"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)


95. Spattered Troubles


The rain of the day had left droplets clung to my window and

the flashing amber streetlights outside flung their light to the drops and made them shimmer

with a blurred colour that somehow

felt exactly like the contents of my stomach.


I found the worth of taking photographs and although my skills in photography

are undoubtedly lacking,

the mere idea of forever enclosing a memory seems to thrill me more than the past which to me

seems like a small progression because now I'm trying

to savour the present rather than hastily throw it in the tattered trash of the past.


Yet none of the photos,

none of the spattered street lamps,

seem to erase the feelings of his fingertips nor do they vanquish these howling

demons clawing at my lungs and eyes.

I beg them to go but

words take no action

and only the lift of my arms to respond to messages leaves me with the choice of

silent communication to which I cherish more than I should.


Silence is both utterly terrifying yet beautiful.

There is nothing to listen to,

to distract you,

so you're mind can only wander in an inept circle back to your mind and your thoughts

twist in upon themselves and unlock themselves to reveal perhaps

what is too dark for the eyes to see but the torch of depression

shines on and they gleam bright with torture.

Yet those twisting snakes are the snapshot of beauty,

they are not false eyelashes or cheek bones but simply an empty mess of strings

of words your brain has managed to string together like bunting.

Is that not marvellous?


And this bunting flies high in my mind and is draped along the walls of my


my stomach,

my fingers,

and reminds me that my body is home to not only me but illnesses I wish

would run away for I would gladly not send out a search party.


I always thought someone,


else inhabiting your body would make you feel fuller and far less lonely because

you are physically (or psychologically) more cramped yet

you feel so much more empty and it leaves your breaths hollowed and echoing

instead of spilling with life and colour.


If someone is upset,

listen to their breathings and hidden in the depths of those shallow sounds are

the whispers of the snakes they found in the silence

and can only be expelled through sound.


-2nd January 2016  

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