The Hollow Horrors Of Melancholy
It has coiled its leather body around the serene. Strangling the geysers of my imagination and I run dry of design as I seek to be clean. This demon, be it the spreading of the deranged, of my decaying brain. It flairs its wings and parades it fangs with each sleepless night at the strike of twelve thirteen.
Its eyes, darker than any hue of ink you have ever seen. Its breath like the heat of candle held to close to flesh. Its screeches as if it too, has become the victim of the horrific. Of the wicked workings of sadness and the obscene.
I would find no surprise to see that which haunts me. Is but another running from their horrors, but they have drowned to the cursed ravine. Now they haunt others for the mere hope their disease of the mental shall fall upon another and shall be free.
And in these terrible visions of sleep, I try to intervene. But the conditions of the miserable grip with great tensity to my senses. Pushing me to an almost formidable hysteria. This has become routine, and with each passing night, my heart races faster.
I fear I may not be able to contest it, for I am growing exhausted in battle. I feel the swinging of a melancholic guillotine, calmly waiting to severe my mind for mental hygiene.
I am falling to the instincts of the lizard and am feeling of a machine. My words have become vapid to constant washing of the unclean. Scrubbing in thought, but the stains remainy. They have become the scene of my dreams.
Even the flavor of a tangerine, has become dull pleasure in this living of what may be a broken gene.
Thank you for reading and thank you for your support!
Have any tips to dealing with nightmares? Let me know in the comments below.
If you want more, then you will enjoy, A Man's Traveled Heart
Popular posts from this blog
I have been writting poetry on medium, does anyone still wish me to write short stories on here?
A Wanderers Inn I have been traveling for thirty days. My horses are weak and I thirst dearly for water. My belly aches as hunger constricts my gut. I am fearful of death in such an unsuitable way. I have always seen myself dying in daring act of life. Be it in war or the saving of a child. Or maybe, even in the defeat of a dragon as I get one last blow with my blade before it strikes me down and it falls to its death beside me. Feeling its last breath of heat roll over my body as our eyes see only our fading souls. I have always thought my death would be glorious. Yet here I am, traveling alone with no more rations, nor water. My horses no longer walk with fervor but lackadaisical steps. And so I pray to find shelter before the cold takes us. Before the empty plains of barren trees and darkness finds us. I wish not to be detritus before my days. Decaying slowly to the maggots as my body lays helpless upon the earth. Becoming a gruesome vision of what lies inside. B
Not fair? You know what's not fair, that eight year old boy who who was diagnosed with cancer on his eighth birthday. The mom that has to watch her child slowly die as she prays he will survive; only to watch him take his last breath. After all those sleepless nights of pain staking chemo. All those days of watching their child go from a bundle of energy, to a pale boy of sickness. -- Life's not fair? You know what's no fair, going to work to find out you are being fired because someone holds a minority that you don't. Fired, because your skin complexion is not the right color and they need more of the other. Being fired, because the company needs more of a certain set of sex organs to help out "equality." -- Your life's not fair? You know what's not fair, those 200,000+ men who went to help eradicate the evils of Hitler. Only to die less than hundred feet onto the shore. All those sons taken from their families, all those father and mo