“Hello darkness my old friend..” Hello depression. Hello stress.

I thought visiting their graves was enough,

Exchanging thoughts and breathing the same air, for a while.

Then leaving for a more hopeful destination.

But my visits have been more frequent recently,

I thought I’d stop coming a long time ago.

And this weekend, I found an invitation as clear as daylight.

I should have never showed up.

But here I am.

Facing them, drawn to them, again.

Feeding on my weak heart.

Telling me to dig them up from the ground.

Promising me what I couldn’t achieve yet, alone.

Promising me again, that I needed them.

And I’m tempted to give in.

But the last time I did that, it didn’t turn out well.

And the recovery was painful.

So I stand there, silently crying,

Waiting,

Searching for the strength within me

To pull me away from that cemetery

To get over the dead.

To make peace with my living self.

I stand there trembling.

Afraid to let go.

Afraid to be alone.

How many do I need to smoke to burn…?

Chain-smoking.

A new hobby, a habit.

How many do I need to smoke to burn my lungs?

How black are my lungs now?

Are they black as my soul?

Stained by all of the sins I’ve done and will do?

How will I describe them if I ever dissect myself?

Black as charcoal?

Black as midnight with a few popping stars that faintly shine, indicating some kind of existing hope?

How many do I need to smoke to destroy my lungs, so it can shut-down my heart?

Why do I need to indirectly damage my heart?

Why don’t I just get a knife and stab it already and get it over with?

Why all of this dramatic slow suicide?

Ah, yes.

Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten.

I don’t want them to directly look and know that the problem lies in my heart.

I don’t want them to find the name carved within that bloody muscle.

I don’t want them to blame you.

I don’t want them to find out about all this love that I am saving for you.

I don’t want them to find the painful sufferings and point their fingers at you.

I don’t want you to know that these are my true emotions towards you.

I don’t want my strong self to be crushed by this weakly that I am now.

I want the love I have in this beating muscle of mine to be hidden from prying eyes, including you.

I want to burn it along with my soul and leave no trace of it in this cruel world.

So tell me,

How many do I need to smoke to burn my existence from history?

Captivity

Invisible heavy shackles wrapped around her wrists; cuffs.

Led by the Head of the Demons himself.

She might be detained, but the chains are loose, as if she has her freedom but her body refuses to follow anyone but him.

Any physical torture? No. Any physical anything? Barely – that’s the problem, she thought.

Ever heard of someone who was held captive and wanted to beg their captor to pull that chain so they’d be closer?

This is not a case of Stockholm syndrome, for she was the one who turned herself in to sacrifice her own soul.

He took her in, thinking she could entertain him for a while, but she was persistent, and he let her go.

“Why?”, she asked, “I don’t understand”.

And you don’t need to. All you need to do is leave. There is no place here for a good-for-nothing vessel who’s soul I have already devoured. Your role here is done.” he replied with no hesitation.

“At least a part of me resides within you, somewhere, lingering, when I physically could not.” she smiled and turned around.

Invisible cuffs, chains that extended vastly, and an unbreakable bond that she couldn’t sever, hoping one day he’d close this distance that she hated so much.

Hope? With a demon, eh? Ah, well I guess that’s my punishment for the sin I’ve committed, she thought,

I fed a demon. I fell in love with one so shamelessly. I still refuse to cut off the only thing that ties me to him. This is my atonement, living through this hell of a life without him, a million miles away. 

Abandonment 

Abandonment looks beautiful. 

Exquisite.

Magnificent.

An old mansion still stands 

At the midst of a growing forest.

Camouflaged between the tall greenery.

A new roof of leaves and blossomed flowers.

Nourished by the souls that once called it home.

Dusty and shadowed from the inside.

Broken and unsafe are the floors and stairs.

Windows and the walls seem alike, smudged with memories.

New bushes covering the foot prints that once existed.

Unused, this land has become.

Abandoned.

But it survives.

It survives to maintain the memories that were painted carefully by the souls that it derives life from.

Abandonment is glorious. 

Abandonment is the name of the mansion.