Time's end.

This will be now taken down.

Nobody will be able to read your thoughts on a daily basis.

It is time to stop whining.

It is time to shut up.

It is time, to sew.

Time to weld mask to flesh.

Time to be silent.

Time to welcome what you fear.

It is time.

This is the final entry of this blog.

Virus & Toxic

You can feel the noose tighten, can't you?
Time is running out.
Hear the sounds fade.
Time is running out.
Your time is nigh,
Time to finally die.

No matter how hard you run, the reflection will always catch up.
No matter how many meds you take and therapy you see, you will always be: me.
We are two halves of the same coin. You can't separate us. We are one and one are we, open your eyes and see.
There is no escape your own hand, so take light in it. Know your days are numbered to the ones on your fingertips, and stop grasping the sand.

No time to live, no time to be merry.
No time to wonder if this is a medications effect.
You will fall. by your own hand.
And nobody can catch your skin made of sand.
You will be alone. Because that's what you are.
Time will move on.
People will forget.
and you, will be nothing more than a tombstone in a forgotten graveyard.

Good bye cyrus. Your time is coming to and end.
Hope you said all your good-byes.
because its time to start believing the truth, and abandon your lies.
Nobody can help you. Nobody can or would.

So good bye, little meat puppet. it's been a good play. Now say good bye to your very last day.

All hallows Eve.

'Twas the night before christmas,
not a noise was heard.
Although one was sleepless,
but never said a word.

He typed and he gamed,
He strummed and he played
whatever might ease his mind.
None could bring peace to the boy,
so for christmas he wished for a toy,
one which he could easily find.

It would have bells and whistles,
but skin as rough as thistles,
and would wield eyes to stare into his soul.
Whenever the boy would look,
he would wonder what It took,
to turn his insides into coal.

How he wanted to re-write the Book of Time
but alas he has run out of rhyme.
So for now, we must end with a cliff.
For your minds only, this boy will soon become a stiff.

What Will

What will become?
What will rise anew?

What will I be?

What will happen to this bum?

What will be told of this shrew?

What will he see?

I find myself lacking answers, but plentiful of fear. I wish to know the Void, of the darkness that grows near. I wish to maintain Stasis but know of the reality. I am merely a child for now, lacking depth in all totality.

So let's make this holiday season better than ones in the past.

Because you never know, if this season, is your last.

Realizations.

My eyes opened to a foreign room, scanning for the source of noise that demanded attention. I stumbled over and looked at my phone as the source of noise. It jingled to alert me of an incoming text.
The words sank like stone weights in the ocean of my vision.
My friend asked what was the matter, but it was too late. My Facade was already in place.

My hand opened the door to the doctor's lobby, the festival decorations adding almost a scent of familiarity. I heard my name called up to the front desk, and listened as I was told of my lack of money for even a simple visit. I walked out into the overcast light to await my ride. I found myself wearing the Understanding Face.

My ears pricked when I heard the raised voice coming from the person at the end of the hall. I walked towards it filled with curiosity. I stood behind the raised voice as I watched siblings bicker and yell. I smiled at one bash his head against the door, trying to calm down. Shortly after he left to release his anger, I knocked on the door and played the Pied Piper Mask.

I found myself before the mirror once more, my mask still in place. I tried to pull it off but saw it left no trace. I pried and pulled and tugged and told myself it was merely a mask for the task at hand.
I looked at my reflection and let out a laugh. I saw it all. The truth was sadistically Divine: I was a Personified Punchline!

Spiralistic Vomit

The grinning fool is no tool, but the old man is the miser. Through time and age and dampening ones rage will thee become the wiser.
Smiles painted on stretched skin. Spirals etched where thine Memory has been.
Go down the staircase little boy, be quick, there in a flash!
Down the ring of Fire, Just like Jhonny Cash.
Don't grab the rusted railing or you'll be sailing to the bottom floor.
Yet the more you go down, the sooner you'll be no more.

Hear the screams from down below
Feel your fear fill you from head to toe.
You always were a Violent.
now become Eternally Silent.
Let his smile ring out your fate,
For now you're going to meet yer maker of late.

