Posted in Completely Random!!

two options

there is a feeling that can only be explained by two options:

i want to die.

or i’m tired.


Posted in Writing, Writing Bits

sit and listen

to the rain of the night

as it taps gently on the windows,

asking allowance into your comfortable abode.

sit and listen to the sounds

from the businessman splashing his way home,

to the farmer praising the sky,

to the poor man shivering by a pail of dripped water,

to the slipping of the earth as it crumbles down to the abyss.

sit and listen to the pain;

sit and listen to the peace;

sit and listen to life.

just sit. just listen. just live.

Posted in Writing, Writing Bits

Ride Any High, Swing on the Lows, Bring on the Blows

There was a flashing light that he looked forward to seeing any day, whether it was playing music, skateboarding, gaming, dancing — whatever it was, the light would flash in and out, a smile, a delighted laugh, a skillful stroke that painted art and created and redid whatever it touched.

You can think back to it now, and you know it was beautiful, which makes today worse when you look at what remains: the broken shell of someone who still holds the power for so many things if she only knew how to live, if there was just a manual to help someone who used to find joy in everything but now breaks off in conversations to stare at something like she’s thinking, ‘maybe it’s a mistake for me to be here or anywhere anymore’; at which you try to distract her but at the end of another day you can’t help but wonder if she’ll be able to hang on until the next time.

I forgot how much music would express anyone in the right hands, and her music is screaming, so how can anyone doubt the endless void she plays her soul hoarse into, how can someone doubt a darkness that cups its hands over the listener’s ears and still only conveys a fraction of what she’s been battling against day after day after day?

When he asks what she’ll do, she mocks herself for not finishing her work; you know she might be mocking herself for not finishing herself every day she has the chance.

But someday that darkness begins to be pierced, if it begins with the smallest light of a star. It can be gradual. It will get to the point where music becomes a joy again, not a necessity to say something at last. Let her hold on.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Hehe, Short Stories, Writing

My Classmate in the Green Bus

There’s a kid in my class who comes to school in a bus all by himself. It’s not a school bus, either — it’s just a big old green bus that drops him off right in front of the school. And the driver never acknowledges him, even though I’ve seen my classmate wave goodbye to the man plenty of times.

Everyone was scared to ask why he came in a bus by himself, or who he really was, or who the strangely rude driver was, or why he walked home after school instead of being picked up by someone. We would just comment about it when he wasn’t around, or act like we never saw anything, or like it was completely normal. Even when he made a scene of running off the bus with a terrified yell one day, none of us ever mentioned it.

He didn’t do it again.

I don’t know what prompted me to bring it up today. Maybe it’s because it’s almost the last of school, and I knew most of us wouldn’t see each other again after tomorrow; or maybe curiosity finally got the better of me and decided on its own that it wanted some kind of answer. Whatever the reason, I caught up to him as we were getting ready to leave in the hallway and I finally brought it up: why doesn’t the bus ever pick him up? Why does he come to school in a bus anyway?

He just looked at me for a second, so I began to wonder if it had been a mistake to ask after all, until he finally shrugged and answered with one word.

I haven’t seen him since that day. He didn’t show up for the final day of school, and I never heard of or from him since. It’s still haunting me now though — him and his green bus and his bizarre reply. I think about it a lot late at night when I can’t fall asleep. Sometimes I think it’s going to drive me crazy…

What does ‘genetics’ have to do with coming to school every day on a green bus??

I was going to make this serious but then my brain told me no and my heart also told me no so here we have a masterpiece.

Posted in Completely Random!!

take #2

flashback to a couple years ago when I still believed in proper capitalisation and punctuation. those were wild times.

flashback to a couple years ago when I was going through this exact same process and handled it in almost the exact same way. fast forward to now and we’re doing maybe a bit better, just with a little less edgi-ness maybe and more violence and physical pain in other ways. oof.

who knows what this is anymore — a rant and a way to voluntarily give more information to a world who does and really honestly does not care. honestly, who cares if your life is screwed over anymore. does it make a difference if we’re all still asleep?

it would be so nice to just yeet out of here, but also today there was this thought that was mindblowing: what if there really is a God out there who can fulfill these broken humans’ needs, who can be everything they ever wanted or needed or could even imagine they would need. just what if.

what if.

Posted in Completely Random!!

in the minds of us who feel alone,

maybe the outside has to look like the inside for it to count,

or maybe the things get less real if you flip them inside out.

maybe metal explains us better than words or tears ever could,

or maybe it was meant to be burning us all along.

maybe this game isn’t worth playing, and we’re all just faking it after all.

maybe it’s a war not worth winning,

because maybe all we can ever do is lose.

Posted in Completely Random!!

life-ing (and writing)

Here’s a fun fact people will hardly ever tell you about life, or writing, or pretty much anything else:

we can all act like we know everything, but no one knows what we’re doing. No one knows if we’re doing it right.

We just do it. If it works for you, it works for you.

There are ways that generally work better for the majority of people than others.

(but we’re all fakin’ it. we have no idea what we’re doing.)

Posted in Sleepless Nights, Writing, Writing Bits

All Her Tears Be Washed Away

when i go don’t cry for me

in my Father’s arms i’ll be

How many years it’s been now, it doesn’t really matter; time becomes irrelevant and each day morphs into the next dreary day of sitting, existing, a drag of moving forward. Wake up in pain, move out to the living room in exhaustion, pain, weariness, pain, pain, numb pain and yet the sharpest kind.

They call life a battle or a war — in these cases, the terms hardly seem to apply when it only feels like you’re being trampled down with each wave that you can never truly fight against. Helpless. The word comes to mind more than once. Helpless to fight for a loved one, only waiting, loving, praying it can turn out differently.

the wounds this world left on my soul

will all be healed and i’ll be whole

An older woman — a twig, really, skin and bones after long hard days with her only source of nutrition coming from a tube for however long it’s been now — lay in the bed of a hospice, her white hair only just beginning to grow back from months of chemo, with her tired husband sleeping next to her through the night. They knew it would likely be her last. She was off support. The pain was greater than ever. Oh, God, take it away.

The room was so dark. The softest bed could not have made this comfortable in any way. It was so alone in this room despite the fact that there were two — no, three people. One lurked in the corner, a dark shadowy figure, watching and waiting as the pain continued to throb in her entire body, and she knew it was coming for her very soon even as her eyes began to slowly close.

sun and moon will be replaced with the light of Jesus’ face

and i will not be ashamed, for my Saviour knows my name

As the dark figure hovered through the black room toward her, her eyes opened again as she felt something else; not the dark presence, but something that could only feel like music. Soft music. Familiar music like she may as well have heard it all her life, but only just remembered it now as she heard someone call her name in the most loving, most awesome, most indescribable voice she had ever known: ‘Sarah!’

The dark figure lurched for her. A strong gentle hand pulled her up in a loving embrace just before it reached her.

it don’t matter where you bury me

i’ll be home and i’ll be free

A few hours later, her husband awoke and made the call first to their three grown children, and then the rest of the family, friends…

Sarah was with her Father.

it don’t matter anywhere i lay

all my tears be washed away . . .

lyrics from Ane Brun’s ‘All My Tears.’

love you auntie Sarah. You made a huge impact on the lives of everyone around you. Jealous of you, but also happy for you. Say hi to everyone for us.