#19

Days and weeks at a time she would leave. She would just leave, no apparent reason. All the threats of leaving, all the times she would just say these things like it meant nothing. Until after one thing, that one day, she left. She just left. I knew it was the end, I knew it was over. There was nothing else I could do until six months later.

One simple sentence

Denial. That's what it was. Absolute denial. Trying to complicate things, trying to build up these concrete walls to guard what was really a simple fact. It didn't need reminders of the past, it didn't need insecurity, it didn't need anything. Just one simple sentence. That was all that was needed.

Snippets.

I found these on my tumblr, they need to be here. They just need to be here.

#1
“maybe one day I’ll leave, I’ll disappear again like I did before” she said. Completely ignorant to this fact, he ignored this, for he had no idea what would happen in the months to come.

#2
“(8) Promise meeeeee you’ll never let me goooo!” “-lets go- XD” as much of a joke as it was. The reality of this statement only impacted him in the latter months. Causing him to realise what really went on through these inane statements.

#3
The six months wasted explains many things to him. It explains the anti-socialness. Serving as a forewarning for the future, ‘*do not take anybody for granted, else they literally will disappear’.

#4
“I’m moving to *********” “why?” “dads work… My siblings and mum agree, I’m the only one that doesn’t” That day, he may have shed a tear or two, but all that was left in his mind and heart, was hope. False hope.

#5
It was a lie covering a lie covering a lie. In total, two personas plus the real one I never knew. This has become the basis for my detest of lies.

#6
We sat on chairs in this pathetic two dimensional world. Fabricated by our own imagination. Talked for hours while the pixels were stationary. Indulging in her lies while he still remained oblivious.

#7
”-************* <3 **** has just signed in”
His heart sank again, just the two characters followed by a name brought up this familiar feeling again. After careful discussion pouring what was left of his heart out he was told that drops of water fell from her eyes. If it was a lie, he would never know.

#8
Tracking an IP wasn’t hard. It was surprising that it ended up at that country. For someone of her age to think of that is truly amazing. I couldn’t pull those pieces together, not for a long time.

#9
The triggers are everywhere. Just the mere mention of that reminds me. Two weeks ago, it was mentioned. She was a trigger, that song sometimes is a trigger. Just a reminder never to be too close because it may all be a farce.

#10
He remembers the night. He will always remember the night. The earphones embedded in his ears as three songs played constantly for the entire night. He doesn’t even remember if he slept or not, the fact that they played and played, after the ordeal was over, he couldn’t listen to them for a very long time. The nights spent until the AM, the assignments incomplete, all for a lie. A fictional construction by a human being who has an incapacity to understand the depth of what she had constructed. By a human who was easily able to throw away her relationships, by a human who could easily manipulate through a false image. By a human who has no idea what they have done to some people.

#11
He blocked her for a good month only unblocking him, for he was like a brother… One who has drifted away. It was the best thing he did, blocking her yet he thinks to this day it should have been forever to spare the pain. It taught him a lesson of ‘truth hurts’.

#12
It was all done and dusted. Six months onwards, his supposed ‘e-brother’ sent him a message via messenger and he was intrigued. After this night, he found the farce behind the farce. He found it dead straight on. An anger filled his brain to the point where he couldn’t say or do anything, he was numb. After this, thinking that maybe once it would all work out, that lies inherent in people would subside, but no. It didn’t. The lies didn’t subside as he questions himself, he questions himself always.

#13
Fast forward to now for a moment. I’m sorry, it’s not actually your fault. You just happened to be a trigger to me. Hence my feelings when that news was announced to me via a source

#14
He sat glued to the computer screen at a farm, surprised yet his heart raced with joy. His intentions weren’t fixed on her, but another… Typically it didn’t work out, for it never worked for him. Didn’t take long for him to realise this one wasn’t ever going to work… And the next… And the next. Like a cyclic structure repeating itself again and again.

#15
It ended then, it’s ended now. He is happy, the conclusion he found in himself was complete. He can now finally close that era of his life and move onwards realising there are people in the world like that, never to trust too easily and reinforcing the fact to never take anybody for granted because they can “disappear” again and again… Or even forever.