Pessimistic Hope

I would like to be able to do great things, accomplish mini-feats. I would like to be able to create worlds of fantasy and wonder for other people to create characters in, and build environments to help illustrate them. To be a master storyteller.
I would like to be able to write pieces of literature that would make the reader afraid to sleep, and of putting the book down. To cause them to be afraid of the dark once more.
I would like to be able to act well enough that it could actually be a job for me, as well as one of my preferred method of an outlet.
I would like to be able to stomach the image of myself as well as my own thoughts.
But I cant do any of these things.
But perhhaps in time, I will be able to get close to any of them.

I hope one day to meet my own Boogeyman.

Wasteful Text.

I looked to my left, I looked to my right. All I saw was the lack thereof of light. I looked up and I looked down. I saw the same, and made a frown. My hands were above me, hanging on a thread. I was tired of grasping, and could easily see me dead. I hung suspended by willpower alone. I wanted to live, if it meant to atone. I wondered why to still hold on, why to still wake. To think of living with my own mind is enough to make my Glass Break!

But still I hang around, still I fight, if it would mean to bring others their light. Perhaps one day I will finally be rid of my skin, and succumb to the monster I've always been. So now to cut this short and sweet like a wrist! I leave you to Night's gentle kiss. Yes this is short and mild, and certainly from a child, but at least it's still on time. And with that, I end my Rhyme.

The 5h & 7th Circle

I have nothing for this entry it seems. I found myself nearing the entity of a flood of rage earlier. Where does all my anger come from?
Is it from all the years I chose to never be angry and express it?
Is it from some innate genetic trait that just causes me to have it?
Is it because I try to never be as such, so it will always be bottled?

I absolutely loathe rage. it makes my vision become a tunnel. Causes more mistakes than boons. Loses sense of oneself. Makes you transformed in a sense into something you never thought you would be. Ive constantly found myself screaming at my mirrored image, having more strength than I should in sparring or lifting things, when I become angry.
It's as if there is a virus of Wrath that always attempts to infect every part of my being. It has no cure, only ways to halt it for the time being.
It's caused me to worry what would happen to anyone dear to me if it infected me. Caused me to fear relationships in a sense.
It's caused me to fear myself even.
What...in all honesty, am I? A caged monster in Human Flesh? A wolf in sheeps clothing? A literal puppet to my own idiotic emotions?
How...pathetic.

Dangerous Question

I find the most difficult, and dangerous question, is "why?".
Why do I wake up?
Why do I sleep?
Why do I even smile?
Why do I be?
Why do I think I matter at all to people? Because of gifts? because of help? Why?

I'd like to mean something. I'd like to not be such a dissapointment. I'd like to wake up and feel like I have lived for something, or someone. When in fact, I have nothing.
I do not have trust in possibly fictional beings to take me to a judgemental plate after my flesh is gone. I do not have stability in life or in mind. I do not have what one might want the most.
And what's better, is that I cannot seemingly do anything about it. I want stability? Can't have a job. Can't maintain enough health to even go to college. Can't take a step without it being in my perfect sisters shadow.
I have nothing to live for, and nothing to live from. So why do I breathe? To merely be a disposable tool to help those who wish to use me to their extent? That's so...well I guess I can be pompous/arrogant to say that I'd wish it was a little more.
I'd like to be more than a tool to shove into a darkened shed when they've hhad enough use of me. But I guess I cannot have that.
I just... wonder why should I really wake up?

Lackings

It is so simple yet complicated to escape from oneself. So easy on some occasions, and brutally difficult on others. Yet I find that as I type this, I too am finding a small sense of escape. I would like to write about how a group of robed, hooded figures brought forth a chalice for me, and upon the intake of it's liquid I feel my inner being twist and turn at the corruption. Upon more consumption of this liquid the figures would reveal themselves wearing masks of my face.However, I seem to be lacking in the mood as well as the inspiration. Instead, I sit here and type a rambling of what I'd like to do.

I'd like to have actual stability in my life. To have a stable job (or a job in general for that matter), a stable home to sleep in, a stable relationship that isn't littered with eggshells. I am not just talking about intimacy.

I would like to be rid of this cursed desert, to have a change of environment, so that I may feel free and not caged by the woes and worries of people who cannot take care of themselves.

