Stranded in the Fade

bend and break

my mind

is

without a doubt troubled, shattered against cold pavement. every thought stretched to its breaking point, not even knowing where to hide. no place is safe. no hiding places left.

no sanctuary

nothing to put between the raw thoughts, the ever increasing fear, the shaking hands, the eventual breakdown of each and every synapse. 

no place is safe.

so habits sidles up, amicably, wraps their arms around me, and choke me with a smile

hello old friends.

I realize that nothing is more disparaging that realizing that no matter what, things will always be the way they are

and that no place is safe.

Exhaustion

Exhaustion

Is simply numb

Numb of moving

Numb of feeling

Exhaustion is the thought, a feeling that there is nothing more.

There is an end

A ringing chord that finally fades

There is an end to exhaustion

To finally rest.

Yet

Living

No,

More like enduring

Enduring what is supposed to be life

There is no respite

Nothing to heal

Nothing to hope

Nothing to ever look forward

Merely endure what was supposed to

Be

There’s a loneliness that only exists in one’s mind. The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby (via oncehopefulsail)

(Source: han-solo-dolo, via magnifiquementtragique)

Scar tissue has no character. It’s not like skin. It doesn’t show age or illness or pallor or tan. It has no pores, no hair, no wrinkles. It’s like a slip cover. It shields and disguises what’s beneath. That’s why we grow it; we have something to hide.

—Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted (via venula)

(via magnifiquementtragique)

fields of asphodel

do you remember those nights we spent together during the summer?

Driving through town, almost the edge of the world, you turned the headlights off as we pulled off the road into the sweet grass fields.

we laid the blankets down, folding the corners down. you were so OCD about corners. 

we laid there, for what seemed like hours, fireflies dancing in the night sky, stars shimmering and twinkling, the whole world, an audience to the mystical overture above our heads. 

the whole world, and just the two of us, an island apart. 

I remember you pulled out your smokes. camel platinum silvers, your favorite brand. your hands slowly shuffled through your bag, through pockets, searching for a lighter. 

you never had a light, always had to use mine. we made eye contact, no words necessary, just a pleading, yearning look.

a flash of silver, bright flames made pupils dilate, and the quick snap of the lighter lid. 

you leaned against me, turning your head to exhale. I never cared if the hot ash landed on me, just subtly blew it away. 

then you finished, crushing the butt into dirt, a quick smash, turn turn turn, then flick into the twilight, so efficient, so practiced. we were. thats all. we were infinite, right there at that moment, I wished it never to end. never to cease. 

your soft whisper permeated the silence, leaning on your elbow, weight shifted “Chris listen, I can’t do this anymore, this. us. it’s just too much”

dumbfounded, I tried to form coherent thoughts

“wait, what I - hold on you’re really saying-“

“shhh” you put a sly finger to my lips “just let me talk okay? just please. I’m leaving, in a week, and I just can’t.”

I stayed quiet, do you remember that? I didn’t move, didn’t move a damn muscle. I didn’t even try to do anything, and you laid back down, putting a hand on my chest, whispered in my ear

“I’m so sorry, there’s. there is no hope for me Chris, and please just don’t come after me, please. It’ll be easier for the both of us”

Then you pressed a photograph into my hand, crumpled, wrinkled, but still, I didn’t move, as you got back into your car, and left, gravel crunching under wheels, headlights swinging onto pavement.

you left. I stayed, laying there on the blanket with your obnoxious folded corners.

after a while I left, left the blanket, left the photo, taking a final glance at the frozen faces, yours and mine, silhouetted against the glorious sunset, and the writing on the back, in your tight crushed handwriting “Sierra and Chris forever”

I left it all to blow away in the cool summer breeze

with mocking stars wheeling forth overhead. 

I left

but you’re still out there, somewhere, blowing through the fields of asphodel

never to come back

through to the light

no matter where you go in life, what you experience, who you’re with; people take from you.

they take

At first, tiny bits and pieces, as friends leave or drift apart. so unnoticeable. Soon the bites get bigger, taking chunks out or your psyche, ripping through your morals and fortitude. 

loved ones die, crippling you, so violent and sudden. Like life without a limb.

Then there are those that take parts of you so large, they drop you to your knees, gasping for air, the light at the end of the tunnel fretfully dims, outlook bleak, drowning insufferably, you begin circling the drain, they don’t relent.

they leave you destitute. broken

They take everything from you

soon so much of you is scattered to the wind, sought after and collected by the most hated vile creatures, hoarded and hidden away

make no mistake, people are not saints, they are not star-crossed lovers. They are sharks.

and here comes emptiness, nothing left inside save for the last ravaged piece of your soul, a sick reminder of what once was whole, what was once beautiful and full.

so begin to cope,

cope with life, and never give up hope

finally, take that last fluttering piece of your soul, hold it out and let it guide you, protect you, when all else goes dark, when all hope disappears.

Let it take you to the light

moments in between

There are small, tiny moments that go almost unnoticed, so insignificant you only see them if you look so very hard. 

Moments that can send your heart pounding and your head miles above the clouds, when the whole of time stops and you can hear your own heartbeat. 

moments where you feel 

euphoric

utterly unstoppable. when words can’t come fast enough and feelings cascade like waterfalls. 

when finally words stop and the only thing left is for lips to collide like thunderclouds

Absolute bliss

as for me, I’ve only seen, experienced, a handful of these moments

the sunset on the pacific ocean, when the sun graces the end of the horizon with its presence, igniting the sky and the sea all at once, and the ocean seems to be alive with liquid fire. 

Or on top of a mountain, the whole world underneath, even the shadows of clouds play out beneath. The air goes thin, and your chest heaves with each breath so your head doesn’t go light, up up up so high, so high you don’t know where the world ends and heaven begins.

Or lightning storms and tornadoes, walking among the most primordial elements of nature, rain and wind breaking through your clothes as you crouch low to the ground, overwhelmed by the sheer tenacity of it all, you find peace in the storm, through the raging winds and spiderwebs of lighting, the sky tearing itself asunder. You stand up, among the peals of thunder, reach out with your hands and yell as loud as possible, and your voice joins the fray, coalesces with nature.

finally, during the summer nights, laying out in the fields, blankets laid and bodies spread haphazard, watch the stars fall, and know that you’re completely happy with the world. because you’re with the people you love, and maybe, just maybe, that’s all you need. 

you see, these moments happen so rare, like picking a four leaf clover, and when they come you barely know its there until it leaves. 

but don’t keep those moments, let them go, because it’s not about living life, every day in moments like these

It’s about living for the moments in between, always looking forward to that next one, and who you share it with

that’s what counts. 

Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person’s heart and dissolve it.

—Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (via serialstranger)

(via peculiarandperturbed)

thedustwillsing:

Some nights I would talk holes in the ceiling
waiting for fire or rain or anything
that I read about as a child;
a voice in a whisper
not a storm.

Most nights I would hear nothing
and continue to pin my hopes
to the shingles on the roof

but some nights I thought I heard something
soft, maybe nothing at all