375. The Noose

Once set into motion life continues unimpeded.

The bond of prophecy self-fulfilled,

Becomes the noose of the defeated.

giphy12345

You may struggle and the noose grow tighter: restricting breath…

Or calmly hold your hands to the line,

In-between desperation and death.

K. Aldaya, 11/26/16

Picture: Originally Posted on thedeadhasrisin.tumblr.com; http://giphy.com/gifs/sad-boy-depressed-wOKFDNYyjqfBK;

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373. Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

O’ Weeping Willow, why do you hate the daylight so?

Why do you cry to the sun and hang your head so low?

Do you want us all to feel the same way that you do?

Are you angry with the sun, which dries, then feeds you too?

O’ Weeping Willow, why do you love the darkness so?

Why do you wave and smile at the moon; and let your beauty show?

Do you love the dark because it hides your bitterness?

Does the night conceal your tears within it’s tranquil darkness?

O’ Weeping Willow, why do you exist to feel this way?

Why must you live to suffer so?

Why does it have to be this way?

Do you know where we all go when we turn to dust?

Weeping Willow won’t you cry for me too, when you meet my drifting dust?

K. Aldaya, 10/12/16

Picture: http://indulgy.com/post/cbtCpMSUW1/theclouser; http://indulgy.com/ana–bella/myperfect

370. Reality

cemetery-pictures-002

No matter what I do. Nothing ever changes.

The world changes around me,

While I while away the hours;

And my life becomes a memory,

Of some graveyard in the country.

No matter what choices I make.  I am here.

I cannot change how I feel.

What experience has taught me.

My version of what is real…

If real means anything at all.

No matter what I try to change.  It is.

I cannot save anyone.

We all live, die, and are forgotten.

Does fate exist and pull everyone…

Into that field of gravestones connecting reality?

K. Aldaya, 9/24/16

Picture: Cabot Village Cemetery, Vermont; http://www.cabothistory.com/cabot-s-seven-cemeteries

350. Murderer!

Favim.com-35911

You asked me what I want from you,

I’m happy to oblige.

I simply want my soul which you…

Massacred!

You laugh, for you know you can’t bring,

Anything back from death;

Because once you murder something…

It is gone.

You know you can’t change what you’ve done,

And what you never did.

You walk headfirst into the sun…

Blindly on.

Why did you always walk on by,

While I bled under your feet?

You knew my soul was going to die…

And let it.

So, don’t ask me what I want.

You know it is no use.

My soul left long ago to haunt…

Your conscience.

I want my soul back! Give it back!!

I’m hollow bones and skin!

Why did you let me slowly die….

In your sin?

K. Aldaya, 4/25/16

Picture:  http://favim.com/image/35911/

343. Ghosts Are Some of My Best Friends

32323

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

Though I’m not sure they want to be;

I certainly don’t care for their games,

Or their endless mockery.

They follow whispering in my ears:

“Restore my sanity!”

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

They’re the best at hide and seek.

No matter where I run and hide,

They always manage to silently sneak,

And scare me half to death…

Yep, winning’s always bleak.

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

Though I really wish they’d leave.

I listen to their moans and cries,

Hoping they will grant reprieve,

And scurry off to heaven or such…

Yet nope, they never really leave.

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

They make me want to die.

Would they disappear if I drown myself,

Or is that just a lie?

Are the ghosts still part of me,

Or will they never die?

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

Though I don’t want them to be.

I worry they have found new life,

In the echoes of eternity,

And fear at death they’ll hold me, screaming:

“Where’s our sanity!!”

K. Aldaya, 4/4/16

Picture: Originally posted on Tumblr; http://weheartit.com/entry/group/11322498#

315. The Bed

fire_by_freaky__like__vivi-d5sxsac

The bed is made of lies and fire,

Though it does not burn to ash,

And upon it lies lustful desire,

And lost souls under lash.

Bodies burn engulfed in flame,

Forever stoking the blaze.

The babies, crawling, are the blame;

Igniting with their gaze.