#16
A simple video uploaded to YouTube. No glimpse of her face, just a screen with a familiar green tick and a faceless avatar. ‘i don’t like her, I love her’. I’m not sure what came of that, but that laughter afterwards was the only real essence of truth that was given.

#17
Mild truths were told as we stood in another atmosphere, in another area, in a different environment. I was still clouded by the pixellation that stared me in the face. As I gobbled the lies one by one oblivious to it all.

#18
He lay in bed thinking and thinking. Almost 2 years since, the one that warped your thinking, the one who messed up your head. He thought he would get over it but obviously not.

#41

I've been looking in this bank space forever now not knowing what to write, being devoid of inspiration, not knowing what to write. I tried to write a poem, but I can't. Either my words are too revealing, or what I write is too shallow. I'm trying to find the intermediary again, but I can't find it. Maybe this time, it's all black and white, there is no point in finding the grey. I can't even finish this off properly because of how black and white it all is. I just can't.

#40

Because that's the truth, that's what it feels like. Despite it all, or whatever, that's what it feels like.

Most of the day

Almost every moment

It's beating and beating, this... Temporary euphoria.

#39

The music glistened as the familiar scrolling turned into his periphery. He started inwards, he stared into some sort of abyss, where things made sense, where things started to piece themselves together. He had the impulse to write, this sudden adrenaline to place words together in an organised fashion, he rushed and rushed for a place to put down his ever flowing thoughts, only for them all to dissipate in another familiar fashion. "Many things made sense" he said, which they did.

#38

It pulled and pulled, until the ducts began to pull themselves, pulling and pulling through and through. It stopped at the point of exposure, then it stopped pulling. Just stopped.

#37

He goes about and wastes his time again, all for a moment in which satisfaction isn't even inflicted on himself. Only to keep the image, what everybody else wants to see and hear. He speaks to himself that he has better things to do, not to waste hours and hours playing the same thing over and over again as these egotistical maniacs try to outdo each other. This stupidity, this non-existent pressure, it's useless. Fucking. Useless.

#36

The state of dizzyness, the unconsciousness, the inability to perceive embarrassment, the sickening feeling the morning, the insensitivity. All useless to him.

He's given it up.

For the better.

Oh modality, you devious fiend, playing with the minds and distorting their thoughts. You are deadly, you are filled with such infinite regress of infinite possibilities. You are sheer poison, creating hysteria and insanity in the minds of all. Why delve into such impossibilities, with its hint of possibility? Why implant falsehoods in our heads, when our paranoia can get the better of us. But the worst part of this fiend, is that it lives inside us. We play with our minds and distort our thoughts. That is the scariest part.

#34

It pounds and pounds and pounds. It throbs and throbs and throbs. This hazy train of thought deeply embedded in his head. At the worst time, the worst counterfactuals come to mind and warp his thoughts. The cartesian method used for weeks on end, he wants to escape it, and fall into concrete.

#33

Why why this self inflicted hysteria, this self inflicted dark mental hole carved out in the mind. Being so immersed within it, plunging deeper and deeper to where light can barely come through. No, this is ridiculous, it's infantile, childish and irrational. Why revel in such idiotic things, such primitive things such as these. Trying to be a bastion for rationality, a priori, when the sense experiences say otherwise. Separate yourself from primal urges, just... stopping.

#32

And again and once again. He reads the words, the phrases, the body language, the tone, yet he is wrong, so very wrong. Such thoughts, these chemicals in the brain deceive him ,deceive him so much. This usually comes beforehand, but it comes to the surface now, only now at such a pivotal time.

He has doubt. Only doubt within his mind.

#31

"The human spirit baffles me" he said during his internal monologue. "Stupidity is prevalent, yet why is it the stupidity that demotivates me when the spirit is set to inspire much more?" he pondered to himself. The pros to him clearly outweighed the cons, yet it was the cons that dragged him down the most. It was the pros that kept him awake at night, unable to sleep, yet the cons made him grind in frustration, dealing with such idiocy hurt his head. But why should he focus on them? Why should he be enraged by such childish behaviour? He should not. Yet he wonders how some people sleep at night. How they deal with what they deal with. He may never know.

