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The white streaks twist, and twirl upon the light blueness of the water, seeming to tease it, swirling in and out of my focus. I gently place my finger tip up top the white foam, which then quickly parts, creating two misshaped balls, only becoming one again when I remove my finger.

Lying back against the cold of the plastic tub do I once again begin to drift upon reality, as if I were simply those white streams floating up top the water. The lights flicker for a moment, before once again being still, and silent. My eyes drift to the bright burning bulbs above the sink, before resting once more on the white streaks playing with the water, swirling in and out and through it. A slight smile plays at the corner of my lips, before dropping. I find myself staring intently at my distorted reflection on the faucet, until my eyes drop below it, to the water slowly dripping from its silver tip.

Drip, drip, drip…my ears catch the nose, sounding as though someone where whispering, and not being able to quiet catch what it is they are trying to say.

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Angelus
15:12 Apr 28 2011

a simple action, given eloquent description.

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The dark hides something beneath its cold, thick sheet of blackness. Something not so nice, dirty, rabid even, with a foulness so putrid. I stare into the ever growing nothingness, as it moves slightly underneath the surface of reality.

I turn away from the pulsating abomination, and stare at the shadows dripping down my walls, as if they were ink splatters. I could feel the empty, coldness of the dark at my back, the awareness of it spreading across my flesh in pin pricks of ice. Tiny streaks of light dance across the ink of shadows slowly streaming down, almost melting into the texture of the wall. I feel the warmth of a fire vibrating across my finger tips as I slowly bring my hand to the golden, yellow light dancing across the deep purple of the shadows, making them seem less intimidating, more soft, almost gentle even.



I lay my hand flat against the small stream of golden, yellow. My eyes begin to droop as the warmth seems to latch onto me, and slowly wrap itself around, and around, like a vine. The feeling of security and protection seem to sink into my very pores, burning its mark into my core.

The pin pricks of ice resign from my back, almost recoiling from my body, as if repulsed, or disgusted at the mere thought of touching my flesh, if that form of being had a thought process that is, which I am sure it does. I can sense it coiling into its black fury of nothingness, turning, twisting and sometimes even hissing, or spitting out words of no meaning or sense. Watching, waiting, possibly for the warmth to slip from me, so it may then rush in and devour me, with its rotting, piss colored, jagged teeth, I can imagine it, nearly feeling it crawl once more across my pale flesh.



So I keep my hand firmly against the golden warmth of the streaming light, and marvel in it, as it dances and plays across my skin, making it glow. I silently fall asleep, into a swirling colored bliss, possibly, even with a smile upon my face.

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Angelus
00:55 Apr 25 2011

a wonderful piece of writing: you're good.

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Change isn't easy... changing the way you live means changing what you believe about life. That's hard... When we make our own misery, we sometimes cling to it even when we want so bad to change because the misery is something we know. The misery is comfortable.



It is a strange thing isnt it? For us, as human beings to naturally hate what makes us so miserable, yet we create it, and we live with it, with how we created our lives. Even though we are miserable, we dont ever change it.



Now why is that?



Could it be that we are all masticates? That we like the misery we have surrounded ourselves with? Could it be?



Do you like your misery?





For me, without it I wouldnt be who I am. I use it, to create me. We all do, we just dont realize it. We dont see what clearly makes us so miserable. And if we changed, if we made things unfamiliar, we would realize how miserable we truly are, thus making us uncomfortable with what we have forced ourselves to believe we find very comforting.



Because in the end all it adds up to is lies. Thats all it is, is denial. We have lied to ourselves for so long, that we no longer know the difference between what is true, and what is not.



In the end, we are all miserable, in our own sickly happy way.

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Angelus
14:02 Apr 15 2011

didn't like my misery, so made the change I needed

it took ten years, to get where I was content...

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I know what it is I seek, and yet I know that I cannot find it here. But I feel that such dreams cannot exist without some sort of influence, and so I live with the encouragement that if I dream it, I will find it.





Such dreams as these have some power over me. You see when you dream, you're within a different dimension completely. One you have created from your memories, and thoughts.



And within this dimension anything can happen. Nightmares become reality, or happy endings, the kind within fairy tales, take form. You can be anyone you want to be. You make the rules, or you break them.



Dreams can be wonderful experiences. though everything has its opposites. As light is to dark, and good is to evil, dreams are to nightmares. Within a nightmare your worst fears come to life.





What is it that you're searching for when you're dreaming. What is searching for you within your nightmares? What are we searching for, what have we lost? What is it, that we know is there, yet some how cant seem to find?

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Angelus
01:23 Apr 10 2011

allow freeflow, it often provides similar results.

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"I have seen the universe yawning, Where the black planets roll without aim, Where they roll in their horror unheeded, Without knowledge or luster or name."





I see them. I see them all, lurking in the deepest shadows. Watching...waiting for one false step, With their putrid breaths, and yellow rotting teeth, hoping I fall into that ever growing black hole.



I cant see them, the darkness is such a black that my human eyes couldn't possibly penetrate it. Yet I can feel their pitch black soulless eyes boring into my back, as if trying to suck the very essence of life from my body were I stand.



Tortured growls, and mucus covered gurgles sound from the corner. My body twitches in revulsion. A strong urge to run pushes at my numb limbs, begging me to move.



My instincts tell me I'm prey, to run away from this threat. My knowledge tells me to stand still, and stare them down. Every predator instincts scream at them to chase the prey, run them down and kill them. Slice into them and feast upon the crimson red meal laid out before them. Easy, they think to themselves.



Though I am not prey, and I shall not act like one. Instead I bare upon my fury at their assumptions of my weakness, and charge forward to show them who truly is prey and who is predator.