The fire sparks from inside,

Childhood’s glowing domicile,

Of doors which lead to hell and abide,

In the darkness of denial.

The flames cannot be quenched with tears.

The fire once set, burns on.

For those in hell are the mutineers,

Who refuse to lie –and yawn,

And sleep in ignorance.

K. Aldaya, 8/3/15

Gif:  “Fire” by Freaky–Like–Vivi on Deviant Art;  http://freaky–like–vivi.deviantart.com;  http://freaky–like–vivi.deviantart.com/art/Fire-350936436

304. Lunatic Hours

Red Clock Eyes Wallpaper

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Listen up and listen quick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

He’s a raving lunatic.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Life’s a crazy horror-flick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Lock the door with a *click*.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Choices: Which will you pick?

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Every choice will make you sick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Skin is thin and blood is thick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

You want to know his little trick?

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Slit your wrists and make it quick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Death, it hates a lunatic.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Lunatics are pretty slick.

Tic. Tic. Tic.

Death can’t kill a lunatic.

Tic. Tic.

‘Cause they’re already dead…

Tic.

K. Aldaya, 5/9/15

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://www.wallpaperseries.com/girls/red-clock-eyes-wallpaper.html

302. Gothic

StarryNight_Posterreworked

The beauty of the universe,

Is truly a sight to behold.

There is joy to be found in many places,

And if I could be so bold…

I’d say: Beauty has many faces.

Even in the darkest of nights,

When shadows traverse the planet,

The universe is seen more dazzling and pure;

And all the stars which span it,

Only the darkness can confer.

True beauty is not found skin-deep.

Things which on the surface may seem,

Dark and depressing or freakish and bizarre,

May be just the things which beam,

And bare the most enchanting star.

You shouldn’t reject out of hand,

The beauty which lies in the dark.

You may find you’ve missed, what in life, is most grand:

Something which shines in the dark!

You may miss a new stars’ first spark.

K. Aldaya, 4/26/15

Picture: Interpretation of Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night by Alex Ruiz; http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/starry-night-alex-ruiz.jpg

301. Haunted

MyHauntedMansion~~element27

I know you will not understand,

When I say he wants me dead.

You will never understand what it’s like,

For another to live in your head.

To cut into your flesh so deep,

They bleed into your blood;

So violently invade your skin,

That they form a crimson flood,

And break down all the barricades,

Built to protect the spirit.

And barge inside so loudly,

That it frightens all who hear it.

All the parts of you, they hide,

In other rooms and floors;

They hide for fear of being found:

Cowering behind locked doors.

For the intruder walks up and down,

The corridors and stairs,

With his knife scrapping the walls, he walks,

And through each keyhole glares.

If anyone gets out of place,

And tries to run or sneak.

He’ll hear, find, and punish them,

At the softest of a creak.

Some parts of you will try to fight,

Yet it always ends the same.

A blood-bath; as a mortal can’t win,

An immortal at his game.

I know you do not understand,

When I say he wants me dead.

That he hunts the halls and that he guards,

The prison in my head.

No one can escape or leave.

No one’s allowed freedom.

Some live in fear, or plan escape,

Yet most are simply numb.

Please try to understand me,

When I say I cannot tell you.

To open up those locked doors,

Is something I can’t do.

To open them I risk my life,

And all the parts of me.

He’d kill body or mind to hide,

His crimes against sanity.

Hush now. Hush and be still,

And believe what you will.

For I know, yet cannot fully say,

Why my mind is haunted still.

K. Aldaya, 4/23/15

Picture: The Haunted Mansion Corridor at Disneyland; http://www.haunt1000.com/publishImages/MyHauntedMansion~~element27.jpg

288. The Town of Sol Silenst

bridge_dark_wallpapers

Tired the wanderer of night seeks refuge from the cold.

The chilly air of midnight soaks and takes a-hold.

Every thought becomes a scream which must be silenced.

Oh how the wanderer smiles at the sight: “The Town of Sol Silenst”!

What providence imparts to them they gladly will accept.

For no man with an ounce of hope would a kind hand reject.