#31

All I want to do is write, this is my compulsion, but there are no words, there's no words coming from my mouth. Everything written here is complete dribble, literary dribble coming from my fingertips. I'm not physically writing this, I cannot, it's too straining on my mind, it's too straining in general, to see my own hands write a sentence, a paragraph about me, about what's going on in my life, about anything. This is why I type, i'd rather have it neatly online so it's always living in the depths of cyberspace.

Words written on paper can be burned, it can be engulfed in such beautiful flames and disappear. But then there is the possibility of regret within. Regret of saving the words once written down, grieving the sentences and paragraphs. Whereas here... I don't ever have to look back. I write, I post and it just stays there, I never have to read it again. Yet I have the compulsion to do, why do I do that? I'm too intrigued by my past self? I don't know, this piece of writing is such a mess, such a large stream of my consciousness. There's always the risk that I could type something that I don't necessarily want to see myself write but it's always taken over by the repetitive pressing of the 'backspace' key.

It's been a long time since I sat down and had a nice stream of consciousness because everything i've written on this blog seems not to make much sense, to have much structure, just paragraphs full of cues that only I know, that only I can know the true meaning of. I don't ask people to interpret it, but it can't be helped that people do. This frustrates me, it annoys me, actually no it does not. See, I'm confusing, everything is confusing. This post is confusing. Again it's just literary dribble coming from my fingertips.

__

He screamed into his pillow after the exhausting voluntary confrontation. Almost a moment of suffocation that reminded him of the fact that he was alive and it did just happen. Deep heavy breaths just came one after the other while violent heart palpitations prevented him from sleep. Sleep, oh the moments of rest that were never enough for days on end, and even when he had enough it never felt like enough. He tried to remember the last time a sufficient sleep was obtained and although it was not too long ago, it felt like forever as he was trapped in this craving for rest. But it was never physical rest, it was always mental rest.

Hitting himself again and again mentally, how could he have just gone through that? How could he? How could he allow himself? It couldn't be possible could it? But it did. It did. He still hits himself now for it, thinking about it gives him uncontrollable twitches in the mouth or in the eyes as they violently blink or jibberish spilling. Within his mind is incomprehensible babble that doesn't make any sense, doesn't have any coherence whatsoever. It's still in that state for who knows how long...

#30

The stupid white light shone as he glared through the window, separating him from the world outside this mechanism. Numerous things were pondered leaving ambiguity and anguish.

__

One, time will not be an issue, inducing from past experiences it is never a problem. He prides himself as a patient person but does not know how much it will be tested.

Two, distance is incomprehensible, irrelevant. For needs can always be held back although they never concerned him in the first place.

Three, philosophical modality should never be thought of. When they reveal themselves, they can be conquered accordingly.

Four, internalised concepts will always be apart of the self. If it is impossible to deal with then that is how it will stand.

__

The light had become dull, highlighting the internal vulnerability. Conclusions never reached, conclusions never reached.

The hatred of slumber, the active mind, closing of the eyes creates a world uninhabitable. Created by sheer thought, pure desire, pure intention and brutal truth. The harboring emotions were despised and torn, bitter, twisted and overall, were hated immensely. In a moment of calm, the beating of the heart grew swifter while the urge to find the period of rest grew exponentially.

The eyes burn, the body weak, the mind active and everything else, just bleak.

#28

I hate saying it, how I loathe saying it. The uneasiness increases the closer I get to saying it. It is mere poison, it is deceptive.

----------------

Parks himself on the foot of the stairs, waves pumping through the ears while he ponders certain uncertainties. The light comes in through this transparent window and burns. Oh it burns. The door opens. Oh it's cold.

It burns, it burns. It's cold, it's cold.

#26

He had a strong compulsion, yet whenever he sat down to engage in it, the feeling fades away. The compulsion died. Swiftly.