I would like to be able to tolerate my very presence. I would like to be able to tolerate silence, where my own thoughts would not cause me to seek a noise maker of any kind to muffle them.

I would like, put simply, a new life.

But what good is it to want and like? Absolutely nothing. It would get you nowhere. So instead I spend a night sitting here, wishing upon an immature, childish star. I refuse to even acknowledge hope, since nothing prosperous has ever come out of it.

Most of all, however, I would like a reason to wake up, as well as to sleep.

Fitting the Set

Dirt sunk under my nails as I tried to grab something, anything to halt my backwards progress. I felt rocks scratch at my skin, tearing at my palms. Still I frantically searched for something to grab onto. I found my voice to be screaming for help into the light-flooded exit of the cave I was in. Nobody came. The more I was dragged into the depths of the cave, the more I tried to escape. My nails had been ripped off completely by the time the exit was out of view, where all I could see was the Void. I attempted kicking at my assailant, but I found no physical body to hit my foott against. Yet still I was being dragged.
Eventually I was thrown upwards, backwards, and into a holder for me. I realized it was a coffin. I tried to move, to be free and run out of this hellish place, but I found no will left in me. I felt no strength residing in any of my muscles. I moved my eyes about to try and make sense, but I knew I would find none. Yet as I did, I realized I was in no coffin, I was in a mold, an outlined cast of my own body. I was confused, bewildered even.
Invisible hands shoved me as hard as they felt necessary against the material of my cast, a material I couldn't readily identify. I saw the other half of my cast lay suspended in the air directly above me. It was then that I tried screaming once more. But I did not hear my vocal chords make such a sound. Instead, I heard them laughing. I was laughing at my predicament. Laughing that I could even see the other half of my soon-to-be fate, laughing at how pathetic it all was to fight, and how futile it was to resist.
The other part of the cast came down upon me, and I noticed that it had somewhat large, roundish holes in it. When it was locked to the half I was laying in, I was fearfully curious as to what the holes were for. It did not take long for my answer to arrive.
Dark, multiple hands appeared out of the edges of my locked vision. I counted at most seven pairs of them. Each pair went out of my vision, and returned with a large cylindrical spike, it's sharpness being shown even in the dark. As they grabbed these objects, a square box was placed directly over me. A t.v, I assumed. It flickered onto white static snow before me.
Not many moments had passed before I saw it play images from my own mind. But they were not just images, they were past memories. They were of how I acted in school! I cringed despite the skin-tight prison I was held in.
One of the pairs of hands shoved their weapon into a hole that was directly over my left kneecap. I screamed in agony. The t.v. changed memories when I did. It showed my personality of recent times, to which I greeted heartily.
Another object pierced my matching kneecap, followed by another scream.
This pattern continued until I had large spikes in my kneecaps, shoulders and chest region. The seventh, and final one, was where I was looking through. By now, however, I was starting to see through blood-colored glasses. The final memory, showed my first week of taking an anti-depressant, and my Alteration. I let a tear drip out of an eye as it fell into my rapidly rising blood-bath. I screamed once more in a last act of defiance before the Spike was shoved into its last hole.
Quickly, did everything flash to Permanent Black.

Repetitious mantras

All shall fade into Black. Purge your Hope. Plunge into the Abyss. Murge your Despair with what you miss. Twist every smile into a frown as you turn everything in your head upside down. Never will you maintain a sense of bliss. Make the Cold Rain your only way to cope.
Feel your horns grow from your scalp. Listen to the wind beaten from your leather wings. Smell the Anger and Melodramatic Sorrow seep from your very skin. Maybe now you will realize what you've always been.
Delve into the Shadows, Fade away. Become deaf to the Beat and blind to the Sun. Crack apart the day to look at what you've done: Night spilling unto the sky. Enjoy all light recede from your existence and slip into those nearby. Meld into the Shadows. Become one with what you are: Nothing memorable, nothing of good worth, nothing of use, ultimately nothing.

