A Tribute to an Old Man in a Grey Jacket:

There’s monsters seething in my head,

Death. Pain. Despair

My strength slowly failing me,

Run. Hide. Beware.

They plague my conscious late at night,

Thump. Rattle. Scrape

Their faces contorting behind my eyes,

Sneer. Scowl. Gape

In the warm sunlight I hold your gaze,

Rigid. Masked. Disguise

All the while they whisper to me,

Failure. Transparent. Demise.

The drugs they numb me, leave me bare,

Blunt. Dead. Cold

They promise me they will be quiet this time,

Coercion. Trickery. Sold

So to the darkness I return again,

Twisted. Snigger. Glee

Perhaps it is just me who’ s weak?

Escape. Detach. Flee.

Should I just end it all myself?

Knife. Blood. Blade

Slip away where they cannot follow,

Anguish. Crimson. Cascade

I close my eyes one last time and hear the monsters shriek,

Bellow. Howl. Scream

My chains broken, my mind freed,

Untainted, Pure, Dream

Solstice in the silence,

Drifting. Soft. Serenity

I am truly alone now,

Bliss. Ending. Amenity.

Welcome to my mind, hold on tight ;)

Back in the days where life was simple, where routine demanded you wake, dress, go to school, and then home again, back in the days of mindless tedium I had a diary.

It was a small pink fluffy thing, filled with the naive thoughts and simple dreams that all young girls start off with, so i suppose the innocent cover reflected me quite well in those days

I would grow up, I would finish school, I would have a nice job and a house with spices in the kitchen, a lounge room full of light, and somewhere along the line some prince would sweep me off my feet and I would be happy.

wrong.

There is some turning point we all go through where we realize that sometimes, occasionally, increasingly, frequently, people are wrong

That your teacher has anger issues, that your doctor does not know what your problem is, that the police don’t always come, and the law can leave you bare and defenseless, that we are selfish.

I no longer write in the pink book.

Instead I will wright here, where the world can see, where I can point out the weaknesses of our society, and of coarse, in turn, the strengths, the hideous and the beautiful, the light and the dark, the good, the bad, and all that drifts between

welcome to my mind

welcome to my perceptions

welcome to my life.