Bookshelf

The books on my shelf are my tattoos. The covers are comforts and windows to my mind. They are a display of my thoughts. Thoughts that run rampant in a dizzying spiral suddenly have points in space and time. My thoughts have buckets in these books. My questions have answers and the answers create more questions. 

The shelf in my mind is messy indeed. The ideas and memories and ambitions are scattered like papers shoved into random spaces. One day I retrieve a piece of paper with a verse in my curse. I don’t remember writing it, but it’s honest and true. Sometimes, it’s just a to-do. 

These walls. These walls confine. These white walls box me in. I’m trapped. I can’t breathe. I can’t get out a sentence. One single line. 

Time! 

Oh! How easy art would be if time I could not see! 

How beautiful it is to follow dreams without the sting of death within. 

How hard it is to work towards a goal so hidden, if indeed it exists at all. 

Pay the bills, flush it down, eat your lunch and it’s dinner now. The night is quiet, but not my mind. 

I pace and pace and cannot find. 

I can’t decide. 

Throw art away to survive, or kill the thought and slowly die.

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Am I Evil ?

Creatures lurk within the trees,

Alive, unseen without the key.

Gushing winds hide whispering thoughts,

Of ghosts and spells and elvish sorts.

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Damp is the dark bark’s texture beneath your soft hand’s touch.

Gaze upon the majesty whose roots run deep in mud.

The oak was born before your breath and lives beyond your trudge.

All that gaze on ancient art will drown in endless blood.

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Yet, all that do or don’t,

Will suffocate in time.

We try to swim afloat,

But, drink the reaper’s wine.

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The evil thought you had tonight,

The one that gave a light excite,

Will be the ancient snake’s delight,

As much as spells occults recite.

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Written by Randall Evans

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This one isn’t quite done, but I haven’t posted in a while. I’ll be adding to it shortly.

Simultaneity


When stress begins to take control.

Begin to think of time as whole.

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Streams keep flowing as you think,

And death takes men with every blink.

One foot in fire; One in ice.

Arms outstretched in depth and height.

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A child dies within the womb,

A flower dances in it’s bloom.

Love’s first kiss on nervous lips.

Flying birds and sinking ships.

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Midnight, midday, they are the now,

Awake, Asleep, a death, a vow.

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What are we but selfish beings?

Emotions flow immediately.

Perspective points of different seeing,

Stuck not in time, in sensory.

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If I were time I’d laugh and cry.

In every second I pass by.

With focus on each lone event,

A flapping wing, a final breath.

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Stress all you want and waste the day.

The trees don’t stress, they only sway.

A butterfly lands on a child’s nose,

And time holds more than what you know.

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Written by Randall Evans.

The Valley of Longing

Down your feet take you,

Through mud and deep roots.

Clinging to branches,

As vision dilutes.

 

You slip and you fall,

But you’re ready to see.

The future self’s guidance,

Deep within thee.

 

The journey’s sufficient,

To make you fulfilled.

But right at the bottom,

Is quiet and still.

 

Nothing but clay.

Clay and decay.

The truth of your life

Brings pain and dismay.

 

No inner child,

No voice of the soul.

Yourself cannot guide you,

You’re down in a hole.

 

A selfish puddle,

Of tears in rain.

With the realisation,

You’re lost again.

 

The valley of longing,

Traps all the lost.

A prison organic,

Where children are tossed.

 

To thine own self be true,

Is a beautiful lie.

You’ll slip down inside,

And true truth will die.
*

Written by Randall Evans.

The One You Need

Strive to be the one you need,

But search your inconsistency,

For injustice that is thrown on thee,

Reflects your incongruity.

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What are the traits you have in mind?

Are they the ones you left behind?

As you seek it’s true you’ll find,

Staring back your judging eye.

***

Double standards in your heart,

So within yourself is where to start.

Look deep within and strip apart,

The real sin inside your heart.

***

For kindness to find be kind.

If selfless you seek, rewind.

The values you must align,

Should shine from a place inside.

***

Seek the one who makes you whole,

And be the one you’d want to know.

So when connection wakes your soul,

Your seeking heart can be on show

***

Strive to be the one you need,

But search your inconsistency,

Remember words graced from above,

Your neighbour as yourself you love.

***

Written by Randall Evans.

If you like it, hate it or appreciate it let me know in the comments below. I also love reposts… and chocolate chip cookies.

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.
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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.
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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!
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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.
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Will the demon let me go?

And if so, will I know?

How much evil lives inside

My deflated self that I must hide…
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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.
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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.

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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.
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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).

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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

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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.

Giving Blood

I would slit my wrists to give you meaning. I bleed my unformed thoughts to show you truth. Yet, is it helping anyone, or am I as superficial as the next ‘blogger’, posting a premature idea to be an early entry on the daily prompt ?

I was contemplating a creative way to communicate the depth of real relationships compared to surface level, superficial ones. That’s when, in my half conscious state, I made the decision to give blood.


I want to give. I want others to take from me. Get a knife a slice away what you need. I’m a busted pipe, a deflating tire, an empty shell. My selflessness rides on the ironical coattails of ego.


I’m too tired and worn to give any more words. I’ll give blood. My ramblings into the void bear little fruit, but the blood in my veins is a fountain for those I’ve never met.


Superficial


Fashionable

It was a mid-morning start, which meant the traffic was a little lighter and the gangs of retirees were taking over the cafes. I pulled up next to a trendy family car – Upper middle class.

chatillon-car-graveyard-abandoned-cars-cemetery-belgium-fb

I couldn’t see the driver. All I could see was the left arm of the passenger.

The wrist was decorated with the cuffs of a women’s power suit and a gold bracelet that was probably purchased in 1993. The bony hand, barely visible through the window tint, was worn and stressed.

Why isn’t she at work? It’s past 10…

Why wasn’t this independent hand on the steering wheel?

She had probably just come from the doctors. An elbow so casually, so… tensely resting on the window could only mean bad news. Her husband, or dare I say, old friend who’s always loved her but never been able to crack through her tough exterior, had driven her for moral support.

He left his car at hers because she’d rather be dead being seen in his bomb.

What’s the point? I mean, what’s the point of that gold bracelet? It doesn’t impress me much. I wonder if she was rubbing it in her anxiety as the doctor told her the news.

I turn up the music in my car. I wonder if I do it to impress the retirees with amazing heavy metal.

The status symbol is too heavy. It becomes a chain… A metal chain that pulls her along.

What hit her the most in her appointment? The realisation that she’s going to die, or the realisation that she’d wasted her life.

The car, the chain, the suit, the nail polish…

The skin, the muscles, the bones…

The heart.

Let’s strip it all away.

She’s protecting herself. The little girl she once was… She was hurt by the world. So, she put on her armor. She wasn’t enough just being a shining light, a pure spirit. She needed to project and deflect. If she fails, and she will, it’s because of the suit, the chain, the car, the lack of skills… never because of who she is.

She’s not a failure… She’s not…

Written by Randall Evans

This is The Vile Mint

 

Fashionable