Friday, April 14, 2017

The Forest and The Walls

There's blood on the walls. He fell short after the last breakup and wasn't able to fight for his freedom, for is sanity. Evertyhing went in a darkness spiral just anouncing what he would become. In love with the nature, he run away to lost himself between the trees. It was the night before that everything changed when he least expected. Let me talk about this guy. He was born devastated. After struggling to find his way to the world, he would reveal himself, through the little things, to be a lover of the night, of the obnoxious. Life wasn't easy on him. He dreamt about everything you wouldn't. He didn't want to be famous or rich. He just wanted to smile with the meaning for once. But everything fell short when he was forced to fight others wars. Like a martyr, he raised himself above the waters that would drown him. It wasn't like he wanted, was more like he had to. The floor he was walking was like ice with spikes that would cut his feet. Cutting footseps, that's how it should be described. He often run to the forest to find the peace he always wanted, but the cost was to high for him to be able. Rainy days or with the stars shining at their finest, he would lose track of time and space in that forest. You know the feeling, right?

One day, he met that one person that would change him. He became addicted to the point where the forest seemed so empty. Then, a whisper came and said: "You will pay the price with your own life. Stop it while you can, otherwise, you will feel what pain really looks like." He ignored that whisper, but was wondering from where it came. Until the day a soft voice, cold as a winter freezing night, said to him: "I will never let you down, my love. I will always care for you. I will make everything for you. Just follow my lead...just follow my voice."

That was the moment he lost himself. Pushing away everything that he loved for that little sweet voice. He gave everything he had just to find the body that was carrying that voice. He didn't came back to the forest. He met a girl, he loved her, he gave his everything. He thought that she was the sweet soft cold voice that spoke to him. She didn't knew he was broken. But she played with him, with his fragile heart until she broke it. Worse...she destroyed it. Betrayl was a price he couldn't pay, speacilly when he was the one betrayed by the closest people he had.

Here we are, back to the forest. He went into dispair. Where should he turn. He already lost it all and the only thing that was near him was his self-destructive nature that he carried for his entire life. He messed up. His arms where pure razor poetry. So does his chest and hands. That's why there was blood on the walls. He marked the walls that restrained him for too long. When he got to the forest, the sky was the painting he always wanted. Full of stars. Instead of following the fireflies, he followed the buzzards. He finally understood what those voices where whispering to him. He lay'd down on the floor, like the soft herb was the only comfort he would had for years. He closed his eyes and whished, in all of his glory, for the pain to stop, just for a little glimpse of what should be to be happy. A soft breeze came and another whisper, warm and gentle, said: "Rest now. Everything is over. The suffering is over, my darling." He closed his eyes and smiled. It was in that moment that he knew what being happy looked like.

He never woke up again. Died from the bruises but he blossomed like the greatest and prettiest flower ever known. And the voices never came again. Some say, that where he rest his body for the last time while alive, everytime a breeze passes by, that you can ear him whispering, in is soft and husky voice: "Don't be to hard on yourself like I was. Smile, do good things to yourself and for yourself but never stomp anyone. Believe in you like I do." Nobody knows if that's true.

The whispers were only in his head. Are they in yours too?


Thursday, March 23, 2017

Destination

Soaked in horror. Burying the present and turn the future to ashes. You'll never now what's coming until you're already there. Sometimes it feels like writing in old clichés will help to ease the pain. But in this case, it's not about clichés, but how you turn them into an ol'dark twisted state of mind. You run around in circles, trying to find a reason to keep going, something you should be grateful for, which happen to...not happen at all. I don't know where am I going, but I know where I want to go. I guess that I just didn't figured out how to go to my destination.