So off the wanderer went with a bold and renewed stride,

To seek a face, a friend, and bed sheltered from outside.

Across a large arched wooden bridge they pleasantly walked.

The river below glistened and babblingly talked.

They stopped to listen to its’ voice and thought: Oh, how smart…

Nature is…it’s flow and beauty, which always lifts the heart.

On they walked until they reached the center of the town,

And though it was now morning, and the sun shining down;

Not a soul could be seen on the streets shuffling along.

Not a voice could be heard from anywhere; not a laugh, or shout, or song.

They wondered what could make a town so silent in the morn.

There certainly were people here to make the roads so worn.

Footprints spread out everywhere and ended at each door.

Yet not one face in a window seen, and not one tap on a floor.

When like a fearsome cat pouncing on unknowing prey.

Screams erupted everywhere piercing the peaceful day.

The wanderer fell to the ground covering their ears in vain.

Their heart beat to the tune of the echoed fear and pain.

Then all at once silence again as each door opened wide,

And townsmen and women walked into the day outside.

Each townsmen looked straight ahead with an air of duty,

And off walked each without a word; appearing cold and snooty.

The wanderer could get not one to listen or acknowledge,

And the town hall now looked busy along the main roads’ edge;

So they walked into the town hall to some sort of celebration.

Everyone was laughing and conversing with elation.

Again the traveler could not find any who’d care to hear them,

And had to move, or the townsmen would, have walked right into them.

When accidentally, just that happened: two shoulders hit each other…

They looked into the others’ eyes and really saw each other.

The man, he stood and frowned a sec, before his smile returned,

And without word his arm swung out; and without reaction he turned.

The man went back to celebrating with a big smile on his face,

And the music played on ’til a dripping-sound silenced the place.

Each townsmen stopped and turned lacking expression,

To glare at the wanderer: “The Great Indiscretion”.

The wanderer stood there with one hand tightly gripping the spot,

Where a cut had been made and was dripping out a lot.

They looked at the townsfolk and then shouted out, “Why?”.

In silence they soon realized today they well may die.

They slowly backed up while surveying all their sides.

Toward the exit they stepped and slowly made strides.

The room was packed tight and each step held a price;

For when close each villager swung and would slice.

The wanderer soon decided to just run for it.

As whether it be life or death one must commit.

They ran, jumped, and dodged; and outside emerged…

The bloody mess of a human which from hell has been purged.

The wanderer ran and ran until the town was long afar,

And the bridge from midnight was now not very far.

They breathed in and out to the smell of the river…

So close; their fear finally escaped in a shiver.

And as the sun shone hot and bright at noontime that day,

The wanderer made it to the bridge and knelt in dismay.

For on the sides of the bridge a creaking could be heard.

The sound of gunny sacks as their contents stirred.

Each blood-soaked sack stabbed deep into the heart,

And a piercing scream flew out from deep within…from their heart;

For in each sack was a small child dying in the sun.

If helpless babes be treated such…Oh hope..there is none!

The wanderer yelled to the universe, “How can this be so?”.

“How can these humans be like this? How is it they don’t know?”….

That souls are more important then status and selfish pursuits;

As death greets all eventually and pulls out all lifes’ roots.

All that’s left in the end are memories and the soul.

So what will happen when they’re puppets and no longer have a soul?

When outcasts and outsiders are always deserving abuse,

And the helpless children in the way are pawns for adults misuse?

The wanderer lied down on the bridge tired from the flight,

And hoped to wake again, and to live another night;

And as their sight faded they saw the sign and cried,

For on it read, “The Soul Silenced”….

And then they died.

K. Aldaya, 3/7/15

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.wallpey.com/wp-content/uploads/bridge_dark_wallpapers.jpg

282. The Tree

Tree Awakening

Growing. Advancing its’ roots.

The tree always blossoms with time,

And in time it must feed its’ roots;

With sunshine.

Inside the flesh it has grown.

Now out of flesh it must rise,

And break through the skin and bone;

To survive.

Boring its’ way through the cheek.

