I am craving to write, to hear the scratching of the fountain pen against the paper where my thoughts, feelings and stories leave me, only to be imprinted forever as a different memory to that of my own.
These memories I can choose to relive or forget, to read, or watch as the paper slowly curls and turns to ash in the fireplace warming my soul…
These are the times where my thoughts are my enemies.. They say keep your friends close.. but your enemies closer.. There is no way for this to happen further, my thoughts plague me, bringing me ever so close to the darkness; it’s black fingers tracing outlines on my every neuron, enticing me to it’s irresistible realm where light no longer enters.
This is the horror I must face.
I pick up my weapon as I begin to scrawl, the battle may have just begun, but the war will always wage..
I can not win, I can only fight it.
They sit on the opposite sides of the battle field, three of them, seeking the final goal: survival.
The field, filled with spent bullets, blood, remains of bodies, vehicles and buildings.
The opponents, staring at each other, in silent protest of the battle, they know it is wrong, yet they know it is necessary.
Bloodied, bruised, and ready to retreat; each opponent plots their next move.Sweat pouring off brows, bodies aching.. Seeking that warm bed and shower, company of the loving family. But it will not be found, the bloodshed will continue.
They sit on the opposite side of the living room, three of them, seeking the final goal: victory.
The lounge filled with broken objects, remains of friendships, love, and affection. The opponents staring each other, regretting the battle that has ensued, knowing it is wrong, but necessary.
Hurt, bruised and ready to retreat into their shells; each opponent plots their next move. Sweat pouring off brows, hearts aching… seeking that warm embrace and love, the company of a happy family. But it will not be found, the heartbreak will continue.