Chthonius

The gun was cold, and seemed very heavy in his inexperienced hands. He didn't know how to sight it, but he wouldn't have to, and he only had a handful of bullets, but he wouldn't need more than one.

The gun had no trigger guard, a small safety that he kept on during the short walk from the gun-shop to his car. He carelessly slung the crinkled brown-paper bag containing the gun and bullets into his passenger seat, and drove off morosely, his car leaving a trail of sooty exhaust floating in the chill December air.

Arriving home, he took the gun, and carefully loaded it. It could fit six bullets in its revolving chamber, but he only loaded two. He went into his kitchen with it and left it on the table. The man half-filled a pot with water from the rust-stained and sputtering tap in his cramped and dimly-lit kitchen, and put it over the cycloptic flame of his gas stove before going into the bathroom to clean up.

Looking into the cracked mirror mirror, the man took stock of himself. He felt slightly proud. He had made his decision yesterday, and today he was following through with it. He wasn't going to back out. He carefully, and almost ceremonially, shaved himself clean, removing uncountable days accumulation of unkempt beard. He looked into the mirror once more, meeting his own eyes warily, and then ever so slowly leaning in and gazing deeply into his own eyes, reading them... absorbing them... trying to understand himself. After several minutes, however, he shook himself and pulled back from the mirror. He wiped his hands on the towel hanging by the sink one last time, and then turned and left the bathroom, offhandedly flicking the lights off as he went.

Returning to the kitchen, the man removed spaghetti from a cabinet under the sink, and added it to the merrily bubbling pot. Reaching into the small refridgerator, he withdrew a bottle of red wine that had obviously been opened and reclosed more than once before, and which contained only a glass's worth of wine and poured it into an elegantly fluted crystal wine-glass. He left the wine bottle on the counter, and sipped at his glass of wine while the pasta cooked; when the spaghetti was cooked, he strained the water out, and served himself a small portion of the huge mass of spaghetti on an ancient-looking, cracked, blue china-plate. He sat and stared at his plate in confusion for a moment, and then laughed maniacally for a moment before - while wiping tears of laughter from his eyes - he stood and got a can of alredo pasta-sauce from the same cabinet from which he removed the spaghetti. He scooped out quite a lot onto his small mound of spaghetti, grabbed a fork from a drawer to the left of the stove, and then sat down.

He ate the spaghetti. He savoured each bite; enjoying the food, and taking his time. After he had eaten the spaghetti he carefully wiped his mouth on a red handkerchief he produced from his pants pocket, and then took a sip of his wine. He lifted the wine-glass with both hands, and stared at it. It was just over half-filled, despite all the sips he had taken from it. The man gazed at the wine for only a minute before his desire got the better of him, and he began gulping it down, draining the glass in four large swallows.

He set the glass down, his hands now shaking. He looked at the table. His plate sat empty, as now did his wineglass. His gun sat loaded.

He picked up the gun, and put the muzzle of it into his mouth. He could taste the iron and oil on his tongue. He could feel his teeth chattering against the barrel. He moved the gun a little so that it was pointed where he wanted it, and then, after a quite enjoyable dinner, Joseph shot large parts of his brain and skull all over his kitchen wall.



Inner turmoil.
A sea of burning unrest.
I scream into the looming darkness.
I hate confusion.
I wander, lost.
I need help, but won't accept it.
All within me bursts and shouts,
"I am here, see me, love me, hate me, want me!"
Silence beckons with icy fingers.
Conscious unconciousness.
I seem to awaken to myself.
I see no path before me.
I smash and break all barriers.
I run in fear.
My sorrows I tie to a helium balloon.
I go on, unburdened for the moment.
I weave, dodge, and pass by all.
Stars.
Points of light dance and mock me.
I curse them, and all others.
And still Silence beckons.
I whimper and grunt,
"I will not be taken so easily."
I cry, and hate, and curl into a ball.
I trap my fear, hatred, and loss.
I put them in a stone box.
I heave them into the ocean and run.
Still running.
Running without thought until,
If all is well, why am I running?
All is not well.
They have caught me again.
They always do, and always will.
I fight them off, and run.
I beat them back, and hide.
I cannot hide forever.
They will find me again.
Silence renews his taunting gesture.
I see, and am finally quiet.
I sleep.



