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One week. What's that to you?
To a child, what is a week? You may be waiting for the advent of Christmas, you may be waiting for the Easter Bunny to emerge from the shadows, you may be waiting for something. Anything. Does a week seem like a long time?
Does a week seem like a long time when you're going to die? When you're going to fall? When you're finally going to sink into the darkness that shrouded your mind? That possessed your action, cowered beneath your tidy, clean shine?
You don't know, you never will. You can never feel like I am feeling. I week from now my body will be limp, my mind will be gone, my life will be in the hell I've created. Because of what I've done. Because of how I've lived my life. So what if you don't look after those who love for you? Who care for you? You'll die, you'll be picked from the thousands with a heart, picked from those who live to see the world in the beauty it was meant to be.
No, one week isn't a long time.
My mind is slowly slipping from me; questions of reality, questions of mentality, questions of my life arise and fall within the world I've created inside my head. brooding, bleeding, lurking within the shadows I see you, I see what is everywhere, but do I see what is real? Do I see the life you see? No, this is but a mirage that has been bestowed upon my hell-bent mind like a curse from beneath. I wish I could change it. I wish I could slay this infection that's worming into my mind, corrupting my thoughts, destroying me before death can.
I find myself walking. Walking through unknown forest, dense and blind within themselves. Ah, you would cry. You cry like me, like my mind, like my body. All the evils within this world jeer at me, laugh in my face as a break down into nothing more than a wreck. Light shining through the leaves, piercing my eyesight as I wander through this land of dark in which i have been placed. Am I here? I don't know anymore, my physical presense is beyond me now, my mind litters the Earth, yet I only see what I choose. This dark part of my mind will be the death of me.
Perhaps it's suicide. Perhaps I'm killing myself with this. I can't go through this hell anymore. The death-kissed plains shall devour me. The death-kiss plains shall seek me out. Soon enough I will be stranded in nowhere, nothing to make out of my mind other than mush. A pulp, eaten by the maggots that infest my mind. Chewing, slurping, wriggling, ah how pain will be brought upon me. How pain will be induced by my own mind. How my body will writhe in fury as the soul is sucked out of my once-pure self.
Where now? Who knows. I can walk through deserts, fells, forests but it will not go away, the further I run away the closer it gets, as it's breath tickles my neck the shiver down my spine tells me it's near the end. Soon I shall be no more, soon my world shall crumble and cease to exist just like thousands of others.
I wish it could been different. If I slit my throat there and then it could have been the end, if I torn my body to pieces before anything else could, perhaps I could come back. Perhaps i could reach another place, not hell, not heaven, but my own projection on what I want. What do I want? Simply life. I want to move, I walk the air to tickle my lip once more, I want the snow to fall upon my cursed face, I want the wind to knock me of my ever-evil course. I want to live.
But still I see it. The hell beneath me, wrought laughter which chatters in my head until I have to stop. Until I need to place my ears in my palms. Slain, creatures glare up I me, wry smiles painted on their faces, sniggers bursting out of them like blood from a vessel. But I hide my tears from those who oppose me. I hide my tears inside myself, where they can find it. The more I run from the truth the more they find out, the more they do to stop me. The more tears swell in my minds eye, the more I wish to die.
It seems it has beaten me. It seems I must give up. Goodbye Sir Can. Goodbye Can Sir....
Thanks for reading
Rickoss
To a child, what is a week? You may be waiting for the advent of Christmas, you may be waiting for the Easter Bunny to emerge from the shadows, you may be waiting for something. Anything. Does a week seem like a long time?
Does a week seem like a long time when you're going to die? When you're going to fall? When you're finally going to sink into the darkness that shrouded your mind? That possessed your action, cowered beneath your tidy, clean shine?
You don't know, you never will. You can never feel like I am feeling. I week from now my body will be limp, my mind will be gone, my life will be in the hell I've created. Because of what I've done. Because of how I've lived my life. So what if you don't look after those who love for you? Who care for you? You'll die, you'll be picked from the thousands with a heart, picked from those who live to see the world in the beauty it was meant to be.
No, one week isn't a long time.
My mind is slowly slipping from me; questions of reality, questions of mentality, questions of my life arise and fall within the world I've created inside my head. brooding, bleeding, lurking within the shadows I see you, I see what is everywhere, but do I see what is real? Do I see the life you see? No, this is but a mirage that has been bestowed upon my hell-bent mind like a curse from beneath. I wish I could change it. I wish I could slay this infection that's worming into my mind, corrupting my thoughts, destroying me before death can.
I find myself walking. Walking through unknown forest, dense and blind within themselves. Ah, you would cry. You cry like me, like my mind, like my body. All the evils within this world jeer at me, laugh in my face as a break down into nothing more than a wreck. Light shining through the leaves, piercing my eyesight as I wander through this land of dark in which i have been placed. Am I here? I don't know anymore, my physical presense is beyond me now, my mind litters the Earth, yet I only see what I choose. This dark part of my mind will be the death of me.