#25

Writing writing writing. It's been my main compulsion today, not to pick up an instrument and belt out words from the bottom of my soul and notes flaming from my fingers, but to write. We can call this a snippet of a story, or we can call this 'blogging', it has structure. It does not follow like a stream of consciousness, and overall it is coherent.

Warm air contacted the cold, resulting in a mist. Footsteps, to a place in which relativity has proven to seem much longer than before. It was empty. Purely empty. Echoes of scarce voices filled the warm artificial atmosphere, primarily asking to vacate the premises and to move to another due to social protocol. Intoxicated by the haze that filled the centre of knowledge, blindly walking there.

----------------

Intermission

----------------

Laying down, the earpiece of song in one ear, unable to achieve the solemn rest so desperately wanted, as the haze poisoned and inflicted bias upon the centre of knowledge. Everything running through slowly, so very slowly, in a moment that felt like forever. Then it ended. Just ended.

#24

The longest sleep that was ever made, woken up with a rush of intense thoughts, hardly coherent and hardly sane. Preparing itself for a day of contemplation, thought and conjecture.

#23

I can never remember how many times I have glared to my left and seen the window and thought about whatever is on my mind. It's like a mirror of contemplation that turns black when the thoughts overtake me at night.

#22

He's developing old habits again. Ones that surely put him in such neurological danger, ones which inevitably caused deep scarring underneath. To go through it again was impossible, heck it was insane. Yet every action and every thought went through the cranium as he saw it as the most effective filter in weeding out any sort of irrationality that tried to get to his head. Either this filter is faulty or he's just stupid. I think the latter.

#21

Dreams haunted him, haunted him because they were things he didn't want to see, didn't want to imagine. The fight between the two raged on, with a clear winner. He just hopes the thoughts don't come back to him again, it was a low blow to attack in his sleep, an extremely low blow. Waking up with a terrible feeling. "Nice one subconscious" he said as he woke up.

#20

He was surprised, the moment he made his way to that one spot. He had to hold everything back. He had to hold back the tears, the hurt, the pain. He couldn't show it. He couldn't allow it. It was like a reaction, a sudden reaction, he had no idea it would just come up. But he hid it well, he looked at the beautiful view. He looked over the clear sky and felt the reality of life hit him again. All of this while someone who really had no idea came with him. To have such respect, makes me respect him. Truly, these qualities that inhibit human beings only come rarely, yet he possessed every inch of goodness.

Thank you.

#19

The ceiling stayed white while he reclined the chair. A deep inhale and slow exhale followed for several minutes. He then muttered words to himself and went along his way. For the views that were shared finally took its toll.

#18

One thrives on their need for people, hence the decisions currently made has adhered to their personality. Unable to describe perfection, almost everything innate would be incredibly suitable, yet lacking in the one important case.

______

One the opposite, hence the decisions currently made tries to adhere to them, yet doesn't know. Does not know. Unable to describe perfection, almost everything innate would be incredibly suitable, yet in comparison to the above this one does not lack in the important case, yet is not as suitable in other areas as above.

______

Again, walking the long way home for apparent reason, he never reaches a conclusion. For now.

#17

This simple action, this simple thing that once to him meant absolutely nothing meant so much. The deep breathing, the shock, he became stiff, he went numb. The intense rush went through him. A familiar feeling that hadn't happened for months on end.

#16

The slow walk as he basked in the ambience of the environment, again and again, the familiarity of this was immense. Staring at the screens of blue, the indication of what time was left before the departure of the entire day. Separating, on the corner of his eye, a smile glaring back at him, as they walked their respective ways, to soon join again in the near future.

#15

The sky is darker than usual. That same glow coming off the light seems either intensified or dimmed, either way I have no idea why it's either when they're complete polar opposites. The instrumental music blasting through my ears as I think into the night about stupid trivial things, existential things, well mostly existential things. Life is like that though. Here I am listening to music someone created in a studio. Did they know that someone sitting in their bed would listen to it as they thought about life and everything? Music accompanying someone as they write down their current thoughts, it's pure ecstasy. That's what I have to say for it. Trapped in a moment of time, constructed by man.