You will never have a family of your own; You will watch those around you grow their own and live in bliss.
You will never have a wife to see when you open your eyes; You will help all relationships as mucch as you can and see them strengthen and mature.
You willl never have stability; You will help others, gain theirr own.
You will never have an actual life; You will make others come to terms with their own.
You will never live; You will help others live.
You will never be what you want to be. You will always be what you tell yourself: Nothing.

Wonders of Horror

It's hard to fully determine some of the aspects of horror. What might scare one might make another laugh. What terrifies one is another's amusement. But I tend to still find some commonalities between some of the more revered and popular horrific works.
What made Stephen King so famous? His workings on the more popular phobias? What makes H.P. Lovecraft so renowned? Was it his ability to write around the unknowing and undefineable, leaving it all to his readers imagination?
How can one make horror that really strikes to a general audience?
I find the easier idea to work with might just be the Boogeyman. A being that would always strike fear into any growing human being because it preyed on the imagination of that person. It embodied that fear. Have a possible character follow the Boogeyman, in hopes of understanding it, since this person might not have a discernable fear and wishes to have one, to experience it? Perhaps too cliche or doesnt work. Maybe a collective tales of experiences with the Boogeyman? Or a town plagued by the Boogeyman for some unknown reason?
It would be an easy idea to work with but..doesn't really sound.
What of a House inhabited by a mysterious Mute girl and confusing monsters that make the main character trip over the lines of Sanity and Imagination?
So unsure, but it seems the less you paint the picture for the reader, the more it will frighten them because it makes it personal to them, they modify it for themselves. To make someone taste the fear, feel it shake within their bones...gives me an nice little feeling.
Since when all is said and done, it's fear that makes everyone go to the same level, and decide what they really are: A runner or a fighter.

Reminders and Acts

It seems no matter hard you run, you'll never be able to escape yourself. Try as I may, try as I might, I'll still always be in my sight. I'd like to live with a smile, I really would! But it's hard to do when you're vile, and your skin made of wood.
I play on my strings and I play on my stage in an attempt to keep me within my own cage. I help others before my act is done and place myself out of the sun. I help them along their path and watch them go but pain in places I do not show. Because it's painful to dabble in puppetry, when you become merely a memory.
I control my own strings and yet feel none. I shove the mask on to make it look like I'm fun. I know not to let others help one such as I, because they will always just pass you by. So look lively on your side of your Glass, and wave to all your dearest friends as they pass. because once you've helped them enough and they leave you high and dry, perhaps then you can, in your own world, die.
But don't let others read this, oh no that wouldn't do. They'll tell you all sorts of how you are wrong and fool you. You'll start to believe and you'll start to see through their eyes. But once they move on, you'll eventually see them as helpful lies. So let this text stay but play it as a joke. Be convincing, otherwise you might just choke. In the end you are in your Darkened Room, little child. Now, let's keep you contained so you don't get wild.

Jekyll and Hyde

Extend the hand, raise the voice. Help your friends make the better choice. For when all is said and done and the happy ending is won, You will realize you are only a party of One. How humorous that after all that damage you've helped mend, you end up becoming your own friend. You help those dearest get on with their life, and when they move, you run from your own strife. For every step away they make and every one you take, the light drifts away. You shine what truth you find on them to get 'em on their merry way! No matter how much you'd like them to stay, no matter how much following you do each day, you will still be in your own little Dark Ray. Your strings are cut, your ties are loose! Im telling you the only way out of your rut is by a well-tied noose. But that sounds dramatic, typing it here now, so why don't you say it's an act, and take a bow? Don your mask, remember your own task: To let others know what they lack. Then they live to get it, and die with it, while you will wander aimlessly hollow and void. Perhaps eventually you will see, you are nothing more than an android. Oh you silly Drone! For when all is said and done and you think the Smile has won, you will see that you are ultimately, alone.

In a beat.

