I hope that all of you are doing well? If you aren’t, and want someone to talk to, I’m all ears.

I took a break from writing, since my thoughts were going to dark places. I am thinking of using this blog to post more gritty, and perhaps disturbing, stories and poems, mostly from my imagination. I think it should be a way of communicating with my darker side, which is hiding away in here somewhere. What do you think?

If there’s a God, He seems to be bent on destroying me. If there isn’t a God, existence is pointless. Maybe I’m just bitter. I don’t know. Maybe it’s pointless to fight it. They’re slowly killing me. Maybe I’m possessed by a demon. If I can’t even trust my reality then what’s the point in living? If I can trust my reality then why isn’t He fucking doing something to save my family? Pointless suffering part of His grand plan? Let them win. This world belongs to the cruel. I don’t know when I’ll write again. I’m not going to kill myself, but I’m not going to try to save myself either. I don’t give a fuck about anything any more. Bye.

severe depression hurls my spirit

to the clouds

i am trapped and powerless

Spirits heed my cry and gather

come wind, come fire, come rain

Come river, come mountain, come stream

Death comes as well when I call

don’t ask me why I named him

i don’t know

they want to clarify our relationship

i tell them we are friends

is this mere delusion?

it feels so real

i want to call the ocean

but she is already here

am I just going crazy?

Do I keep posting my confessional poetry?

it can backfire on me big time, but it also opens up new avenues of help and understanding. Maybe it can resonate with someone, giving comfort, or it might attract advice from someone who has gone through it. Sometimes, a kind word is all it takes. But just one bad guy can send me spiralling to bad places. I let go of power and control when I post this kind of poetry. I no longer have my shield up. This can be very dangerous. I don’t know any more…

This whole writing thing might be a purposeless exercise, in which case I am doing something very idiotic by revealing my life to others. But what else do I have? Why do I need to have anything? Writing shouldn’t be the entire meaning of my life. But writing helps me grow… Aaaah! Too many questions… Tomorrow, some deep meditation on all of this. Good night, my five subscribers.