Shame

Ashamed to live, I live for the dead,

With a punishment of gold wrapped around my head,

With the sleeves of blood lazily draped around my arms,

With the stains of choked tears mottling my palms.

Ashamed to live, I live for those who sleep,

Their eyelids strained with fear, coals as they weep,

Their tongues tied with marshy ropes hanging from the sky,

Their lips like the insufferable speeches of minds cracked dry.

Ashamed to live, I live for the hopeless,

Who cannot hear anything but screams in the darkness,

Who cannot see words but see wounds in the page,

Who cannot feel the use of ink but to mark out their cage.

Ashamed to live, I am living for you,

Living for the day when you will die too,

Living for the comfort that your soul can still provide,

Living for the wetness of the cheek upon your side,

I am living for the memories that you are living with,

I am living for the day when I’m not ashamed to live.

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Closing Our Eyes

Material curtains

Splattered rusty red

Hang from your barbed eyelids

Weighed down by

A Wealth of Desire -

They snap shut.

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EPIPHANY*

I finally realised that I don’t want to do half the things I do in my life because they feel so real. As everything is obviously going against the grain, not working out, and generally contradicting the fantasy world of my dreams, it just hits home harder that I genuinely have no clue about anything and it’s kind of scary. I mean, I quite like not knowing everything (insert something about Socrates and wisdom here) but the main issue for me is that tomorrow is not a thing yet, but at the same time, it’s already a thing, and I’m just generally freaking out like the incoherent mess that I am.

It hurts to know that things are actually happening because you’re this little ant being trod on every five seconds who can’t actually do anything about the fact that just now, right now, someone just died, and there was nothing I could do to make their death slightly less pain-filled and a bit more natural, but are we supposed to stop people dying, and what is right, and what is okay, and what is immoral, and EVERYTHINGGGGGGGGGGG (wow, internet speak on a blog, such class).

So many treacherous, horrible things are happening and I’m powerless, but I am also not powerless, but I still am, and it’s kind of like AHHHHH WORLD, STOP BEATING ME DOWN WITH MY OWN STICK BECAUSE I GENUINELY JUST WANT TO BE USEFUL IN LIFE, AND THAT IS ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED but at the same time, different people have different uses of me, and it’s sort of confusing because you have to pick and choose in which way you are useful, but you still feel severely limited, and basically, all I can see in my head right now is Dan Howell and his existential crisis YT video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1jaY136B_k) and the depression doesn’t help and it’s all very much FLAP AROUND OH GOD OH NO WORLD WHAT.

So basically, another thing running through my mind at 100mph but also not because actually you don’t really do anything except in slow motion in my state like a weird sloth creature but less dangerous except to itself and less going to fall out of a tree *breathes*, is the comic that has always been TOTALLY AWESOME SAUCE which is OF COURSE (http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.co.uk/). I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM DOING FLAP FLAP FLAP AHHHH EXPLOSION AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH *hides in cave but comes out of cave because  PLATO but then  CAN’T DEAL because PLATO and LIFE AND WORLD AND WORDS AND JUST FREAKING OUT canthiscountascreativewriting WUT).

I might have to amend and continue this later; please excuse me whilst I go on a YT break. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*N.B.  this was written by an apathetic person. I KNOW. HOW DOES THIS EVEN HAPPEN. WAHT EEZ LYF

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On Fear of Commitment

I’m scared

Scared to breathe

Breathe a drop of life into a vat

Pour in the dew of mornings you never wanted to see

A touch of the rustling leaves

Because sleep is like death without the commitment

But you inhale, exhale

Inhale, exhale

Inhale -

And the rhythm reminds you

That your footprints are not yet dust

Not quite

Your bursting lungs

Lungs filled to the brim

With throttling gasps and screams

Because you’re drowning

Drowning in the air

Eyes convulsing

In ways you do not recall

Recall those days

Your eyes white-hot with memories

Memories of shallow terror

Masking your face

Enshrouding your thoughts

-          Exhale.

