Lost and Searching

Posts tagged “Demons

Writing to You: Ghosts of What Never Was

Do you ever spare a thought,
For the one you forgot,
Your misbegot?

Do I cross your mind,
With a thought unkind,
Or am I left behind?

But I know I do not,
For in everything I sought,
I knew it was all for naught.

Because I can see,
That it’s not me,
And we will never be.

No matter what I do,
Nor how much good I sew,
It is not enough for you.

I want to stop writing to you, or you, or even you. It’s pathetic at this point. There’s nothing but pain and sadness in the words I can give to you, for that is all you’ve given me.

I want to write to Her. I know there is something happy to write about there. Even if she turns out to be you, there will be a period of happy things to write. I expect to die alone, so I very much look forward to those brief times when you are Her, even though I die each time She becomes you.


And So He Ran

And so he ran.

First from the pain.

Then from the shame.

And then from the demons he had created. They bore the names of the women he had loved; the faces he saw when he closed his eyes at night. He ran so fast. As fast as he could. Though he could not always see them, he knew they were there. It didn’t matter how fast he ran, they were always gaining ground. Occasionally he would find someone to help him in his battle. Oftentimes they turned against him in time, joining the ranks of his demons.

And so, he continued to run. He ran as far as he could. He couldn’t stop. He knew he couldn’t get away, but he couldn’t turn to face them as he knew he should. He ran, and ran, and ran, and eventually could run no longer. He collapsed and threw his arms about himself, succumbing to them.

He didn’t bother to try and fight them off. They consumed him and threw him into darkness. They prodded and goaded, relentlessly attacking him day and night. There was no escape that he could see, so he tried to make a break for it. He pressed the knife to his wrist, but he could not break the flesh. He wasn’t strong enough to fight them off, but he wasn’t weak enough to take this new path out.

He knew he couldn’t turn to anyone for help; these demons were his own, only he could see them and only he could slay them. He laid there for what seemed an eternity, beaten and broken, trying to see a way out. After a time, a plan began to form. He didn’t know where it came from, but he seized upon it. Blind and scared, he began to crawl, edging along towards salvation.

As he crawled, he gained strength. As he progressed, he saw what could be done and began to fight back. Slowly, at first, but eventually he fought harder, driving back the demons for brief periods of respite.

A breather, finally! They were necessary but short lived. He needs to learn to fight better to vanquish them for good. It is the only way to ever move on with his life. To this end, he writes, and draws, and is learning to talk. He has found a voice he never knew he had and he is learning how to use it to help him in his fight.