go of anger, grievances, blame, independent of the party who wronged you? Forgiveness happens when you decide to forgive.

If someone does not admit to wrong doing, does it make sense to say you forgive them?
I’m imagining an unrepentant murderer; Who could say they forgive him?
Conversely, I imagine someone telling me that they ‘forgive me’ for something I did which I believed was the right thing to do; I’d feel like giving his holier-than-thou face a slap.

Yet this phrase comes to mind, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” and it does not seem incoherent either: You’d surely forgive a young child who colours on expensive wallpaper regardless of whether the child is remorseful.

Is the emphasis then on ‘knowing what they do’? Wrong-doing in ignorance is immediately forgiven, full blame cannot be assigned.

Does forgiving take away blame? what about responsibility? He is surely responsible for his actions, even if he did not mean them, or did not anticipate the outcome. Does forgiving leave taking responsibility where it is (he still needs to help clean up the mess and do right by the victim) while lifting blame? Or does it simultaneously lift both? For surely one will not take responsibility if they fail to acknowledge they were in the wrong, due to ignorance or otherwise.

Someone in an abusive relationship keeps forgiving, and going back. Can you forgive, but not go back? Can you forgive, but still hold him responsible, still hold him to blame?

What does it mean to forgive?

Anger is a sword


I’ve never been so angry in my life.
Such intense anger for such an extended period of time.
And I am not, by nature, a person who gets angry often or easily.

I’ve never felt so much hate in my life.
Such intense hatred and for such an extended period of time.
And I am not, by nature, a person who hates anything at all usually, unless it’s in the trivial sense of ‘hating the weather’ or ‘hating being bored or feeling awkward.’ and I’ve certainly never truly hated any person.

It sounds poisonous. It sounds the total opposite of my usual philosophies which always emphasize being positive, giving the benefit of the doubt, seeing from the other’s perspective, live and let live and not sweating the small stuff.

But anger is a sword. Out of control, it can kill indiscriminately. In control, it can win a war, protect loved ones, fight for meaningful causes. It’s only when you are angered by the injustices in the world do you bother to take a stand. Anger can be a powerful tool. And I am so very angry right now.

(I suppose there’s a huge difference between righteous anger and bitter, resentful anger. But people can kill millions of innocents in their ill-directed righteous anger, and petty bitter anger can direct and drive you to battle larger issues. So how much does the source matter?)

Venom


Black Heart ATC

Venomous thoughts and poisonous words;
Whom do they prick? Who do they hurt?

“All of you can go fuck yourselves!”
I’m sick of being shot down.
I hate you, I think to myself,
Black anger swirls round and round.

An armour of self protection
from the crap the world can dish out.
Or a more sinister infection?
Could you say, without a doubt?

Stone walls built around you heart
Shield attacks of knives and arrows.
They keep out, keep in or keep apart.
Suffocate prisoners in the gallows.

In my anger,
black venom flows
tendrils worming
into deeper hold

Thorns protruding
A slow rage burns
Which direction?
Yet to learn.

A hardened heart’s no good for joy,
or happiness, laughter or smiles
Soften your heart, that’s the right ploy
Choose love, it’ll be worthwhile.

Yet how many times can you keep turning
the other cheek before it gets sore?
How many times can you keep enduring
getting stabbed and shot once more?

With desire to hurt, hate lashes out
Being angy makes me feel better
But should I be crying “demons, out!”
Rather than indulge in this behaviour?

Venomous wallowing in poisonous muck
Right now I can’t seem to help but do.
In letting them fester, breed and grow
Do I hurt me more than you?