The Pen and The Wind

I woke up on a cold hard ground bleary and confused. My mind and vision were spinning and churning, was I drugged? I couldn’t remember anything. There were lights all around, orangish, that slowly cleared up into flickering flames. Torches. Where am I?

My head throbbed in pain as my senses began to return to me. There were sounds, chanting of some sort. I tried to stand up, something was keeping me from it. I was tied down. Why was I tied down? What happened to me?! I began to panic and hyperventilate. My head darted around in it’s limited way, I couldn’t see anything that told me where I was or how I got there. I was terrified, A hooded figure appeared over me.

“It looks like you’re awake. Good, the fun was just about to begin, and we need you awake for things to progress,” they said. The voice was deep and rough, but I couldn’t see a face. 

“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?!”

“Hmm… well I suppose you should know. It’s only fitting that you face your fate with the proper amount of terror.” The face disappeared and there was the sounds of clanking and gears grinding. My world spun around as the surface I was strapped to spun around and I found myself facing a circle of robed people all chanting something in a language I couldn’t recognize. Their robes were white with blue markings all along them. In the center, the blue lines made the shape of a wolf.

The one that spoke to me appeared again before me. “We are the Order of Fenrir. And you are to die today.”

“What? Why?!” I yelled.

“It is our duty to rid this realm of the gods that pollute it. Those that interfere with the lives of people, those that seek control of the human race. We are the freedom and salvation of the people. We show arrogant and loathsome gods that we as humans are not to be trifled with. We force them into mortal form, something that is beyond their ability to even comprehend; and then we slay them.” 

“But what does that have to do with me?” I asked, confused and panicked. 

“There are those who are born within the right cosmic alignment. When not only planets and stars, but entire galaxies line up at the right date and time, down to the last second. Those are the only ones capable of forcing a god into a mortal coil. And you just happen to be the perfect candidate for a rather pesky and ancient god. So you’re going to have to die.”

“What?! I don’t have anything to do with any gods!” 

“Oh but you do, even if you have no idea of it. It’s a terrible and ancient god; you’d choke on your own tongue if you tried to pronounce it’s name, but those in ancient times called it “The Horrifying Slaughter.” And we’re going to force it into your body. Don’t you fret though, your mind will be consumed by the god and all traces of your self will be long gone before we kill you. Though, I’m given to understand that it is a fate worse than death, but your sacrifice will make the entire universe safer. Isn’t that worth it?”

“But- but I-” I was interrupted by a hard slap across the face, followed by one of the robed people violently stuffing a gag in my mouth. 

“That was a rhetorical question, and I was growing tired of you. You’re dying to save the universe, and we’re not allowing you a say in the matter.” 

The gears ground again, and I soon found myself staring at the ceiling. The chanting quickened, sending a chill on anxious dread down me. I remember thinking how I would give anything for this to end, how I would give anything to be free and live. One of the figures stood over me holding a rusty dagger. I tried to scream, but couldn’t. All I could do is sit there and think about what was going to happen to me. I couldn’t dwell on it too long, as my train of thought was interrupted by the dagger plunging into my chest. 

My mind exploded. The pain and the panic quickened my thoughts to levels I never thought possible. Every fear and anxiety possible about the situation at hand rushed through, every possible implication of my sudden and gruesome disappearance. They all rang through my consciousness furiously, and each one of them reverted to the thought about how I wanted to be free, how I wanted to live. My thoughts screamed this over and over again, louder and louder until I was sure that those in the room with me could hear them. Just as I was about to pass out, I heard a voice. 

It was a terribly loud voice, impossibly loud and it spoke deep within my mind. It only spoke one sentence, and it seemed to say it in one thousand languages simultaneously. It said, “YOU WILL RECEIVE MY FREEDOM.” And when it finished, I could feel my mind shatter and my life end. 

I don’t know how I continued to witness things from there. I knew that my mind was gone, I could see it flooded with ideas and atrocities too grand for any human mind to comprehend, and staring into them, I knew that there was a chaos there that had swallowed me up, and every part of me ceased to be. I knew that, and I still witnessed what followed right after. Perhaps it was because it was my body, or perhaps it was because this was the sprawling chaotic entity that had overtaken me mocking me and my fate. I do not know, all I know is that I got to witness what happened to my body after I died. 

There was a scream that came from my mouth, a loud one. The straps that held my body down began to creak and strain as my body began to spasm and shake. The metal clamps that held them down groaned, and the cult stopped their chanting and stared on in worry. My eyes flooded black, and the straps snapped. That was when hell broke loose. 

The body that used to be mine jerked up and continued to scream, the voice getting progressively louder and deeper; going beyond human levels. The arms reached up to the face and gripped hard, and with a sickening wet tearing sound it tore off my cheeks and threw them at the cultists. There was nothing but a bloodied toothy maw that continued screaming. The cultists rushed it in a panic, but it did no good. The screaming corpse picked one of them up and pulled their neck to it’s mouth. There was a snapping sound as the corpse’s jaw bit through their throat and spine, letting them drop to the floor, limp.

