Bleeding Mind

Sprinting down the dark, dirty corridor. No windows. No light. Hate yourself for hoping when nothing encourages you. Desperate agony in your mind carves away the golden glow of your dreams. The soul cracks, the heart breaks. Rough fingers plunge into your chest, break your body, dig out the despicable organ that beats for life. Cackling, die upon the splendor of madness.

A raven flies beyond the hopeless wreck, aiming for the rays of sun which shine from the distant end of the corridor. Why should it show concern? Foul self-hatred caused your downfall, the crow caws on its joyful journey. Death deafens you.

Renaissance

Crush hope like a dried-up rose. Crumbling red falls from hateful hands. "Give us nothing to love," the hands say, "for we love to kill." Drop death into the earth that holds the plant from which the ruined rose was cut. An exhale, a finishing sigh, relieve a stuck breath. "Now we are free!" the hands cry. Life awakens, darkness disappears. The rose smiles softly to its murderers, drawing tears out of their fingertips. The living, soft red petals surround themselves with a message: "We must believe in our souls or destruction will reign again." "What destruction?" ask the hands. They have forgotten.

Agonizing Loveliness

That song was too beautiful. All worries, wishes, everyday adventures seemed so trivial. It was unbearably deep, unbearably truthful, unbearably meaningful. All that had happened, that was important, suddenly was the most disgusting trivial bit of nonsense. This mind-decaying, soul-twisting melody killed the heart with love. My heart bled tears, and all the layers of myself that I believed in burned by their brilliance. I could not stand myself, the world, any ideas, any longer. Over and over I listened to that song, that song that wrenched poison from my mind, my spine, my heart, my everything. The pain of love, of truly seeing the universe in all its glory. Music is not food for the soul; it's a murderer, a crusader, which stabs to purify. And yet it is necessary.

Creation, Destruction

Today is different than usual. A thousand unspoken thoughts have come free, unloosed, unlimited. Sleep transforms the mind into openness. But this is not desired, is it? Rather, destruction seduces. An undefeatable urge. Creation, life, burns the mind. An excruciating flame. Destruction is the water thirsted for to quench this fire. But this is false; as long as something can burn, it must. Laugh among the flames, for there is nothing better. These flames that are not flames, these flames that are themselves a water, a healing, a loving. Burn and drink for life. Feel the light of the sun, soak up the life-giving properties of a stream. The lust for ruin proves quenchable.

A Day in the Death

It started like any normal day. What a common way for things to start. I woke up half an hour before I had to leave for school, jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes before stumbling out of my bedroom. Then I realized it was the first day of summer break. Perfect. I could do whatever I wanted the entire day. So I called a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in a while, and asked her if she wanted to wander around our magnificent capitol building with me. We could bike there. Friendly as always, she readily agreed. An hour later, I was standing in front of the capitol with her. "Today, I can do anything," I told her. "That's great!" "Let's go to that highest balcony," I said, pointing. I grabbed her hand and ran through the front revolving doors, up winding, marble staircases, and across countless hallways. Finally, we found our way to the top. As I stepped outside on the balcony, I took a deep breath of the warm summer air and spread my arms wide, embracing the world. She and I looked at each other, grinned, and laughed. Then, just because I wanted to reach out to someone for support, I hugged her. Just because she was a wonderful friend. Just because I could do anything. Then I burst into tears, crying into her shoulder. She looked startled, then seemed as though she was about to launch into some sort of awkward and apologetic speech. I pressed my finger to her lips. "I just want to do something, to make an impact in the world, instead of being a total no one, before I die. But we both know how much of a failure I've turned out for these 16 long years." "Well, you'll have plenty of chances to make a difference in the world. And I don't think you're inconsequential." I cackled maniacally. "Who are we kidding? Today is my day to do what I want for myself, no one else. Do you know how long I've wanted to do things for myself? My very life has been for those who want me alive. I hate it. I hate me." She put her hand on my shoulder. "No—," "Today, I am too weak, too selfish to try living for others." And with that, I jumped over the low stone wall that separated me from groundless sky. Falling. Unbearable. Windy. Painful. Splat. My end.

Forbidden

Love. I cannot stand to be away from you, so I will stay and suffer through their disgust.
Indignation. What right do they have to hate me for loving?
Fear. I scare myself with this consuming desire.
Guilt. Are my feelings unacceptable?
Sorrow. There is no joy in my despised existence.
Confidence. Can I believe in myself?
Decision. Death welcomes me.

Butterfly

A girl swung her hair to her right shoulder. A butterfly landed on it. You saw her, you did. It is so. She faded, leaving sunshine in her form. But you wondered about the butterfly. It fluttered away from the glowing silhouette, so you floated, following it. The butterfly shimmered blue, purple,, red, orange, yellow, silver, black. You gave up. So much for chasing beauty. You stumbled backwards. It was too difficult to continue chasing the butterfly. The world collapsed into you, blackness.