Blood oozes and creeps down its’ bark.

Will the world be ready for this freak;

And fathom?

Gasps and screams sing-out as it grows.

“Oh, how horrid the truth! How bizarre!”

“This black-tree only spreads and sows;

Its’ evil!”

“Cut it down! Cut it down! The devil needs no light!”

“Let it live in the darkness it exposes!”

Too obscene to look at, and offensive a blight;

To accept.

Growing. It always keeps growing alone.

Cut back and cut down,….it remains.

For evil once lived finds a life of its’ own;

And spreads.

Could the light have allowed the tree,

To blossom into something of worth?

Is there beauty in the horror in thee;

In season?

The tree through each season lives on,

And under the skin it still thrives.

‘Til one day all its’ roots will be gone;

In soul-death.

For self-destruction’s humanities’ legacy,

To the children who refuse to accept,

They should hide the sins of the world and agree:..

“There’s no tree”.

K. Aldaya, 12/4/14

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://dark.pozadia.org/wallpaper/Evil-Tree-Lord-Awakening/

277. Seduction

Favourite-River-Boat-At-Sunset-Wallpaper

He knew better than to dream.

Yet he,…he dreamt anyway.

Darkness lifts for a time as days’ gleam.

Ah, the temptress-sun loves to play,

With the hearts of hopeful men.

Oh, see well what cannot be.

See thee clearly what will die,

When dark descends and souls we bury.

Unadjusted eyes more outcry,

The loss of ‘what might have been’.

Time is both reaper and muse;

E’er blooming and withering.

Aware it’s the reapers’ time we use,

To grab hope-worms a’slithering;

And live as ‘productive’ men.

He knew better than to dream,

Yet he,…he dreamt anyway.

The pain is greatest for men who dream.

Agony is sure,…Yet lo, the day!

What a seductive oarsman!

…on this boat to the River Styx.

K. Aldaya, 9/22/14

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://hdwallpapersly.com/favourite-river-boat-at-sunset-wallpaper/favourite-river-boat-at-sunset-wallpaper-2/

276. Bloody Hands

alice hysteria

Red as sun-lit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

In my hand is an old-withered rag of white,

And in my soul a battlefield,

Plays a ghostly reenactment of the costly fight.

–Bloody is the rag which tries to hide a guilty soul,

Yet bloodier are the hands which clean without a rag that’s whole.

Red are these hands and the only I have known,….

Are these hands with fresh-blood dripping…

Dripping, and dripping guilt and pain; scrubbing all alone.

Blue as restless oceans crashing to the shore,

Are the tears which crash to the earth,

Never enough to clean the hands of an old child-whore.

–Red as sunlit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

K. Aldaya, 8/19/14

Picture: Inspired by American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns; Artist Unknown; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maly49hnQp1qkuk8lo1_500.jpg

253. Why?

jase_dark_basement

I oft’ wonder why you chose me?

Why did you only choose to play,

Your sick sadist game with me?

Why was this my price to pay?

There were other easy targets;

Opportunities to relish.

Did you throw out many nets,

To catch the best trophy fish?

Oh, did you carefully choose me,

Because of who I am or was?

Was it personality?

Visual? Or just because?

Was it foul luck or destiny?

That I so young became your toy?

I born strange in some degree,

That in hurting gave more joy?

Was it fun finding a captive?

Destroying and haunting their dreams?

So every day they’d have to live,

Swimming in echoing-screams?

Did you know you would find a home,

Inside their head:  a black shadow?

Ghost of you to haunt and roam?

Bring terror and lasting woe?

In dreams you haunt. It’s hard to sleep.

I know you are not there, but still…

It’s so real, can’t help but weep,

When you go hunting to kill.

Oh, how many years of running,

From your ghost at midnights’ hour?

Far too many spent singing,

In my head while I cower.

It’s like you are a part of me,

That I cannot escape or kill.

Which hunts the others in me.

Trying to kill all at will.

Isn’t it enough yet to stop?

You can smile and be glad. You win!

