writing

What’s real?

I don’t even know what’s real

And what isn’t real anymore

But the scariest part is

Just the simple fact I am even questioning this reality

Probably makes me more in touch with reality than most.

take care of yourself, take care of each other… have no fear. Peace & love. H

The Last Days Of Man

I dig the knife into the tree. Slipping the blade beneath the bark ripping it up so I can see the fragile green underbelly. Over and over again peeling away the skin. What I’m doing is perhaps cruel. That knowledge is there, but there is no feeling behind it. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Regret at destroying it. Exposing it to the harsh elements of this world. Ripping away the one thing that was protecting it.

Why am I doing this? Why do I keep at it?I don’t know, but I don’t seem to want to stop. It’s something to distract me. To keep the thoughts away. These dark thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine. They feel foreign. Like someone is whispering in my ear. Constantly telling me what to do, what to think, what to feel. And yet…they feel a little less foreign than they did yesterday. Like it was becoming a part of me.

I hadn’t been the same since they “cured” me.

I’m going to betray you.” I had said. And I thought I should care. I don’t want this do I? But I probably won’t be able to stop myself. Eventually that whisper was going to become a scream. It would take me over. I should fight it. I should care.

She had looked at me, frozen in place. Pain tugging at her lips. Her eyes were the color of ice. “No, no you won’t.” But her voice broke. She wasn’t sure she believed it.

It was then I picked up the knife. A small little involuntary gasp left her lips and she took a quick step back. I think I shook my head and laughed as if she were being ridiculous. She was not….Ah, that’s why I’m doing this. I remember now. If I didn’t take the knife to the tree it would have sunk in somewhere else. Perhaps her pretty pink flesh.. And I think I would have regretted that, wouldn’t I?

What was happening to me? The whispering dissolved into a slow chuckle.

Authors note: I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this one exactly. Right now these characters and stories are scattered thoughts created from my angst at current events. Perhaps one day they will come together. Feedback is always appreciated.

How I’m spending my Valentine’s day

How am I spending my Valentine’s day? Sipping echinacea tea (because I am sick), listening to some Mazzy Star (because I love 90s wrist cutting music) and writing about demons. (because it’s one of my favorite things to write about)

I hope your Valentine’s day is as killer as mine.

H

 

Rejected

I’m beginning to wonder how many rejection letters I can collect this year. Someone told me once they framed all of their rejections and filled many walls before they received their first acceptance letter. This is starting to feel a bit like my love life. 

 If it were easy it wouldn’t be very satisfying would it?

The Epitome of Splendor

He said the only cuts worth having

are the ones that scrape against bone

the ones that grind you down

and build you back up

He whispers through the bitter-blood taste of the Cabernet

Do you know pain?

I etched it into the skin on my wrist

years ago

the night of delirious bowling

I made myself vulnerable

only to swear never again

I have paid the price for this oath

For apart we were a plague upon the other

Together we were the epitome of splendor

Do you think this is true?

His grin is cocky,

knowing

and he tells me

My writing is the epitome of spendor

when he is the muse. 

Hell’s Heroes

I’m going to need someone like you. Someone who’s been primed for the heat as I have. For Hell is difficult place to navigate all alone, and my relationship with the Devil is percarious at best. There are tough times ahead of us. For Hell has yet to upgrade to wifi, they are still on dial up. And all there is to eat is pickled goats feet and habanera peppers. But never fear, for I hear in Hell whiskey flows day and night. Although it takes a bit like bile and boiled gasoline. There are dancing red-skinned naked girls to entertain us, but their vaginas are steal traps. I’ll drink the whiskey, but best stay away from the red women. Still I think you and I could have a bit of fun. Perhaps overthrow the Devil if we’re clever enough. Upgrade to wifi, bring in some good whiskey and find some proper strippers. Maybe even outfit the place with central air. Ah yes, you and I, we’ll be heroes in Hell.