Perhaps it's suicide. Perhaps I'm killing myself with this. I can't go through this hell anymore. The death-kissed plains shall devour me. The death-kiss plains shall seek me out. Soon enough I will be stranded in nowhere, nothing to make out of my mind other than mush. A pulp, eaten by the maggots that infest my mind. Chewing, slurping, wriggling, ah how pain will be brought upon me. How pain will be induced by my own mind. How my body will writhe in fury as the soul is sucked out of my once-pure self.
Where now? Who knows. I can walk through deserts, fells, forests but it will not go away, the further I run away the closer it gets, as it's breath tickles my neck the shiver down my spine tells me it's near the end. Soon I shall be no more, soon my world shall crumble and cease to exist just like thousands of others.
I wish it could been different. If I slit my throat there and then it could have been the end, if I torn my body to pieces before anything else could, perhaps I could come back. Perhaps i could reach another place, not hell, not heaven, but my own projection on what I want. What do I want? Simply life. I want to move, I walk the air to tickle my lip once more, I want the snow to fall upon my cursed face, I want the wind to knock me of my ever-evil course. I want to live.
But still I see it. The hell beneath me, wrought laughter which chatters in my head until I have to stop. Until I need to place my ears in my palms. Slain, creatures glare up I me, wry smiles painted on their faces, sniggers bursting out of them like blood from a vessel. But I hide my tears from those who oppose me. I hide my tears inside myself, where they can find it. The more I run from the truth the more they find out, the more they do to stop me. The more tears swell in my minds eye, the more I wish to die.
It seems it has beaten me. It seems I must give up. Goodbye Sir Can. Goodbye Can Sir....
Thanks for reading
Rickoss
Hmmm, just read through a few bits of it and you're right about the grammatical errors. It sounds pretty much crap in places. :-\
Ah, "cancer" :-)
Black Glove wrote:
> There's a few grammatical errors and the last line: "Goodbye Sir
> Can. Goodbye Can Sir...." confused me a bit [?]. But as usual I
> liked it. Typically abstract. A man on a suicidal mission perhaps?
Yes, it was meant to be a suicidal person, coming to terms with dying. The last line is simple when you say it out, although not obvious if you don't.
> There's a few grammatical errors and the last line: "Goodbye Sir
> Can. Goodbye Can Sir...." confused me a bit [?]. But as usual I
> liked it. Typically abstract. A man on a suicidal mission perhaps?
Yes, it was meant to be a suicidal person, coming to terms with dying. The last line is simple when you say it out, although not obvious if you don't.
Abstract indded. Liked it, and the thoughts travelling through the charcters mind. Is their conscience hounding them after committing some crime?
There's a few grammatical errors and the last line: "Goodbye Sir Can. Goodbye Can Sir...." confused me a bit [?]. But as usual I liked it. Typically abstract. A man on a suicidal mission perhaps?
One week. What's that to you?
To a child, what is a week? You may be waiting for the advent of Christmas, you may be waiting for the Easter Bunny to emerge from the shadows, you may be waiting for something. Anything. Does a week seem like a long time?
Does a week seem like a long time when you're going to die? When you're going to fall? When you're finally going to sink into the darkness that shrouded your mind? That possessed your action, cowered beneath your tidy, clean shine?
You don't know, you never will. You can never feel like I am feeling. I week from now my body will be limp, my mind will be gone, my life will be in the hell I've created. Because of what I've done. Because of how I've lived my life. So what if you don't look after those who love for you? Who care for you? You'll die, you'll be picked from the thousands with a heart, picked from those who live to see the world in the beauty it was meant to be.
No, one week isn't a long time.
My mind is slowly slipping from me; questions of reality, questions of mentality, questions of my life arise and fall within the world I've created inside my head. brooding, bleeding, lurking within the shadows I see you, I see what is everywhere, but do I see what is real? Do I see the life you see? No, this is but a mirage that has been bestowed upon my hell-bent mind like a curse from beneath. I wish I could change it. I wish I could slay this infection that's worming into my mind, corrupting my thoughts, destroying me before death can.
I find myself walking. Walking through unknown forest, dense and blind within themselves. Ah, you would cry. You cry like me, like my mind, like my body. All the evils within this world jeer at me, laugh in my face as a break down into nothing more than a wreck. Light shining through the leaves, piercing my eyesight as I wander through this land of dark in which i have been placed. Am I here? I don't know anymore, my physical presense is beyond me now, my mind litters the Earth, yet I only see what I choose. This dark part of my mind will be the death of me.