Took my soul and with a chop,

I became your sin,…yes, grin!

Oh, should I hope forgiveness comes?

Is that too much to hope for now?

And take from hearts’ beating-drums,

Your relentless black shadow?

Creak, Thump.  Creak, Thump.

Creak, Thump, and a thud!

I can’t take it anymore….Go!

Go away! Leave my blood!!

Pour fast out of me and go!

I oft’ wonder why you chose me?

Why did you only chose to play,

Your sick sadist game with me?

Will my soul find peace someday?

Why was this my price to pay?

K. Aldaya, 10/11/13

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.planetcalypsoforum.com/gallery/files/1/5/9/6/0/jase_dark_basement.jpg

248. There’s a Monster in My Closet

df626c11ade9156f73fdfa438e9727a3

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there,

But deep inside,….I feel it….,

Feel it on the skin: naked; bare.

There’s a monster in my closet.

It murmurs without spare,

Of long ago,…of far away…,

Of a place no longer there.

There’s a monster in my closet,

Breathing.  Breathing.  Breathing,…

Oh, and panting for it’s fare.

“It’s not there….Yes, it’s not there!”

There’s a monster in my closet.

“Open the door”, you say?

I’ll do so, with strength,

I’ll do so right away.

Maybe I’ll see it…..Yes! See it there today!

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there;

But today I’m going to face it,

And be done with this despair.

There’s a monster in my closet,

Of this I am aware;

And so I delve into it’s lair,

To see it’s face, to let it free,

To find another care.

There’s a monster in my closet.

The closet door creaks open……slowly…open,

Where is it?

Desperately I search.  Pull and tear…until,

There’s nothing left but remnants,

Of what once was there.

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there,

But deep inside I feel it….

I feel it everywhere!

K. Aldaya, Date: ???

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; Originally on Aperture Journal.com; http://imgarcade.com/1/old-creepy-doors/

244. Black & White

tumblr_inline_mg07nbSWHu1qeptf3

Black and white.

Cold and fright.

In the dark….it’s cold.

On the face………….it’s white!

Black and white.

Cold and fright.

In the night,….the dark and light,

Give-in to the fears in flight,

From the memories: ………..black and white.

K. Aldaya, 7/24/13

Picture:  Kim JaeJoong; Photographer Unknown; http://media.tumblr.com/155765ee66440f1dc78a2fd4ebdd547b/tumblr_inline_mg07nbSWHu1qeptf3.jpg

Kim Jae Joong
Kim Jae Joong

240. Insane Blood

Dr.-Blue-Jones

I lie on the gurney,

The doctor looks at me with disgust and annoyance;

And don’t you agree?

That I’m shameful and dirty?

In every degree?

Drawing out my blood.

The doctor starts filtering but there’s a problem!

Out pours a filthy flood!

A murky mess of disgrace.

A door opens.  A thud.

A shrink walks inside.

Revulsion and repugnance were worn on his face.

He diagnosed, “MAD!”,

That my blood’s too infected,

Slutty, black, and bad.

No filter could clean,

All the filth of my past and my mind; a disease.

The infection’s obscene!

Poisoning my plasma with offense.

It’s too late to convene!!

“Your life it’s a shame,

You will always be seen as damaged and decrepit.”

“Never be seen the same;

As the culprit is not here,

Only you’re left to blame.”

“Your blood is a stain,

On our entire way of living and society.”

“We’ll have to detain;

Lock you away where none see,

That ‘they’ made you insane.”

K. Aldaya, 06/21/13

Picture: from Sucker Punch: Oscar Isaac and Emily Browning; http://cineleet.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Dr.-Blue-Jones.jpg

239. Pathetic

Drowning_by_madelaines

I’m not a human.

At least not to you.

Outside I look human,

But inside I’m blue.

So blue you will drown,

If you look too deep.

Don’t bother to know me.

Just call me a creep!

Just push me away!

Call me names……hurt me!

Stab, kick, and break,

Until I drown in my own sea.

And as I fall down….

As I fade away…..