The corpse turned it’s attention to the other cultists, and staring at them reached deep inside and ripped it’s own chest wide open. It pulled out it’s ribs, and wielded them like dagger’s of it’s own. It lunged at the cultists in a frenzy. One after, despite their efforts, it stabbed out their eyes, tore open their throats and pierced their hearts. There was no hope for them, there was only the terrible slaughter. Was it deserved? I just wanted freedom, and not this vengeance. 

There was nothing left, and the corpse that was once me stopped screaming. The slaughter was complete. It stood motionless for a moment, but grew restless. I couldn’t see what happened much longer. The dark chaos swallowed up the last remainders of my consciousness as I watched the corpse walk to the door and out into the world. 

A gentle touch shared by you and I, 
That shines a light in a life of lies,
Is a course that would make me die, 
And yet I’d submit to it every time. 

For what are you but a phoenix’s grace,
To to shine rainbow’s light upon my face,
And in glorious light I crumble and burn
Every sin in the violet flame doth turn. 

I come to you with the desire to die,
And on your wings you make my soul fly,
For I’ll always arise again better than before,
To be worth of your love evermore. 

I stood perched at the ledge,
Looking over, I felt dizzy and with racing heart,
I grasped the railing in front of me.
I was afraid to die.

This was a new sensation for me,
And it only brought questions,
Why?
Why now do I fear death?
Where once I accepted it and nearly welcomed it,
I find myself shunning and running it,
The drop ahead looked far more sinister than ever,
My mind tricking my eyes? Or seeing true sights?
Have I found a calling, a purpose that I fear to leave undone?
Or has my biology merely mastered me?
And now I fear death only to live,
Making my life a mere tautology.

I seek answers,
And neither the ledge nor the winds hold them. 

Weary soul, rest now.
Though your life has be cut too short,
Any pain you felt now is gone,
And your mourners, all who you have touched,
By your every word and action, send you one wish,
And each one of them hopes it reaches you,
Find the peace you so rightly deserved in life,
Rest now weary one.
Rest in eternal peace.  

“Let me die, let me sleep,”
A lullaby my damned mind does keep,
For until I draw my final breath,
I always have the want of death.

For what use is life to he who cannot live?
What to the world does the heartless give?
And in that logic my mind does lie, 
And sings songs about wanting to die.

Though struggle I to want remain alive,
Life itself seems fit to deprive,
And when no helpful hand offers to save,
Makes me wish to rest deep in my grave.

But one cannot think about the end,
Live promises so much more around the bend,
But how can one to the light turn and face,
With the constant beckon of the Reaper’s embrace?

For even on my brightest days,
I still hear the song through happiness’ haze,
Even at my best, I can’t survive,
Into the abyss I still wish to dive.

Incomplete and starved of life,
Kinless and soul filled with strive,
Fleeting happiness and no love’s try,
It comprises the song of wanting to die.

My very being is a song of dread,
No matter for fate, my mind still wants me dead,
I never know what is my last breath,
I fear no one can save me from my want of death.  

Can hope survive with a mind that remembers all pain? 
Every wound suffered  reopened, 
And all hope mustered and feigned fades,
Like an all too fleeting dandelion it is cut down, 
By the gales of truth.

And when one cannot even muster a facade,
How can a decrepit corpse of a man,
One who has been slain time and again by life,
How can that dead man hope to live once more?
How can that kin of Cotard even bear to hope?
How can he even rise to a life that offers nothing,
No panacea or solace to his wounded being?

There is no answer to this,
Because the mind that remembers all pain bears no answer,
But waits for another to provide it.
And yet still,
There is only silence around.  

This is the piece I read at the poetry slam last night.

Call me an adversary of Death.
Though I may not look much, I am a thorn in its side,
And do so willingly, for I have seen Death’s true motives.

Years ago I did not know why my mind screamed out in pain,
Why every thought turned that sinister inky black,
With no explanation, it turned and attacked me with such ferocity,
So savagely did my own mind assault me,
That it was too much for the soul to bear,
And I did glimpse Death for the first time.
I saw him clamoring over my near-corpse,
Waiting to claim me for his own,
Each soul, no matter their fate a trophy to him,
Defiant to the end I forced myself to get up,
And live despite my curious mental condition.

Too many times I felt Death’s scythe pressed against my throat,
And too many times I forced it away,
Continually battered by my own mind,
The feat of fending Death off became greater and greater,
Until I finally saw behind the veil,
And realized my own mind was not my assailant,
But t’was the stealthy whispers of Death itself.

For Death, too greedy, could not wait for nature’s course,
And took it upon himself to “help me along.”
I forced the shadowy voice from my ear,
And though scarred from his assaults, I did away with that foul specter.

