TheOpossum9

A noetic masterpiece. Art, brought to fruition with a handheld on misery. But never brought to life. The occurrence was what it always has been. The handhold became an ocean trapped in a glass cage. Fragile. So very fragile to the maelstrom within. This mindful villainy.. Grown mad with fictional demons. Betrayal brought forth into a sunny day. Oh, sweet vengeance to light by way of sick poison. Kin to kind. Avenge.

Fret amid the caustic ruins of a crumbling mind. Susurrant they spoke.. Lurid, ominous whispers through rubble. If this home held substance Substance held strong through dismay. Dismayed. Scorched. A house of what was. Substance withheld within. If only this home of memories stood. Stood strong to the concurrent voices.. Forcing from every which way. The way being wrong when right is here and there. But there is worrisome in thought, And here is but an illusion of what was. Was. Was it really? If this home held memories of right, And this home of memories held right..

A child in search of a mom's loving eye. A false sense of protection in his heart. she left for him alone a shameful lie. Revoked, repulsed, destroyed a love apart. He grew, he learned, his reliance brought pain. So far from home a temporary high. No peace in words just wicked acts of shame. No voice escapes his lips only a sigh. Calloused, contrite, he lived under the sky. No home to call his own just streets and fights. He bled, he cried, his life passing him by. He saw, he climbed, he crawled into the light. So grey with age he sighed alone and wept. His birth a curse he grew so cold and slept.

Stupefy my mind with your love. Invade my being with your soul. Send me into an ethereal delirium. Dance those heavenly bodies in circles As I lose the last depths of my mind.

A little boy's trust his all he has. No strength or power in feeble arms, But love and trust in heart and soul. In a mother and father. He put his all in their hands. His all in their eyes. But fate is unkind. Life is unpleasant. his mother's eyes held no love. His father's soul held no compassion. So he grew. He grew and relied on himself. He held confidence knowing that dependence offered nothing. that reliance brought pain. So he grew.

There is a subtle power behind it. A lingering feeling in your bones of something more. Of something real. She held that power behind your eyes. Down to that very last moment. And you'll regret giving up that last kiss. You'll regret not holding her a moment longer. Because that last moment will hold an eternity.

The numbing sensation, creeping slowly through the interior of my brain. I've been torn out of my reality like a child of no age. Do I dare look around me? To all the faces packed into the crevices of a frigid hell? Am I the only one able to find the door to set me free? I've come to terms with my perspective. The touch, the desire, the lust of another is lost to me.. The warmth of a body pressed to mine, tingling skin with each slowly, softly moved touch across my burning skin like a gentle fire on a cold night, extinguished. No longer safe from the spirits within my head, a spectator of sorts to the world far below, below.. Everyone, ever

All that I will ever be is confined to frantic scribbles across half torn pages in the rain.                                                           After all, Insanity is the same thing as Damnation. This whole world is a graveyard. What are our lives? Cold drops of rain beating down on my shivering skin. This world is falling apart.. and I'm drowning with it. Is this really me, or is it someone else?                      (I don't think I know anymore.) How do I describe hope? Is there hope left for me? Let us see... I'm a crow with wounded wings Kept secret from the sky The clouds are crying.. Longing for my wings above the

All that I am is confined to the edges of this paper. An outlet for my personal torment.. Let's start things off with a little imagery, or, my form of it, shall we? Imagine something with me. A place filled with fog as far as the eye can see. All you can hear is the unsteady rhythm of your shuddering heart crush against its cage. Beneath your feet the ground is vibrating, as if it's singing a song.. a sad, sorrowful tale of a bewitchingly beautiful,ageless willow in the middle of a desolate waste. You feel the song growing louder beneath you, faster and faster, you can't see where you're going. The dense fog pervading your every sense, wit

Well, I decided to post them like this instead of doing my own personal journals. Here it goes. I don't know. What do I want to be? What can I be is more like it.. All that I am is confined to the edges of this paper. An outlet for my personal torment.. Hello, I am Sebastian Crow. this is my mind. Why can't I put my trust into people? They always let it all out, spill their guts, but I sit there like a tree. Silent and strong.. But on the inside I have bugs.. Creatures, crawling, biting, gnawing at the insides of me. I'm damaged goods. This is me failing. None of this is for me. None of it. I try and it seems like nothing ever comes out