Depth

Empty tunnels echo pain.
Beating heart and throbbing veins.
Scattered thoughts and shattered soul,
Hatred fills the empty hole.

Where to turn in this turmoil?
Mind in tempest, face in soil.
I gave too much and feel too weak,
And uttered words I never speak.

Without the mind to stay alone,
Or the want for friends I know.
I wish for comfort from above,
But hatred lives where once was love.

When we give to much we’re left in pain,
Yet, I know deep down, I’d give again…

– By Randall Evans.

Written for the Daily Prompt: Depth

Photo Challenge: Details

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Build your tower to the sky,
Foundations solid on the mire.
Yet, nature comes without straight lines.
No boxes, squares or strickt guidelines.

Curves that dance and sway and sing,
That help us dream up anything.
But, life is square for human beings,
Build by those with sight unseeing. 

“We’ll steal from nature! Then they’ll see!
One point 6 1 8 0 3
Square the office! Square the door!
Build the prison behind square walls!”

Bombarded by shapes that should not be!
We look around but do not see,
That the beauty that is in the leaf
Is chaotic, yet it breathes relief.

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– By Randall Evans.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Details

Nightmare – The Tree

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A dead tree alone in a dessert. Burnt, it’s branches claw at the sky. Slowly, the scene tilts. The sky now below, the dessert above. The tree hangs like a gothic chandelier.

The man holds tight, but his grip is failing. White knuckled on the branches as he slides closer and closer to the sky below. Just let go!

The tree begins to bleed. The dark blood rains down on the man. He has no hope. He has nothing.

Useless!

He falls.

A soft surface. Yet, not a landing… He slides gracefully down for miles on a deep red satin dress. The satin wraps him up. It belongs to a beautiful woman. She cradles the man and hums a lullaby.

A nice lullaby.

A haunting lullaby.

A grotesque song.

Nobody wants you!

The satin melts away into an ocean. A rough sea that throws the man under the surface. The liquid fills his lungs. He can’t breathe.

Hopeless.

He falls out from tears that flow from his wife’s eyes as she stares at a tree. A tree that’s been in their yard since they first moved in. Everything is silent. Everything except the tight sound of a rope.

He stands and looks up at the lifeless body. It’s him.

His tortured soul watches his painless body being carried down by his broken wife.

His eyes open and he wakes up in a pool of sweat.

He rolls over and places a soft kiss on back of his wife’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

– By Randall Evans.

Written for The Daily Post prompt – Nightmare

 

Guest

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I hate it when guests linger around. They can’t take a hint. Normally, I’d stand up slowly and take our coffee mugs to the sink, or I’d stretch out my arms and say, “Well, it was so good seeing you!” But, this time I can’t. My guest is still here.

My guest keeps saying the same thing, but I can’t here it’s voice. It whispers, “Remember.” My uninvited guest is the byproduct my life circumstances that I, clearly, couldn’t handle the way my brain wanted me to.

My logical mind talked calmly to me (‘me’ being somewhere other than in the physical realm). He told me it was going to be fine. “These things happen”, “It’ll all make sense one day” and “You just have to get on with it”, all sound like terrific little phrases to repeat. Yet, my guest remains inside ‘me’.

Remember.

I purge my room. Everything that reminds me is stored away, but it’s voice grows louder still.

Remember.

I clean my entire house and delete every photo from my phone.

Remember!

I break. My guest forces my hand. It kicks my legs out from under me and I fall to my hands and knees. Tears burst out to the sound of a broken cry. How warm they are leaking through eyes clenched shut.

Hollow and alone, my guest finally leaves. I finally feel relief! They are gone!

Feeling better, I take a bath. It’s just what I needed. There is nothing more relaxing than drinking the cold tap water while lying in a boiling hot bath. As the water drains I wipe the fog from the mirror. A small smile curves. It’s been a long time since I felt the muscles around my mouth go through so much work.

As I walk downstairs to get a glass of water, I feel something in the corner of my being whisper. Now I know.

I know this guest will never leave.

– By Randall Evans.

Guest

Look Up!

