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.

Stability

Overrated

Comparisons

Distorted

Time

Pollutes

Essence

Preserved

Cherry Jam

Sandwich

This isn’t a cry for help
Or maybe it is?
I can’t tell anymore
Am I a narcissist?
Maybe that’s why people hate me?
That would explain a lot
All I want is a group to be happy with
Am I a freak, or am I not?

For wanting to converse, and feel passion
To learn, to discover, to spiral
out from six feet under, I’m buried in
deep, feeling all miserable

Why should people care?
There’s turmoil everywhere
Many people have it worse
I’m lucky to be here
Ungrateful to even think
Of ending it all, mister
Think of your mourning parents
And scarring your little sister

I have grown used to ignoring
These thoughts of suicide
This is not the right time
For now, smile and abide

I am glad to think
That every day may be my last
I have nothing to achieve
My life ended long in the past
Can I start a blaze, and make a mark?
Can I solve the maze, and stroll through the park
on the other side of misery and doubt
Where the butterflies are not inside me?

I suppose I wrote this to hear you say
‘Yes you can’
But I don’t think I’ll believe it
I am struggling in the sea
Taking in desperate breaths
Looking for a miracle
Anything, that will make me feel
Like I belong

A/N: If you read to this point, don’t worry. I am not at risk of harming myself any time soon. I just had to get this out, and… I dunno… Hope that I can figure this dilemma out? Hope that a comment will turn this whole thing on its head? I don’t know. I’m not even going to tag it. I don’t want to make people feel miserable, but I’m still posting it. I’m leaving myself open for a miracle, if God exists and is listening. Maybe I’ll come back to this one day and laugh at how much of an idiot I used to be.

i don’t know if all my recent posts make me a narcissist. I read a lot of posts about narcissists here on WordPress. I still can’t figure out where their motivations lie exactly. I notice that I talk about myself a lot. I am worried about how that might appear to people. I know I shouldn’t care about such things, but I have been conditioned since an infant to care about what other people think of me. Which is laughable, since I have done nothing to be proud of… ever.

there is another part of me that is not counting on an external miracle, but an internal one… To completely change into a new person, able to handle life… Able to handle solitude, and to remain content with his lot. Am I just day dreaming?