WHOA! WAIT, WHAT?

So, uh… yeah. I’m totally here and making posts again now…
Not that anyone will read them, but hey. XD

So the other day I poked a random pretty person on facebook and she turned out to be awesome AND my girlfriend for  the last however many times… So I promptly dumped her.

As to the rest of life: It’s basically full on, lots of sitting down really hard. Going to try fixing that though. Anyways, enjoy your lives random people of the interweb! Stay gorgeous (especially you).

Story of a boy

A small boy sits alone; shoulders bowed and head hung. Each breath he draws is held, filling his lungs with the darkness around him. With the fall of his chest a little more of his life leaves him. His hair falls lank and unkempt over his grimed face. Tears have carved their way over his cheeks; burning him while washing away the dirt.
As I sit and watch him, he slowly raises his head. Clear eyes, windows to his soul, show the agony he is living. He opens his mouth, silently screaming, uttering unknown horrors to the infinite dark.
But then the moment is gone. He is once again doubled with his burdens. Once again he is cut off from the passer-byes who do not stop, only pass and stare.

I cannot help but reach out to him; the distance seems so far, like a bottomless sea.Like a turbulent sea as I plunge my hand toward him, I feel waves crashing against me. Waves of despair, waves of crushed desire, waves of dead and dying happiness thrashing themselves on a sharp rocky shore.
My hand finally grips his shoulder. But as it does I am struck with the realization of who this boy is.
He is the child that you have raised within me. He is all I have ever wanted to be and to happen. This poor lone boy is my love for you; cast out and now left to suffer, but never die.

With the horror of knowledge unbound, I  retract my hand. I know that I could raise him, rear my love for you to be strong and unwavering. But what purpose would that serve if he were to never have a home.

And so I sit and write the story of a small boy sitting alone.

I

I trusted you when you said that I’d never lose you.
I trusted you when you said that I meant something to you.
I loved you for who you were.
I loved you for who you are.
I don’t know what I did wrong.
I don’t know what I can do to fix it.
But I do know that it kills me to live like this.
And I do know that It will destroy me.

Pixels

I’ve been playing in paint lately.
I like pixels….

Nothing

“…Schleck lost a little time yesterday to…”
The TV commentator drones on and on. I usually enjoy watching the cycling, but this year the Vuelta de Espana isn’t doing anything for me. Maybe I have too much on my mind.

I cycle through the tabs in my browser; gaudy ads pop out at me from the sides of pages, seeking to convince me that I need more friends, a longer penis and to waste my time on ‘the best new online MMORPG’. Needless to say I’m not buying it. I’m too distracted thinking about other things.

I open a fresh page, clicking on the bookmark to my blog. I’m not proud of it; it contains too much bad poetry, not enough humour, and I honestly don’ understand why people read it. But somewhere deep down the desire to be listened to dives me on. I struggle to think of something to write about.

Shifting position on the couch I think that I should probably get some sleep. But even at 1:19 I’m too awake to sleep. I start typing, the sound of my keystrokes tapping out a morbid rhythm.
“When did I become so good at touch-typing?” my brain mutters to its self. “I spend too much time on my laptop. Why is my life so wasted?” I think about things too much.

I continue to type, and eventually I reach the last paragraph. I type words which describe exactly what I’m doing. Casually, I wonder if I type fast enough whether I can predict the future. Cracking my neck I think about what I’ve written: utterly boring, useless drivel. I just have to hope that I’m different enough for other people to find this interesting. I even tried to write something decent. Maybe I have too much on my mind.

The TV commentator continues to spill his mindless story; telling me exactly what is happening right in front of me.
“…one of the other riders that was originally in this group, but has now lost contact…”

Reaching for spring/Stuck in winter

Reaching for spring

A chill breeze breaks the warmth of the new spring sun; fresh leaves shivering as they reach to soak in the light. A tall gum tree waves lazily, dark leaves contrasting against it’s silver bark. Blackbirds dance through the undergrowth, sending crushed leaves scuttering across the damp ground.

Spring has come to the garden, and although still cold, life is awake. Blossom blooms, and buds sprout. All seems right in the world.
___________________________________________________________

Stuck in winter

The sun warms my flesh, but inside I am cold. My desires frozen in chill agony. Shivers wrack my body as if I had been plunged into icy water, a pool of crystal agony. Yet I cannot feel my hands, my body moves without thought. I am numb; yet still, I feel the pain.

My sunshine has gone, and I fear it will never return. The silver lining of the cloud only serves to cut like a knife. All I had has been washed away, the flood of emotion rendering my life and soul prostrate; shivering and alone in the desolate tundra that is my mind.

Rotten

And so another branch falls
Rotten from the inside out

The tree stands tall and proud
Yet deep inside it is almost dead

Roots wither underneath
The carpet of decaying leaves

When will it topple?
When will it fall?
When it does will anyone care?

A happy ending to a tragic story

I’m sure that you’ve all read my post about my lost pencil case.
I’ve been quite down about this loss for a while, but while scrummaging through one of my desk draws lately, I found my Derwents… Needless o say, I almost fainted with delight.

So, I’ve entered the colouring competition at this awesome blag.

I’ve also started drawing for a combined effort between the author of Widely Regarded as a Bad Move and myself.
Look to the future people, scan the horizons for people trying to Escape by Balloon.

P.S. I have started a webcomic. from now on all comics in it will be drawn in one minute in MS Paint.

Feast

Death beats inside,
Knocking on the door,
Waiting to be released.

Sadness is his only friend,
Sitting by the cold and ashen hearth,
That once contained my inner fire.

Together they drink a bitter liquid,
From a dark and twisted bottle,
The last that is left of my spirit.

And so they dine,
Drinking wine,
In the crumbling shack,
That is my mind.

The gloom is lit,
Shadows feebly pushed,
By a lantern called desire.

And the shack is held,
By nails and planks,
Bound purely by craftsman’s love.

The cold is barely kept,
By the failing flame,
That consumes my sanity.

And so they dine,
Drinking wine,
In the crumbling shack,
That is my mind.

No Matter

No matter what I do,
I still love you.

No matter how hard i try,
I still love you.

No matter how many people want me,
I still love you.

No matter what I do,
I still love you.

I give you space,
But it only makes my heart ache.
A keen sense of lonliness builds
Until I can’t bear but to say something.

The overflow of emotion
Is my gravity,
Pulling me down,
Tying me to the ground.

And the overflow of emotion
Pours from me
Like the flooding waters
Of a broken dam.

And like that dam
My heart, too,
Is broken.

I know that I will love again;
It is my weakness,
My pride,
My sin.

Again I will find
Someone to hold,
Someone to Care for
And cherish.

But for all the love that I will give,
A part of me will remain yours
As it has been for so long.
I will still love you.
No matter what I do.