#14

All of the noise. The noise didn't stop, he pleaded for it to stop within the confines of his mind, it was just unbearable. All he wanted was for a moment of silence, to just echo through his head, and the head of a couple of others. It was like looking after a child, a gigantic child, so he learnt that the child could only be accessed in small portions, small doses, just to let his mind rest... and their minds rest.

#13

Underneath the tight exterior, the fabric breaks from the inside. The small tears are starting to show to widen up the rip. It's pathetic. It's shallow. It's sad. As he sits and writes, a subtle sadness induces itself onto him and strings him around and around. Let's watch as this all burns from the inside out. Let's watch as this all crumbles to pieces... A sad reality ahead...

#12

Four fucking four fucking four fucking four fucking four. Number four in six. Four in fucking six. Four... In... Fucking... Six. Good job.

#11

Watching the weather dictate moods as it swayed and swayed. The continuous glare from the windows gave a sense of light and dark as to how he felt. People walking to and fro, as the place slowly became empty and became filled with the silence of the atmosphere.

--

The slow image of it pouring down still is ingrained into his head while the choirs of noise reeked through the ears. The sun sat half way with the earth as he turned the key

#10

"Such a pretty house and such a pretty garden. No alarms and no surprises, No alarms and no surprises, No alarms and no surprises please" The ringing of that emotional piercing voice resonated in his head. Evoking pure ecstasy listening to this beautiful being interpret ones words as her own. For that's all he's wishing for. No alarms... and no surprises please.

#9

He asked and asked hoping for some sort of hint. Through all of it he realised how shallow, how hollow he was. It was pathetic, it was wrong, for that's going to keep him up for a while as he ponders and ponders

_____________

"YOU'RE STUPID" it yelled right at it. It found an internal struggle for selfish means. "YOU'RE A CONTRADICTION!" it yelled at it again. It's left broken, scarred and beaten. It thinks again finding itself.

#8

As a result of a question asked, he hesitated. He silently muttered his answer. Glaring away, anything to distract them from the attention towards the fact. The goblin that was screaming out of his throat finally left as it was revealed. He never spoke of it again.

#7

He delved into the past, discovering deeper and deeper the entire character, everything. From the surface in previous encounters, seemed such a shallow pool where he could stand on top on and not worry about sinking. Now a lake appeared, wondering how deep it will go, how far the lake stretched for he could never know where the end was.

#6

Again this feeling of death overcame the entire body. Sitting in bed waiting for solitude, in which it never came. For there was no real reason the feeling of death engulfed itself upon the body, it just felt that way. Dry tear ducts lay broken as water didn't excrete from the eyes, the body scurries down to find it's empty. Everything is empty. It's all empty.

#5

The plastic is the only thing that separated him from the outside world. Occasionally the doors would open refreshing the insides with its glorious air. One by one they come and go as the music pulses in his ear... Waiting to leave himself.

#4

Artificial rain falls down inside the ears of the figure as it indulges the soothing piano of a group which it holds in high regard. The figure glares at the screen with burning eyes as it soaks in the sheer melancholic atmosphere induced around it. Remnants of foodstuff live upon the desk, too lazy to pick up and discard. Flashing screen to the south as the figure slowly clicks and with the metaphorical mask on, replies swiftly to return to the artificial rain dripping into its ears.

#3

So there he goes, jumping again. Taking a leap back and forth, left to right, completely indecisive, exactly what he despises he has become. It becomes another circle. Waiting for a tangent to take off upon.

#2

The crystallised air surrounded the lamp post as it gave the exact same light as it used to for the past 18 years. Handful of times he could remember the light go out, it could have been once, could have been twice, but seldom he could see it. Grasping the bottle filled with the liquid of life he stared, reflecting on the events of the past, the present and what could possibly be called the future.

#1

The intensity of the buildings around him brought his sheer detest for the iconography that subtly built this society. Covered in metaphorical existential dribble he maintained a quick pace as he quickly dismissed this utter bullshit that surrounded him. The pulsing sound of the earphones protruded through his vision making all what was seen and heard a physical display of musicality. This clearly distracted him as he noted himself as a hypocrite.