Perhaps it's suicide. Perhaps I'm killing myself with this. I can't go through this hell anymore. The death-kissed plains shall devour me. The death-kiss plains shall seek me out. Soon enough I will be stranded in nowhere, nothing to make out of my mind other than mush. A pulp, eaten by the maggots that infest my mind. Chewing, slurping, wriggling, ah how pain will be brought upon me. How pain will be induced by my own mind. How my body will writhe in fury as the soul is sucked out of my once-pure self.
Where now? Who knows. I can walk through deserts, fells, forests but it will not go away, the further I run away the closer it gets, as it's breath tickles my neck the shiver down my spine tells me it's near the end. Soon I shall be no more, soon my world shall crumble and cease to exist just like thousands of others.
I wish it could been different. If I slit my throat there and then it could have been the end, if I torn my body to pieces before anything else could, perhaps I could come back. Perhaps i could reach another place, not hell, not heaven, but my own projection on what I want. What do I want? Simply life. I want to move, I walk the air to tickle my lip once more, I want the snow to fall upon my cursed face, I want the wind to knock me of my ever-evil course. I want to live.
But still I see it. The hell beneath me, wrought laughter which chatters in my head until I have to stop. Until I need to place my ears in my palms. Slain, creatures glare up I me, wry smiles painted on their faces, sniggers bursting out of them like blood from a vessel. But I hide my tears from those who oppose me. I hide my tears inside myself, where they can find it. The more I run from the truth the more they find out, the more they do to stop me. The more tears swell in my minds eye, the more I wish to die.
It seems it has beaten me. It seems I must give up. Goodbye Sir Can. Goodbye Can Sir....
Thanks for reading
Rickoss
To a child, what is a week? You may be waiting for the advent of Christmas, you may be waiting for the Easter Bunny to emerge from the shadows, you may be waiting for something. Anything. Does a week seem like a long time?
Does a week seem like a long time when you're going to die? When you're going to fall? When you're finally going to sink into the darkness that shrouded your mind? That possessed your action, cowered beneath your tidy, clean shine?
You don't know, you never will. You can never feel like I am feeling. I week from now my body will be limp, my mind will be gone, my life will be in the hell I've created. Because of what I've done. Because of how I've lived my life. So what if you don't look after those who love for you? Who care for you? You'll die, you'll be picked from the thousands with a heart, picked from those who live to see the world in the beauty it was meant to be.
No, one week isn't a long time.
My mind is slowly slipping from me; questions of reality, questions of mentality, questions of my life arise and fall within the world I've created inside my head. brooding, bleeding, lurking within the shadows I see you, I see what is everywhere, but do I see what is real? Do I see the life you see? No, this is but a mirage that has been bestowed upon my hell-bent mind like a curse from beneath. I wish I could change it. I wish I could slay this infection that's worming into my mind, corrupting my thoughts, destroying me before death can.
I find myself walking. Walking through unknown forest, dense and blind within themselves. Ah, you would cry. You cry like me, like my mind, like my body. All the evils within this world jeer at me, laugh in my face as a break down into nothing more than a wreck. Light shining through the leaves, piercing my eyesight as I wander through this land of dark in which i have been placed. Am I here? I don't know anymore, my physical presense is beyond me now, my mind litters the Earth, yet I only see what I choose. This dark part of my mind will be the death of me.
Perhaps it's suicide. Perhaps I'm killing myself with this. I can't go through this hell anymore. The death-kissed plains shall devour me. The death-kiss plains shall seek me out. Soon enough I will be stranded in nowhere, nothing to make out of my mind other than mush. A pulp, eaten by the maggots that infest my mind. Chewing, slurping, wriggling, ah how pain will be brought upon me. How pain will be induced by my own mind. How my body will writhe in fury as the soul is sucked out of my once-pure self.
Where now? Who knows. I can walk through deserts, fells, forests but it will not go away, the further I run away the closer it gets, as it's breath tickles my neck the shiver down my spine tells me it's near the end. Soon I shall be no more, soon my world shall crumble and cease to exist just like thousands of others.
I wish it could been different. If I slit my throat there and then it could have been the end, if I torn my body to pieces before anything else could, perhaps I could come back. Perhaps i could reach another place, not hell, not heaven, but my own projection on what I want. What do I want? Simply life. I want to move, I walk the air to tickle my lip once more, I want the snow to fall upon my cursed face, I want the wind to knock me of my ever-evil course. I want to live.
But still I see it. The hell beneath me, wrought laughter which chatters in my head until I have to stop. Until I need to place my ears in my palms. Slain, creatures glare up I me, wry smiles painted on their faces, sniggers bursting out of them like blood from a vessel. But I hide my tears from those who oppose me. I hide my tears inside myself, where they can find it. The more I run from the truth the more they find out, the more they do to stop me. The more tears swell in my minds eye, the more I wish to die.
It seems it has beaten me. It seems I must give up. Goodbye Sir Can. Goodbye Can Sir....
Thanks for reading
Rickoss