"Fractured:Mind" Chapter's One & Two.

CHAPTER 1: You Don't See Me



You Don't See Me....


When it all started, the sky was a bright blue with fluffy clouds morphing into our darkest secrets, and the day it ended there wasn't a sign the rain would ever stop. I stood drenched from head to toe in the shame and guilt I carried for years, watching it trickle down into the drains with all my happiness reflecting in the blood splattered brick wall. It's become a choir to close my eyes at night and drift into a pathetic excuse for sleep, subjecting my subconscious to horrific dreams of a reality not unlike the waking world. I can no longer understand the origins of all the memories I buried in your backyard with my bare hands, as they have now been uprooted and placed back on my windowsill, the stench of the decay filling my room making it hard to breathe. My life has never been strait forward, and I have done my best to make it all as vague as possible to get a better grasp on the full spectrum of it all. My blood is deluded with all the mind altering chemicals, my bones brittle and turned to ash. There was something slathered on the wall assuring me that it would all be brought to me in the form of another body with the capability of understanding my metaphoric confessionals. But upon further investigation it was revealed as nothing more than another rouse. Between the lines it spelled the infinite isolation I was to be subjected to, the warming embrace of secure arms that would never be able to touch my laceration covered skin. The hints all lead me down to a nothing more than a misunderstanding, a large pile of disappointment used as a public inside joke, the source of the glares of strangers all laughing at my despair. My sounds ave never been heard. My words have never been read or comprehended. My life's work was meaningless in the end. The doctors assured me I wasn't alone, sitting in the recycled air listening to stories of others who splattered lies on the carpet with their trembling words. In the backseat I watched as the world passed through the glass, blurring and diving deeper into the open mouth with jagged teeth. Pages of scripture fly through the air carelessly, covered in the blood of those who died for or from the words printed on them, they are swept and burned in the fires that spread through the tops of the trees in the dead of night, I'm strapped to the roots. A product of this medicated nation, I am but a causality in the war on consciousness. You scratch your head and try to figure out the meaning of this all, to blind to see what it says between the lines, where it is spelled out as clear as day. I can't live in black in white, nor can I live in this technicolor picture painted by your standards. So I make it as obscure as I can so that you might have to use your mind to solve the puzzle, and see what I am trying to say. The real sadness lies in the fact it will all be misunderstood or not even attempted at all, thus staying a mess of words with no meaning because the reader chooses to leave them with none when in fact this text is rich with hidden messages and truths and the most intimate pictures of my soul at this moment in the infinite spectrum of time.

Chapter 2: Unspoken


Unspoken


It comes in waves, the few sensibly recognizable moments. But the dance in, gracefully, moving with pure elegance and passion. Euphoric impulses tells you to grasp this for as long as you can, this vision of perfect and absolute beauty. The blood is flowing pretty fast from the metaphorical physical reflection you've created. It spills onto the carpet and spreads to the linoleum. It pools and begins to drip up the walls around you, mirrors in broken fragments showing every aspect of what you perceive as reality. Shards of glass slam to the ground, splashing blood onto you're pressed white suit. Soon the walls are within but inches away from you, enclosing you as the blood fills in the gaps of the broken reflections. You blink, and it it's all over. It had happened it just that moment, when you're mind could register that it is only a moment, lost forever in a decaying memory. You try to understand those who've broken free from the walls, captured the moment and turned into a life. You try to fathom if that notion is even a possibility, slathered in doubt. You become obsessed with the idea of happiness, wondering if it's just a chemical reaction that happens from chemical receptors in your brain. A mental defect, you swim deeper into the understanding pain. You find yourself standing in a filthy florescent soaked bathroom, shirtless and large lacerations on your chest and bottom forearms. Your vision goes blurred to a point of blackness, and you return to the womb. To where the was no emotion. No pain. It was just existing for the sake of existence. You fall into contentment for a short period of time. Your frantic mind is at ease. You are at one with your self and the universe surrounding you, understanding the connections of the shared realities to the one you have been selected, created, doomed to inhabit. You open your eyes and you are sitting in your living room. The light is on, the couch is covered with a blanket. There are stains all over the floor. The black lights in the bedroom remain on, as does the humming computer. The dishes have piled up in the kitchen. You look at the pile of letters on the floor. The light bill, $277.54. Rent - $475 = $100 (for late fee). Cell phone bill - $ 40. And all you can think about is if the milk is expired. You begin to understand life from a different perspective. But the faults lie in the inability to comprehend how to fulfill the responsibilities that come with certain cherished lifestyles. The answers have to be solved, every thing in life is a piece to the puzzle. You fear that your passion, your vision of beauty, will go unnoticed. All the work and dedication you put into your craft will be unseen and thus will never existed but within your own reality, once that given lifespan ends so does the reality, and so does that one thing you wanted to share with the world. You know the lights are going to get shut off any day so you lock the doors and eat all the canned food and raw lunch meat, laying in your dark room surrounded by you're personality, your soul, scraping resin and watching b-rated horror movies and anime on your computer, in fear the entire time. Living in that constant thought of if I leave this house I could come back in to no power. So you don't leave. You don't check the mail. You don't even open the door. You stay in your room. You wait. Wait to understand how to fix all the mistakes you've made. Wondering if the mistakes you've made reflect you as a person, rendering you a failure, a person who will go nowhere because they can not do anything right. And it scares the shit out of you. Because you have so much you want to share, so much you want to do, to see, to experience, to hear, to feel, to understand. So why do you see your self laying in a motel bathroom laying dead from a massive drug overdoes? Why when every time you look at your arms all you can see in a fine line with a red pearl trailing down to the wrist into the palm? In the back of your mind you know that you still have so much time. You tell your self to be patient. That it will all come together. That person you aspire to be exists within your mind, the key is to bring them to reality. But you know it all withers away. You've seen love and let it consume you, you saw it decompose and disintegrate into a thick full body pain. You've held people close just to know that you'd never hold them again, because they always leave. It makes you wonder if you don't matter. That's why you always wind up isolated, disconnected from the world, void of compassion felt about you as person through another set of eyes, that assure that you are amazing, you are beautiful, you do mean something, you are real.You wonder if a word you wrote was read. If any of it made any sense. Then you remember the point of it all, you want that moment to last a lifetime. That moment of clarity. You want to know that it works. It's real. These aren't just images on television screens, they exist. You destroy yourself out of fear that you are wrong. The poison runs through you and you openly accept more. You want to hide from that fear, never facing it dead on for the fact it will consume you to the bone. But then those moments of clarity slip past in a blink of an eye and you remember you have to keep going. You smile as a tear runs down your face and you light a cigarette. You take a drag and slowly exhale the smoke, watching it float into the air.