But though Death was done with me, he still had his attentions elsewhere,
And whispered those plagues to countless others,
Luring them ever so closer to his thirsty blade,
I, the only one who saw his true design,
Took it upon myself to be his adversary.

Now I don the title of Thief of Death,
For every trace of his dark words I follow,
And do all I can to lead his victims to salvation,
I shall steal as many as I can from him,
For no one should feel those bony hands ‘round their throat in greed,
And as long as I stand, I will pry them off every time. 

Eyes that can see into multiple worlds, 
Are tired, riddled with bags,
They’ve seen enough for a millennia,
 And pierce through cosmic darkness, 
And stumbling upon the knowledge that may lie there.  

Minds that have witnessed multiple worlds, 
Are bursting at the seams,
With too much sensation and thought,
That it manifests itself in strange ways,
If only to allow itself to survive,
And not collapse under it’s own weight.

Eyes that have seen too many lies,
Minds in which the universe unwinds,
Are dismal, miserable things,
They’ve seen too much,
And too much more lies unknown,
There is faint glimmers of hope,
Lying somewhere in life,
But have gone unseen.

So the eyes that have seen,
Through the shadows in the valley of death,
Stare off into infinity,
In the hopes of finding what could help them live,
Before their mind collapses,
And their eyes burn out,
And very spark of soul smothers,
And death erases all of them.  

The scent, devoid of life,
A sterile chemical odor,
That contains the stink of plague,
All the pestilent poxes struck down,
Their rotting corpses do reek,
But that is not all that it contains,
For the musky trail of the reaper,
Does waft upon those sterile breezes,
A haunting warning to all,
That which life fears most resides here,
You might not make it out alive.  

I checked my phone,
No calls, No messages,
No surprises there,
It’s the same day in and out. 

I spent my day busying myself,
And time flew by with no contact,
As I slipped further into a silhouette,
It’s the same day in and day out. 

I lusted and loved with all my heart,
A heart so often broken and shattered,
It’s now just a fine red powder,
It’s the same day in and out.

Barb after barb of life’s woes stab,
But wounds do not bleed,
They just gape and flap in the breeze.
 It’s the same day in and out.

For too much pain desensitizes one,
And when one has experiences a lifetime of pain,
They only feel a death-like numbness,
It persists day in and day out. 

There’s a bloated corpse at the foot of my bed, 
It is the very corpse of Will, 
 It sits there rotting, with dead dark eyes, 
Staring at me wherever I lie.

And where I lie is not far off,
For Will’s dead you see,
For every action there is no drive,
No reason for the decisions to which I arrive.

I’m decomposing, with rigor mortis setting in,
I’m not that far behind Will, you see,
I’d wish I could get my Will back, 
Before I too am a corpse, with eyes so black. 

But Will must feed off of drive, 
And mine starved to death.
With flame and spark simply gone,
What can one do with every day drawn?  

This poem is for a friend, who has a dear little friend that’s in ill health and dying. I hope this is some comfort to her, and to anyone else in that position. 

You took me in, 
And I took you in.
I was a bit of a rogue, 
And I could tell you were too,
I liked you from the first moment,
Though I didn’t let on too much for that fact,
I preferred that you worked for it,
It shows your depth and level of care.

And you proved yourself time and again there,
You built up a home for me and many others,
And always put yourself last,
Throughout blazing heat,
And devastating cold,
Throughout injury and illness,
You did all your could for us, 
A spring of compassion that did not ever cease.

I know, I might have made things hard,
And sometimes, I made things hard for you,
But no matter the annoyance on either end,
I could always tell deep down, you really loved me,
And I could tell you knew I felt the same.

They say if you are a familiar,
You do not choose, or are chosen,
But rather are purely destined,
And if that’s true, I’m glad I was destined for you,
You’ve made my life, and made me, so much better,
And when I do leave, I know you will fight and grieve,
But I’m not worried,
I know you’re a strong one,
And I helped make you stronger,
As you made me.
Just know I love you,
And I am happy,
All thanks to you.  

We humans have so little free will,
For there are strings guiding our hand,
And in all affairs of our lives,
We are guided by Eros and Thanatos.

Sex and Death rule our lives,
And are our main deciding factors,
No good and evil involved in our affairs,
Just pleasure and fear of the end.

Eros, our love to make love,
Makes that passionate pleasure so much better,
That it is addicted to it’s own affects,
And makes us crave it without end.

But Thanatos lurks right behind,
Reminding us all of the end,
And out of panic to not fade into nothing,
Do we scramble to leave something that will last.

And Eros and Thanatos work hand in hand,
Making us want the best quality in our pleasure,
Striving for sex and pleasure that will stand time,
And calling it romance and love.

Is it no surprise that our greatest pleasure in life,
The thing that Eros makes us crave,
Can sap the life out us for a moment for that pleasure,
And made the French think it Death yet small.

And with our minds absorbed in pleasure and fear,
Do we try and live such a mortal life,
Sex and Death our closest friends,
And eternal masters of our minds.