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I swear I am not dead

“Oh world, how funny you are,” said she with the deadpan face. Pages stricken with hunger yearned for words, as she coldly brushed her fingers over the sheets stacked sky-high; they were homeless in their own right.

“I swear I am not dead. Well, not yet, anyway.” 

Sighing, she got up from her seat, and in one oddly graceful hop, found herself at the other end of her room, staring at a pile of boxes which had gathered months-worth of dust. She flicked the lid of a black box up, watching the dust drift down lazily as though Wordsworth had given it its own bed of thoughts to sail down on. 

This pretty much summarises my return home from university. It feels incredibly odd to be at home when I now find myself calling York my home-home and I have to catch myself when talking to make sure I don’t offend my family by suggesting I no longer have ties left in the place where I made quite a lot of, well, childhood memories. I saw some friends today but that was odd, too. I was able to strike up conversation where we had left it those few months ago, but like my friend realised, we were all different people shaped by experiences we had never even seen coming.

Anyway, I realised there has been quite a bit of silence on my part in recent times, perhaps due to the fact that I was quite withdrawn with myself. It’s hard to explain, but in short, I was quite quiet in thought. Perhaps one day I will find the right words. Also, whilst I’m still here, I should add that I saw a sunset on Sunday that definitely had a lasting impression (don’t want to forget it).

Back to the point, I will write more. I think my lack of writing on this blog sort of led to recent events. It’s just nice to have this little thing because a) I really love WordPress, b) I really love writing, and c) I need somewhere where anything goes, and it’s okay to just go with the verbal flow of things. It is pretty liberating knowing I don’t really have to think about phrasing here (although, of course, I’m constantly aware of the implications of all that I say, though perhaps not to a high enough level). All in all, I am half looking forward to the rest of this month, even if it is out of intrigue to see the extent to which I even write anything on here, and indeed, what I even see fit to add to this weird little sphere of words and spilt thoughts.

Happy 10th December, world, although I’m sure lots of bad things happened today.  But, “good” things probably happened too, so it’s okay.

Either way, good vs. bad is an odd concept.

And if you haven’t noticed, I’ll sign off by telling you that yes, I perhaps overuse the word “odd”‘; no, it’s not my favourite word, but yes, it is indeed one of those words to me that encompasses everything I have ever meant in life, with pure gusto and meaning.

How odd!

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Sometimes, I use my own weird metaphors, and people react to them like I’m mentally unstable, which I guess is how we react to imagination.

How fitting that it should have been a year since I started this blog on WordPress. I have been faced with the recent upheaval in my life that is starting a degree at university (not Oxford, missed the grades of my offer, but York), and the struggles and glorious moments that come with the situation as a whole.

I came to university knowing fully-well that I would meet a lot of different people of different mindsets, but I don’t think I was quite ready for one of the dilemmas I faced, despite how much I have had to tackle with it in the past.

Life so far has made me acutely aware of differences within groups of society, but it has not prepared me for that moment when you say something, using your creative freedom to churn out wonderfully weird metaphors, and then get shot down for even opening your mouth. Personally, I am of the opinion that no one should be made to feel any less than they are because of their terminology or turn of phrase. No one person or entity owns language; it is a fluid concept, not a finite thing, that is in a state of constant flux.

I understand that, to some extent, we should be prepared for differences of opinion, and my own reaction to such events of feeling like people have the complete wrong end of the stick serves to reiterate just how fixed we all are, despite the uncertainty of things that we practise in life.

I suppose I will conclude this little meandering of thoughts by saying that I endeavour to stop getting so irritated by such occurrences, because it does not exactly serve my purpose of open-mindedness. But to what extent can we be truly open-minded if we are a product of our time?

Enjoy the Christmas vacation!

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Mourning Time

When I get up in the morning, I reach for Mr. Brown and for Charlie, and I hug them both, then I play some guitar then I just sort of stay there until I decide I’m stable enough to leave

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