The slow blaze, the temporary glory
Of the fiery death of the golden days

Nothing gold can stay
Nothing can stay 

Crackling papery embers rustle under callous feet
When the warm green leaves melt into the cold red frays

Nothing green can stay
Nothing can stay

Soft nooses wrapped around weak necks
As the summer suns approach the winter greys

But nothing grey can stay
Because nothing can stay

in the kitchen, he jumped as the plate slipped out of my clumsy, little fingers and shattered across the tiled floor. the breath caught in my throat and intense fear pulsed through my seven-year-old body. i could see the rage building in him even though his back was turned. i stood frozen and i watched him quickly swivel toward me. his eyes were flashing, jaw was clenched, and knuckles were white by his sides. he took thundering steps toward my immobile frame and pulled me forcefully to the living room in front of my mother.

"take off your glasses," he said in a cold, furious voice.

i did. i took them off. and then the pain stung my face and then pain stung my stomach and i collapsed on the ground. and then the pain stung my scalp as my hair pulled me up to the ceiling and i couldn't see, not because of my poor vision, but because of the pain in my soul. and the pain continued and continued until his anger subsided.

"you shouldn't make me angry. i don't like doing this. clean up the mess. go to your room. don't come out until i say so," he said tiredly.

my mother said nothing.

i cowered as i stumbled wearily up the stairs and quietly shut the door behind me before i fell onto my bed sobbing, shaking, pitying myself.

now, it's over, it's over, it's over and it'll never happen again but the pain leaks out sometimes. it wasn't right and i wish i could go back in time to stand up for that broken child. but all i can do is heal and let the fire burn out so i can finally rise from the ashes.

1 month sober

your PM created a weird glitch that didn't allow me to see your message until mike, the mod, fixed it. i can't tell who sent it, however, so PM me your email and i will contact you.

the absence of sadness is not happiness
the absence of happiness is not sadness

the absence of happiness and sadness is not apathy

the absence of happiness and sadness and apathy is peace

only when you can sincerely care about the universe without judgement

can you ascend to peace

I stuffed an old memory in my pocket
And after a year I tried wrenching it out,
But it was tangled to hell.
With the happier times knotted through my insides,
I sit on the grass cross-legged and begin.

I can feel your chest rising against the side of my head as your hot breath gently brushes my hair.

I was wrong to believe in you.

The odds came crashing down on me and I don't miss you the way I used to
But I'm obsessed with the ghost of your best qualities.

Your ears move up as your cheeks wrinkle and your beautiful, crooked teeth present themselves.

But it's not real.
It's a perverse illusion I preserve in my mind to soothe myself.

I can't touch the perfect image I created of you
And I definitely don't want to touch the real, broken you.

Is that why god created us in his image?

Or is that why we created him in ours?

https://soundcloud.com/night_soil/muliercatenata

i sit on the bench in the park and it's beautiful but i'm scared of the bugs. i see people walking by and some of them smile back in that genuine, crinkly-eyed way. the bugs flit eerily too close and then away again, giving just enough peace to induce comfort so that they can invade it soon after. the people make cute comments about the weather and about my flowery dress, but the bugs don't care. the bugs are attracted to beauty, but they don't know how to approach it.

we can ruin beauty when we don't try to understand it.

i swat and flail to inform them of my displeasure, but bugs have no concept of personal boundaries. they have freedom of buzz, they say, and if i don't like it i can stay inside.

just because we have the freedom to do something, does that mean we ought to?

the bugs make their ugliness known as they squeal in their insectival way. straightening my dress as i stand up, i surrender the bench to the flying vermin. they are blessed with flight, but choose to use it for malicious purposes.

repulsiveness comes not from the exterior, but rather from the corruption of the soul. 

on the phone, he sounded crazy.

the sentences strung out endlessly and the meanings changed constantly. a great pain indeed to see someone you once loved dissolve into a toxic substance that you can't handle. he incoherently tried to manipulate me and it was sad, so sad that even in this stupor he wouldn't give it up.

i said goodbye and told him to get help. i remember the good memories and i try not to taint them with the madness that lurked beneath them all along.

september 8th
i turn the cold doorknob and enter the warm room, flooded with light. through the big window, i can see his back as he rests his elbows on the balcony, leaning on the railing. he blows smoke over the city and doesn't hear me come in until his dog gallops and joyfully groans toward me.

oh, this is my favourite part.

he turns around and i feel the sunlight flow into my heart. he flicks his cigarette over the railing and walks toward me with a slight smile, his eyes filled with tender recognition.

fade to black.

1 month later.
i'm sobbing and shaking, clutching myself in grief because of what's been done. he stands over me explaining that sometimes we need to suffer alone.

fade to black.

and we're back to the present.
i am filled with peace. there is good in the world and there is good in me. 

fade to white.

the mouse looked up sadly at the monkey. with all the monkey's charms came all the monkey's tricks. 

you're the only person i want to talk to sometimes

but the mouse, with its droopy whiskers and weary little paws, walked away. wasn't meant to be anyway. impossible, really. 

so, the monkey can parade around, tree by tree, wailing and howling at the mouse as it walks away. but how many times does the mouse need to be dropped out of a tree to understand that monkeys don't really care about mice?

i cough up alliteration along with my anxiety 

i don't want to step on the worms.

the road is shining black, rippling from the misty drizzle, and there are hundreds of pink, bulging worms of various sizes all over the place like i'm trapped in a disgusting obstacle course.

my stress levels rise because i can't avoid the worms. i can feel their flesh crush under my shoes and it makes me want to vomit. but i can't stop walking or i'll just be a chump standing in the rain with worm guts on the soles of her feet.

so, i walked the two blocks home and stepped on too many worms and felt sick in that existentially meaningless way. i haven't seen my friends in a week because i don't know if i want friends anymore. when i think about going to see them, i feel like i need to walk down that road again and it's impossible to keep from stepping on all the lies.

People keep responding to my obnoxiously evangelical and condescending comments in the most INAPPROPRIATE ways.

How can people be so hypersensitive and affected when I so obstinately dismiss their heartfelt writing? 

How can people respond so bitterly to my self-entitled, pompous messages that I send in earnest pedanticalness on this small, casual journaling community? 

Does no one hear my desperate, lonely plea for intellectual validation? 

I may have to start cutting my cucumbers and slashing my prices again...

"And all you other cats throwin shots at Jigga
You only get half a bar - fuck y'all niggaz"