“She was weak and pathetic”,

That’s what you’ll say.

K. Aldaya, 05/28/13

Picture:  “Drowning” by Madelaines on Deviant Art; http://madelaines.deviantart.com/art/Drowning-61567330

238. Inside My Head

room-with-bed-fineartamerica.com-GaryHeller

Inside my head.

A couch.  A bed.

A world.  A dream.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A girl.  A ghost.

One hiding.  One host.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

She’s tortured.  She’s dead.

Over and over…

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A shadow.  A man,

With perverse plan.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

He haunts.  He hunts.

He torments.  He affronts.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A blackness.  A shape.

A darkness.  A rape.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A demon.  A hell.

Fear; despair dwell,

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

As I lie down in bed.

Wake to the dread…

In my head…

…..In my head.

K. Aldaya, 04/25/13

Picture: by Gary Heller; http://www.garyhellerphotography.com/album/abandoned-places?p=1#25

237. Cannot Live

should_i_give_up_by_ineedchemicalx-d4dhemr

I cannot live.

I cannot die.

Can’t say hello,

Or say goodbye.

Can’t stay silent,

And cannot fret.

Cannot remember.

Cannot forget.

I cannot join,

Or isolate.

I cannot love.

I cannot hate.

I cannot sing.

I cannot cry.

I cannot live,

Yet,… I cannot die.

K. Aldaya, 4/14/13

Picture:  “Should I Give Up” by iNeedChemicalX on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Should-I-give-up-264511827

234. Just Another Broken Soul

broken_soul_by_andygoth666-d4nh06t

I don’t know why I bother.

I write. I weep, in vain.

I’ll never be able to express or convey,

What’s pounding in my brain.

I say a word or maybe two.

You’ll nod your head, “Ah yes!”,

“I understand”.

And I will nod, “Sure…yes”.

But the truth is that it angers me.

How patronizing can you be?

You know nothing of my life,

And I’m glad for it not to be!

You’ll never understand what it’s like to cry….,

Cry away years of your life.

To linger, strive, hurt, and bleed,

The blood from your own knife.

To only know that pain because,

It’s all you’ve ever known;

And never trust joy or happiness,

Forever feeling new and unknown.

But it’s my fault because I was,

Born to take a breath,….to walk.

Born a toy for everyone.

Toys don’t get to fight back or talk.

Toys are made to be used and trashed,

When all the fun is through–a waste–

Of others time and lives…

A regret. A purchase made in haste.

But as I’ve said it’s my fault,

And my place in time and guilt.

If I don’t get over it,

It’s more guilt upon guilt.

Those who damage and destroy,

They get off scott-free –no responsibility;

While I must take responsibility,

For everything which was done to me.

I know what I’m supposed to say.

I know what I should do,

But it would only be because,

I was told it’s what I should do.

I don’t believe that I’m stronger,

Or believe I’m now wiser or better.

Is this Masochism 101?

Must I learn to love pain to be better?

I know it’s not what you want to hear,

And so you may no longer listen;

But yet I still must say it because it’s the truth.

I beg you, listen!

I will never be okay and it is not okay!

I won’t lie and say it’s fine as if it never happened.

Nobody wins and there’s only destruction.

I will hurt until the end.

For a broken soul may never mend.

K. Aldaya, 03/20/13

Picture:  “Broken Soul” by AndyGarcia666 on Deviant Art; http://andygarcia666.deviantart.com/art/Broken-Soul-281289269

233. Random Thoughts #7

Short Thought

Everything I do is wrong.

Nothing is ever right.

No matter what they say….or I do,

The sun will never rise at night……..,

I’ll never be alright.

10/2012

crazy_girl_by_natalevi-d4zx6oc

Sarcasm

I like that I am crazy.

Crazies have more fun!

I’m happy that I’m crazy,

Just don’t hand me a gun!

I’m suicidal constantly,

There’s another voice just for that.

One for self-harm, one meek,

And maybe one a cat?

I like that I am crazy.

Crazies have more fun.

I’m so happy that I’m crazy.

