briansjournal1

uncensored, unfiltered, thoughts

Category: Writing

Fresh feelings

Fresh new feelings of anger and sadness today. It’s my first official day off and I just realized that it’s my last day off from school. I’m not having much success making new friends or meeting new people so here I am at sadville again. I feel like whatever conversations I have with people are artificial and weak and that I’m just angry and sad about this situation and at myself. I know these feelings are temporary and they’ll pass but I hate feeling them. They’re so freaking distracting. I feel like I have no control of myself sometimes. I just want to escape the pain that comes from all this. These highs and lows are none like I’ve ever experienced. I could have gone weeks feeling great before something stressful came in to make things difficult but it’s like I can’t seem to enjoy something for more than a day.

This really blows.

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Poems

I don’t normally write poetry but I’ve read some really nice ones a few days ago that got my creative juices flowing. I actually used to write all the time as a kid and had an active imagination. It’d be nice to tap into it again!

“The Gravedigger”

Dark shadows paint the floors with an ice cold isolation like an Alaska winter.
Thoughts, like repeated gears on some torture machine gnaw at a child who wants to play.
The grave digger digs his lowly holes,
but he doesn’t bury people.

Thoughts of deserving,

love,

needs,

all gone with the steady motion of packed earth being shifted as all these things.

I feel trapped in a tunnel with no exit while a demon with glowing eyes stares back at me. They’re a sick pale yellow and his skin matches the color of his soul – darker than a blood drop in a oil pan.

“What do I do? I want to return to the light.” “I’m afraid to return there.”

Seeking light but never wanting it.
Is this purgatory? Will I see God at the end?
Dig, gravedigger, dig. Your menacing toils
disrupt this weak fabric that stitched together so beautifully is as fragile as glass.

My duty. My honor. My love. My life.
Like a rolling wheel that when stopped loses all but the slightest air.

“Wish”

Blue birthday cake.  Joy, euphoria, neurons.
They danced slightly with every breath.
A soft glow from an inedible frame.
A false truth, the greatest of gifts.
God gave you one mouth so use it.
And I did.
Silent happiness, a freedom from the pain
of living in a world where ignorance is treated
like the dew on a drenched grass leaf in the mornings of April.
I want to be free – the covers do not work anymore.
Their stupid warmth insulates the sounds of thousands
that churn the heart.
Alas, a new warmth – like a mother and babe,
those few moments of a beautiful golden sun with it’s shining rays.
I was held in her arms and for that moment the eternal fires of hell could not trickle into my soul.
The flames extinguish. Darkness is present and then joy.
Sugar wreathing into weak forms of energy.
And love is but a semi-permanent flame, but enough for a soul or to grant a wish.