Random Writing New and Old

[Faerd ((B'slash))]

So, I figured I'd start up a repository for my random peoms/stories I write nowadays, and those I wrote a while back. As it's taking me time to find the old ones, here's a crappy new poem I wrote. It's not even really a poem, and I rather despise it, but getting my feelings onto paper generally helps me. This started out as random ramblings, and turned into a general cascade of anger at fate and the likes, due to circumstances long past, whatwith a girl i knew for a long while (since I was about 6, really) and my almost complete fuck-up-ery of our friendship due to a panic attack when asked out, and so on and so forth. It's rather melodramatic, and I find myself wondering why I'm posting it here, but what the hell. If this is gonna be a repository of my work, I suppose I should put the bad alongside the good, if only to improve my writing.



How can I be sad about that which never happened? How can I miss that which did not exist? Your presence haunts me, as I torture myself. With “What if” and “What if” and “What if”
I work endlessly
Keeping thoughts at bay
For to think is to know you are gone

How can I be sad about that which never happened?
How can I miss that which did not exist?
You and I, my love, together forever
In the shaded grove, a kiss

I suppose I should be content with my lot in life
I have only what I make
Yet whenever I try towards that which I most desire
My heart, my dear, you break

To be with you
To hold you in my arms
To feel the soft touch of your skin

To be with you
To hold you close
The thought sustains and kills me still

Once we had a love
We were young and I a fool
I panicked
I ran
I balked

I knew not what to do
Only that I loved you
But could not find the courage to talk

We were friends in all ways
Yet in that blind daze
I panicked
Ran
And lost you

[Faerd ((B'slash))]

So. Was in a writing mood today and created this. Comments/critiques requested.



The dark sky slowly descended upon me. The relentless shaking quickly put an end to any wayward thought hell-bent on making its way into my mind. All was lost. We were doomed. Some four-eyed genius had miscalculated the route. Some microscopic particle had broken loose. Too many possibilities. We were going to die. We were doomed. My iron-clad guardians cursed and flexed and spat of their own will as they struggled towards the looming figure of salvation – life always chose life over death, no matter the futility. A red-cold film slowly fogged over the outside of my cage, and all went silent. Death, never the chosen path, had nonetheless triumphed. Down below, no one knew, no one cared. Not until death came knocking upon their doorstep, dressed garishly in flaming monstrosities and metallic razors. And the world went on.

[Faerd ((B'slash))]

A new poem here.

A Fool’s Plea
By Harry Rappaport

If I be a fool, may I make those around me joyful
If I be a fool, may my foolishness be legendary
If I be a fool, may my witticisms spout wisdom
If I be a fool, may my words bring me no harm
If I be a fool, may my antics bring you mirth
If I be a fool, may I have no enemies
If I be a fool, may I make you laugh
If I be a fool, may I be a fool
Loved by and in love with
You.

[Faerd ((B'slash))]

Another update. I hate when I think too much.

I’ve decided to stop thinking. Thinking, thinking for too long, for any time at all, it’s too painful. It brings back memories best left in the dust. Of who I was. Of who I should have been. Of a time, a place, a people, a person. Of a foolish young boy with dust on his face and a melancholy smile. Of a smile, of a face. I think, and I think back upon that fateful evening. Left alone, now. I sit and I scream wordlessly, run noisily. I ran. That’s always been my problem. I’ve run. I’m a coward, really. Leastaways, whenever it seems to matter I run. When I stand still, when I sit down, when I rest, the memories come back. It’s odd, really. When I find myself longing for a place I’ve known, a face I’ve seen, an emotion I’ve felt, I despair, but have hope. I reason that it is still within my grasp, that if I take that step, if right that wrong, all will turn out as it could have. Then I do. I realize, then, the truth. It’s not a place I long for. It’s not a person I long for. They are merely parts of the whole. I long for a time, and time? Time is always flowing forwards. And nothing, no one, can return me there. I lie to myself. We all do, really. It’s futile, really. It makes us feel better, and yet when we stop running, when we take the time to think, we find that the lies never really help. If I stop too long, I see through the deception I have created, and I am back where I began. However that would be a blessing, to be back where I began. Instead I must endlessly agonize over that which has happened. Why do I court my pain so? Do I even try to? I need to run once more. I need to do something. I can’t stop. Must move. If I stop too long, I think. If I think too long, I hurt. I can’t stop. Can’t stop… If I stop, I ask the most useless question. What if. What if I had had the courage to not break down. What if I had taken that course. What if I had not been such a fool, had not let my fear overtake me, had not run. Maybe I would not have to run once more. I torment myself with these thoughts when I stop. I can’t stop. I must keep moving. Must move on. More deception. I can’t move on. I know that now. I can’t move on and I can’t stop. If I stop I know I can’t move on. Circles within circles. If I stop I think of the face, the smile. I must keep moving. Please. Leave me alone. Don’t torment me thus. Memories. Memories. Memories. So bittersweet. Must keep moving. Must forget. Must leave the past behind. It’s impossible. It’s all fucking worthless, useless. The face, the smile. What if? What if?

[Jenny (Reffy)]

((Didn't read the others - read the latest update.
Loved it. Such confusion and despair. The thinking process. I've done some thing like this too. Just typed your thoughts. Its very powerful. I definitely got the feeling of a circle and the to-and-throw movement. The stop and start and thought. Very awesome.
I would consider spacing it out a little, make it easier for the reader to follow. Wall of text is difficult to read and pushes readers away - unless this is what you intended.))

[Faerd ((B'slash))]

Aye, sort of just was in a writing-craze at the moment, writing down whatever I thought up of. Didn't take the time to space it properly though, which I should have.

Thanks

[Jenny (Reffy)]

hehe - When the inspiration grabs you, you ought to grab it back and quickly. Which is what you did.
There is still time to space it out I'd recommend you go ready my "Musing" in here for an idea. (If not - then don't worry about it - I still enjoyed reading it )

[Faerd ((B'slash))]

Was going through my old files and came up with a few things I've written - figured I might as well put them up here. I really need to sit down and just write, instead of saying "I really need to sit down and just write, instead of saying"...


Yet Another Untitled Composition

If you think about it, we’ve always been this way. Sure, you may have a few more veins and lines (or at least more showing), and sure, my blue-velvet hat has been worn down to little more than staggering, stumbling threads clinging together in some desperate act of faith, and yet throughout it all, after every turn, we’d turn and find ourselves back where we started. You with the swimming, me with the watching you swim – the same fights, the same resolutions, the same sun and stars hiding behind the clouds of a ‘new day’. Peel back the skin, and we are all flesh and muscle and fat and bones.

Perhaps I’ve gained a bit of weight – I never was one to stint – but the scale doesn’t complain. He sits there the same as he always has, his silver-grey coat gleaming after a fresh washing, and sighs at the tribulations. If it was something new, maybe he’d be more interested - when the cat comes by, he always perks up, anxiously waiting like a teenager on his first date – but the cat doesn’t care, she’s got a date with the newspaper and the banana-peel and the grit. She doesn’t want a clean, respectable man. He’s a sweetheart, sure, but where’s the excitement? And the scale shrugs, and mopes, and grumbles his way through the day until he’s squished beneath our weight once more, ticking off the numbers. Sometimes he adds or subtracts some – it’s always fun to watch our faces change, he says, whether in joy or disappointment. But in the end, he’s left by himself to listen to the sounds and the sunlight.

If you think about it, he says, we’ve always been this way.