The fun, fun, fun, fun, fun….bang…

I’m done.

K. Aldaya, 03/2013

Picture: “Crazy Girl” by natalevi on Deviant Art; http://natalevi.deviantart.com/art/Crazy-Girl-302199564

232. A Sick Joke of a Poem

everything_dies_by_msdudettes-d5iwsd9

What is the point?

Tell me what could it be?

What could be the use of life so lone and empty?

I’m tired of trying to lie to myself.

This life of a prison suffocates me!

Hate my body.

I despise all the games.

I’m tired of playing all these filthy games!

I love my family so much it hurts.

The joy I find in them hell quickly claims.

No matter what…

No matter what I do;

They will die, or I, and time will fade what we knew.

No longer will I hold them or see them.

E’er left with bitter-dreams of phantoms I once knew.

It is all wrong!

I have to fix this joke.

What a sick f***in’ joke this is…A sick joke!

How can I enjoy what will not last?

Love deeply this flower….now watch it choke?

K. Aldaya, 09/13/12

Picture:  “Everything Dies” by thefoxandtheraven at Deviant Art; http://thefoxandtheraven.deviantart.com/art/Everything-Dies-334093725?q=sort%3Atime%20%28%28everything%20dies%29%20AND%20%28by%3ATheFoxAndTheRaven%29%29&qo=0

229. I Am Shame

What to do?

Tell me how to,

Lose all this fretful shame?

Suppressed and masked,

Through time in same.

In death my life has passed.

Try to bury,

In cemetery.

It haunts me in the gloom;

Whispering of sweet-death,

And trading life for doom,

With each gasping breath.

Depression724311

Try to free.

To let it be.

To get it out of me.

Truth is truth, even when,

It’s hard to have to see.

Please….don’t look at me then!

What to do?

Tell me how to,

Repel the guilt eyes’ impart?

More shame for shame;

For in letting guilt depart,

I burn in your lit-flame.

What to do?

I have no clue.

I am shame and am ashamed.

I exist whether liked or not;

Am made more when I am blamed.

For inside his body is fraught,

And is screaming from the relentless onslaught.

K. Aldaya, 05/23/12

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.mensxp.com/images/article/health/Mental_Health/Depression724311.jpg

227. Dancing Bones

Tools_for_Survival_by_xxtechnoxluvxx

Quickly. Run as fast as you can!

Faster. Faster.

Do anything you can,

To breathe, yes, one more day;

And avoid the fast-looming disaster.

Move. Move your hands and move your mind.

Do now. Right now.

Focus on what you find.

Think not of lacking air.

Keep smiling,…walking, talking anyhow.

Busy. Keep busy and avoid,

Feeling. Sensing,

Lungs to which you’re devoid.

Pretend you can breathe yet.

No one will know if you don’t stop to sing.

Keep on moving. Run faster still.

Hide-out. Hide-in.

Hide away so no one will…..

Notice you’re not breathing;

For you’re nothing,

But dancing bones living in skin.

K. Aldaya, 01/06/12

Picture: “Tools for Survival by xxtechnoxluvxx on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Tools-for-Survival-129480051

226. The Basement is My Home

creepy_basement_by_creature_of_habit_22-d4ezhub

The basement is my home.

It haunts me when I’m away,

And chills me to the bone.

The basement is where ‘she’ lives,

And where the ‘demon’ lives.

I’ve heard dog bark at his voice;

Though near the door will never roam.

The basement is my home.

I close doors to hideaway,

But the voices won’t leave me alone.

The basement is where ‘her’ voice,

And where the voice of horror echoes;

Whispering: “I’m still here…..hear?….

Come down to my vast catacomb!

The basement is my home,

And home to silent screams.

A dark penetrating moan,

And horrid silence….a silent drone.

Frozen with fear: dead-inside,

I forever roam…..

A world of endless doors,

All leading to my basement home.

One day I’ll have to return home,

Chained for all time,

Afraid and alone.