Thump-thump
Blood circulating through the red and blue tunnels. The beat of Life. The Haunter throughout my day.
Thump-thump
Music of the body resonating within my skin. The Crimson White-noise. The Meat-puppet on the strings.
Thump-thump
Thump-thump
Dance puppet. Dance for the audience. Dance as each string is cut by the Alterations. Play the fool for the mirrored faces of your patrons. Swim in your Red Sea as each string is severed.
Thump-thump
Thump-thump
Weep when Sorrow has left. Smile when joy has deserted you. Laugh as humor abandons you.
But you not all alone, little puppet. There is still one who stays by your side amidst the Abyss.
Rage.
Thump-thump
Thump-thump
Thump-thump
Feel it replace your blood. Sense it fuel your drive. Embrace it, as it slithers and wraps around you. Become pulled by your one string. Ignore the missing strings. Ignore your own hand controlling your one string.
Because in the end, you are only a little meat puppet.
Have yourself consumed? good. Let's remove that last string and watch you fall. Let's watch your last Act.
Thump

Inverse Bottles

I picked the glass bottle up carefully, the reflective surface hiding what resided within. Unsure of its origins I asked the sea for an answer. Obviously I got only silence. Feeding my curiosity more, I decided to uncork the bottle. Perhaps a genie awaited me!
As the cork popped, so too did the waters with a crackling hiss. Geysers shot out, spewing forth a color change of the sea. The skies became the color of night as the sea became Red. Birds stopped chirping above me, winds stopped blowing. All I could hear was the hiss of the water changing color, and my heart beat growing steadily louder. I dropped the bottle with fright and stumbled backwards. I saw the sands beneath my feet become scattered with red lines originating from the waters. They slinked and slithered their way towards me. I panicked, but did not know where to go. I was paralyzed by my own confusion as the red lines quickly made their way to my body, and into my person. At the first touch I felt a wave of emotion.
I arched back with a gasp as I felt the next lines pierce my skin and enter my bloodstream. I felt my eyes dilate as I tensed every muscle in reaction. I screamed in agony at the intrusion of my person. I began to lose all sense of my being. My legs crawled me to the bottle I had dropped. Hastily I picked it up, but only for a brief moment. I felt a Fury rise up within me, taking flight into my fists. My heart was pumped with adrenaline as I screamed once more.
I felt growths spurt from my back as well as my scalp. My nails lengthened extensively, my voice grew hoarse. I saw my skin form a pigment change before my very eyes. I let out a cry of anger once more. With each note of my voice I threw out inot the winds, a piece of my humanity accompanied it. I felt very little, but still I held onto my last shard. I grabbed my bottle once more, and this time screamed into it. I saw a shard of glass appear at the bottom. With my eyes turned into ones of a serpentine look, I casted my bottle back into the Red Sea with all my might.
I could no longer think. I could only feel the Wrath take me.
I began to claw at myself. With each sense of pain, rage welled within, fueling the Cycle. Anything, to regain my humanity and refuse this wretched state.
I could not give anymore to the winds or the waters.
But I could take, from my own flesh and spirit.

Porcelain

I could no longer smile. I could no longer frown, grimace, or any other facial expression. My skin was set in stone. I felt a twinge of fear at the sudden change to myself. I grasped my face to see if it held an explanation. I did not feel flesh, however, but rather porcelain. Smooth porcelain had been placed over my own skin. In a fit of confused anger, I attempted to claw it off, but it proved to be impervious to my actions.
Stumbling for a hand-held mirror I saw beside me, I gazed unto my own face. Creamy-white porcelain had enveloped it, with the largest grin printed on it. Stamped, even. I was horrified, and wanted to scream. My mouth would never open to allow the air to pass.
All I could vocalize was the muffled torment of my Porcelain Face.

Bittersweet

My Strings twinged at the memory of it. My nostrils remembered the scent. I felt a small crack of emotional torment ripple throughout my body. I saw my hands shake at the remembrance. I could no longer see the screen before me, only what I had seen during the memory.
It was a joyous time, yet I yearned to be there again. Yearned to make more of that kind. I knew, however, the rarity that would ever happen. I wished to shed a tear or two, to rid me of my ache. To blanket my senses from the memory. Although at the same time...I wanted to remember as well. For if I had no memories to draw a smile from, I wouldn't be much more than sad.
My ears played the sounds through my head, cementing the memory into my sight. I felt the smile stretch across. I wished to no longer live off the memory alone. It was a hollow joy, yet still it was all I had.
I sat in the dark room with the recording as my light source. No matter how pathetic I might find it, it was still my source of Smiles. My bittersweet joy.