Deflated

Deflated are my insides as I try to take a breath.

Just an empty shell as I refuse to get some rest.

I lack all the energy to beg and scream and yell.

The demon’s back to haunt me for I chose to ring his bell.
.

My soul is missing from my breath, but I found him in this pen.

I can not see the light from here or any way to end.

My words are working magic now that I can’t feel inside.

Art will never save us all, it’s just a way to hide.
.

I wish to live without the pain, but pain is what I am.

When suffering is self induced you give up on the plan.

Nothing matters in my mind, everything is gone.

Why’d I choose to ring his bell? The best of me was on!
.

Hunger pains when I can’t eat.

Insomnia when I need sleep.

Poison pulsing through my veins

I can not stand the day to day.
.

Will the demon let me go?

And if so, will I know?

How much evil lives inside

My deflated self that I must hide…
.

 

Written by Randall Evans

It’s The End of the Day, Shoes Off!

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
But, in the bed you lie,
When an itch, starts itching, on your foot.
Something hurts and can’t be good
On your feet all day you stood,
But the itch was feeling shy.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
It starts to hurt a bit.
Friction through your sock so tight,
See that this is man’s delight.
That when his pain is brought to light,
He hasn’t got the wit.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
A little bit of blood.
The foot stings a little more,
It’s a pain now standing on the floor.
More than what it was before,
Stinging welling like a flood.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
Why’d the pain start then?
Buried in a confined space.
A pain that start’s late in the race,
Waits ‘till dusk to show it’s face,
But on the base of men.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
I want to shout at you!
Don’t scratch me when it’s late.
See to me when I don’t ache
Hidden pain controls your fate,
Fix me well before I’m due.

Written By Randall Evans

This was a new rhythm for me inspired by “Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?” By Thomas Hardy 1913

Puppy Dog Eyes

I’m a spot in a puppy dog’s eye,

I, in eye, insignificant am I?

The tiny speck in the cutest face,

You notice not my rightful place.

I’m a nothing, if not the key,

A detail smaller than a flee.

But details add to masterpiece,

Piece by piece and none the least.

Have you seen what draws the spots?

The mystic pen that draws in dots?

The ink that hides reality,

Designed by divine majesty

.

I’m a detail, nothing more.

To show creations biggest flaw.

That normal isn’t that at all,

It’s overwhelming art and awe.

Written by Randall Evans.

The Broken Are The Kind

The broken are the kind
Who feel the pain in life
They try to pull your strife
Inside they feel the knife

The broken are the wise
Who wear a smart disguise
They make your spirit rise
Inside they shrink in size

The broken are the warm
Who feel the constant storm
They hold you ‘til the dawn
Inside their self is worn

The broken are the bright
Who make the crisis light
They joke to end the night
Inside their head’s in flight.

The broken are the kind
Who make you feel at ease
But if you swam their sea
You’d call the broken “Me”.

Written by Randall Evans

Strings

The fiddle gently pulls him under,
The cozy sounds of distant thunder.
He is but a fool.
Seduced
by notes from in the sea,
As tears to widow’s misery.
.

Depths of sorrow beyond the tree,
A place where sun and sky can’t see.
Empty in himself.
The centre of the broken clock,
Where time is lost, but never stops.

.

He hears the devil play each note,
The strings of death that pull and choke.
He eagerly descends.
Seduction pure, true, unfair,
In prison now with
body bare.
.
Evil thoughts and evil deeds,

He throws his coins at Devil’s feet.
Darkened is his heart.
He’ll play until the final dawn,
The final day when comfort’s gone.

Written by Randall Evans (while listening to Edvard Grieg).

***

Connect with me below 🙂

Sour Drop Dream

A line of youth are seeking,
A child’s gaze a peeking.
As tingling lips are leaking,
On a face that’s far from speaking.

Sour drops shoved in his mouth,
More than that which I can count.
An aching jaw that can not close,
But this is fun and that he knows.

Aspire to be like this boy,
Treat the world like it’s a toy.
It doesn’t hurt to have a dream,
That no one else has ever seen.

Some things don’t make sense to us,
Who don’t like dirt or mud or fuss.
But, remember children’s eyes that beam,
And dare to have a sour drop dream.

Written by Randall Evans

Trying out some writing prompts I found here: Prompt
I’m going to try and post every day, so if the quality goes down… Read an old post.

Shadows and Shame

The excitements builds rapidly in the invisible space between my lungs and my throat. It’s so powerful that my fingers start to tremble and I’m forced to close my eyes tight. Please, please let this feeling pass!

I have friends who struggle with real addictions. I watch them relapse into substances and thank God I’m not addicted to those. I alway try and give advise and act lovingly towards them, but who am I kidding? How am I any better? I’m worse.

There’s a shadow in my past that follows me. I didn’t know it was there until this moment. It’s impossible to see a shadow in the darkness, but when the light starts to seep into your life, there it is. Following you… Reminding you.

The moment passes. I can breath again…

I go to the local Woolworths for some sort of escape into normalcy. Movement is healthy. Doing something normal is healthy.

The lights of the supermarket seem unnaturally white, but it’s good to see other people shopping. I imagine that this is all they have to do, that their lives are so simple, that they have nothing going on under the surface.

If only I was just there to shop.

No, I was there to escape my shadow.

I fill my basket with one packet of M&Ms, a block of dairy milk chocolate, cookies (reduced to $2), meat pies on special and a 2L bottle of milk. I feel like a woman who’s just gone through a break-up. Actually, I don’t know how they feel, but certainly in movies this is what they do.

I get home and put on the TV. Family Guy isn’t my favourite, but tonight it’s hilarious. I dip my cookies in a warm cup of tea. I’m ok. I’ve beaten it.

I’m ready for bed, but the feeling comes again.

Just do it. Get it over with.

It’s 11:11 and my shadow leads me out the door.

I walk past the stairway. A flush comes over me and I keep walking. Head down, hoodie over my face. It’s a cold night… I look normal.

“Please God, let me bump into someone.”

I walk past a pub that taking the chairs inside. Nobody recognises me as I keep walking into the night. But, there is nothing ahead. I turn around and go back, passing by the Pub again.

“Someone call me. Text me. Something. Save me!”

My heart beats faster and faster as the decision comes closer and closer. My shadow has me by the hand and won’t let me go.

My whole body is shivering.

I pass the stairs again. This time I take a quick glance upward. The pink walls remind me of the smell. The smell of essential oils and fabric softener.

The smell of excitement and shame.

I stand on the edge of the street. It’s freezing. I could just go home.

No.

Let’s get it over with.

I’m not at a bad point in my life. I thought the darkness was a phase, a black hole in my past that I’d overcome. But no, I was wrong. I’m haunted. I’m drawn into darkness. My shadow will lead me. My sin leads me… And I follow.

Lord, forgive me.

I walk up the stairs.

Written by Randall Evans

***

Thanks for reading The Vile Mint. If I was able to spark your imagination, make you think or open your mind to new perspectives, please leave me a comment. I love hearing from readers and building relationships. God Bless.