K. Aldaya, 01/03/12

Picture: “Creepy Basement” by DevilishInk on Deviant Art; http://devilishink.deviantart.com/art/Creepy-Basement-267035411

225. Doll Face

broken_doll_by_ikanji-d5ti7sf

Doll face.

Pretty doll.

Cute face.

Crawl….crawl.

Dirty face.

Bawl…and bawl.

Smudged face,

At night’s fall.

Shadow face.

Cringe and bawl.

Wet face,

‘scape the maul!!!

Cracked face.

Lost eyeball.

Doll face.

Broken doll.

Ugly face.

Appall! Appall!

Bloody face.

Masks may wall,

From disgrace.

Clown-face?

Can you recall?

The former beauty of your souls’ broke-face?

K. Aldaya, 12/27/11

Picture: “Broken Doll” by iKanji on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Broken-Doll-351889647

223. Chaotic

River Tam

I want to know.

I  have to know.

I need to know everything.

I will fight and ne’er will rest,

Until I know and sing:….

You cannot get away with it,

For I know everything!

I don’t want to know.

I just cannot know.

I don’t want to know a thing.

I will hide and e’er will rest,

Pretending not to know a thing.

Nothing happened. Not a thing.

No…..Not anything.

Open your eyes and see.

Close your eyes and flee.

I want to cling…I must know,…

No! Not know!

………..All I want is to bring,

Order to the chaos,…. in everything!

K. Aldaya, 12/23/11

Picture: from Serenity: Summer Glau as River Tam; http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xfHjU-Pwxbg/TbLcAMwH0DI/AAAAAAAAAS8/eXpoGAIw8f0/s320/River%2BTam.jpg

222. An Illusion

amour_de_pierrot

Eyes used to the darkness,

Are blinded by the light.

Mouths used to cold,

Will find the hot a painful plight.

Ears used to shrill tones,

Still hear ringing in dead-night.

Noses used to smelling death.

Smell with no corpse in sight.

Hands used to feeling pain,

Will cringe feeling soft, despite.

Souls used to unhappiness,

View happiness an illusions’ invite.

K. Aldaya, 12/20/11

Picture:  “L’amour De Pierrot”, Artist Unknown; http://www.blacksunsoftware.com/pics/illusion/amour_de_pierrot.jpg

221. O’ Pretty Little Thing

4655914640_888667c445_o

O’ What a pretty little thing.

How do you not, now know?

That you are here to bare your self;

Naked. Soul-aglow.

Porcelain skin and glazed, glassy eyes,

Gaze a world of whips; chains.

Hands are icy-cold, stone’lly things;

This you’ll learn in pains.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Dance and spin ’round for me.

For I am master. You the slave.

Ah, dream of what will never be!

Only the sweeter to taste….touch….

When lips meet each new crack.

My doll you steadily break way,

To each piercing whack.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My favorite little toy.

Stop escaping from our play times,

And in pain find joy.

Soon, my dear, you’ll be so ugly,

From all your hopeless dreams,

That I will have to leave you ‘lone,

To drown in your screams.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My broken little doll.

Savor the torment and the care,

Damaged toy so small,

For that is what you were made for;

To give pleasure to us.

To play and cry blood-tears for us,

And ne’er make a fuss.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Black-fractured porcelain doll.

Now I must leave you,

(Didn’t listen….so freed you)

To hang by the neck on my wall.

You could have accepted your place,

But you had to dream more.

Now you’ll be broken forever.

Toy doll turned a criminal and whore!

K. Aldaya, 12/15/11

Picture:  Artist Unknown; (Some writing in corner but can’t make it out?) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4029/4655914640_888667c445_o.jpg

218. Faceless Foe

229308__shadow-man-hands-silhouette-drops-glass_t

Today I’d really like to know,

How does one face a faceless foe?

Where can I go?

What can I do?

When past is behind, and although,

I know it’s there (fleeing to-and-fro).

How can one view,

In the dark, black and blue?

K. Aldaya, 06/20/11

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://images.forwallpaper.com/files/thumbs/list/22/229308__shadow-man-hands-silhouette-drops-glass_t.jpg