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I’m desperate and alone! What beauty there was when we collided, but now I lay staring at the celling. Staring into nothingness.

Pick me up! Let us play and sing!

You don’t know what it’s like, do you dear reader? It’s horrible! For happiness to be completely dependent on an entity separate from ourselves is torture. I was built to transform emotion into music, yet on my own I’m nothing. I’m a tool; rusting in the corner of an old garage.

A strange thing, isn’t it? To have emotion and not be able to express it. I’m literally an outlet with no outlet! I crave to be whole! To be with someone who has the human luxury of being able to express emotion! What a blessing that is!

I despair, and I hope for hope. For what beautiful music we made together! You must understand on some level, for you turned me into a metaphor. When you feel emotional about a movie you say, ‘That really struck a chord with me.’ Well, let me tell you that you have no idea! You have no idea what it’s like to have that emotion as the basis of your entire existence.

Strike a chord with me. It’s been too long. I need you. I’m alone. My strings are loosening and i’m gathering dust.

Dependence. What pain.

When my love returns, I will be free again. Free to feel what I was created to feel. Love.

Ahh, humans. Humans who love in freedom but create their own internal prisons. You don’t know what you have. I have to confess, I enjoy the depression you feel, because you come to me more often. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I make you feel better in some small way.

So I’ll sit here and wait until the earth stops spinning. I’ll wait because I’m grateful for the chords you strike with me. Even though sound itself exists only as it passes out of existence, it’s still worth the wait.

Life is short. Don’t let love grow stale and dry. Don’t put love down like me, an old guitar that’s lost its warm tone. Don’t let it’s voice be silenced. Look up! Look up to the sky and scream!

You’re human! You’re allowed to feel!

– By Randall Evans.

Look Up

 

Guest Blog? Free post-age…

I want to grow my blog. As a result, I’m offering my weird voice to anyone. I don’t care if you have 1 follower or 1 000 000. You want a little content, drop me a comment or message.

Give me a subject or a one sentence beginning and I’ll create something. You don’t like it, don’t use it. All I ask is for a link back to my blog.

Sound good? Message me!

Invisible Pain

Invisible pain is rarely invisible. It comes in the form of slammed doors, raised voices or the sounds of a speeding engine traveling far away.

The thought may surface that making logic of emotional hurt is what does the most damage. For if we had no mind, we wouldn’t mind. It’s the process of attempting to make sense of a situation that has no solution that drives the knives deeper into the chest. It’s these logical pathways that plants the seeds of frustration.

The never ending search for an answer to illogical situations drives one insane. Every internal  argument starting with the phrase, “I just don’t get it!”

Solutions to this blackhole of despair is what should interest us, but it doesn’t. Depression and anger, anger most of all, is addictive. Exhausting, yes, but addictive. As I write this with the tone of a pretensions upperclass professor who has never experienced real pain, my fingers shake with uncontrollable ferocity that results from uncontrolable emotion. I like it.

Your blood boils. You feel like riping up everything in your life and bringing it all back to zero. If anyone dare look at me, their blood with pave the streets beneath me!

Pause.

Press the pause button for fuck’s sake.

Solutions is what we should be interested in. The logical solution is that there is no solution.

Indeed, back to professor tone.

To make logic of emotional pain is illogical, but the logic that it’s illogical is logical. Does this open up new ways of coping with the situation? How do we act?

I guess we are forgetting the main problem; Humans are illogical creatures. Illogical creatures must make illogical decisions and experience illogical pain and pass that pain off to others.

Where does this leave us? Do we have any choice in our reactions? Are we snowflakes? Unique from each other in appearance only, but doomed to freeze and fall without any say in the matter? I’d rather melt.

Sometimes I wish to react on instinct and go out in a blaze of glory, but I (think) I know better. I know the boring way.

Put as much time ahead of your reaction as possible. As you can see, this time sparked the initial question. Does creating logic around an emotional pain do more harm than good?

Perhaps internalising creates self pain, externalising creates pain in others. Either way, the pain must be felt somehow.

Did you feel it through this post? I wonder…

– By Randall Evans.