Sometimes,
I just want to scream,
And through that scream,
Let everything that is bothering me out.
But I can't...
I can't bring myself,
To expose my frustration,
Anger, Pain, Despair,
Loss, Infirmity,
And Unwellness,
To the world.
I can't do that.
But I need to.
I hold my emotions inside,
Deep within where they fester,
And poison my mind.
Thoughts I do not want appear,
Surfacing on this lake of filth,
Taunting me, laughing at my pain.
They float for a bit,
And then,
They sink;
Oncemore confined to the depths.
I lock them away,
Or draw them,
But they remain hidden either way.

When I do let them out it hurts,
A sharp pain as of an atrophied muscle.
And, just as the atrophied muscle,
The emotional weight overwhelms me.
I sink into the pool...
Drowning, choking, struggling,
Screaming bubbles of incoherence.
All that I am,
Lost.
Lost in the depths of my own emotions.
Lost in filth so dense no light of hope,
No beacon of help,
Can enter.
My emotions hurt me freely,
For I am trapped with them.
I am broken.
They push me far,
To the edge of all,
And watch mercilessly as I teeter.
Hope breaks through and pulls me back,
To safety,
To another repetition.
Hope can only pull me from the edge,
And then must stand and watch,
As I decide.
I decide.
I am pulled up from the pool.
The light shines upon me,
But I still see through lenses of emotion,
And even hope abandons me.

I lie motionless on the shore.
Another descent has been survived,
And no phsyical wound denotes my suffering;
Denial is quick-footed,
And comforts me.
"All pains pass eventually."
I mutely comply,
As he leads me,
Tenderly, Stumblingly,
To dreams of happiness.

-----

I suppose this should be a fair way to introduce myself, eh? You can find these at chthonius.deviantart.com as well, as that's where I put poetry that I write if I think it worth it. I welcome comments and critiques.

amonkie

Wow, your variety in ideas and style is refreshing to read I hope writing is a good outlet for you to vent and release things from yourself. Your words just hit home with me.

__________________
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

divagrrrl

Wow... that is some powerful stuff. I think the only way to hold the darkness at bay is to write about it, then release it. I hope you are able to release it.

Chthonius

Since I already had the thread stared, and the forum rules agreeing, I thought I'd just add these here.



Clutching,
fearfully,
desperately,
swearing devotion,
dreading seperation,
acknowleding challenges.
Holding,
touching,
loving,
knowing loss,
hating distance,
blaming myself.

Crying out,
to God,
a god,
any god,
any goddess,
any gods or goddesses...
to all the powers...
to the universe itself.
Screaming,
venting,
raging...
"Help me,
save me,
heal me...
fix me.
Fix my life,
save me from time,
save me from distance,
but mostly...
save me from myself."

Silence.

Tears.
Unconquerable rage.
Unquenchable anguish.

The unthinkable...
saved...
by love.

Drifting
gently, softly, floating.
Lost,
adrift,
in your eyes.
Timeless...
careless...
warmth, love, and peace,
filling me,
surrounding me,
caressing me,
comforting me...
making me whole.

Your love heals,
comforts,
shields,
quiets,
talks.

Reason returns.
Love remains.
Fear hides.
Pain will return.

For now,
peace.


I beheld a shining star,
so beautiful, so pure.
Its light warmed all who looked upon it,
and made them glow.
And I,
but a shade, a shadow,
turned away,
that I would not dull its brilliance.
Now,
all I see appears dark,
and the memory of its brightness,
seems mocking, seems tempting.

------

I'm not sure what I should name the untitled one. I never have given it much thought, and always was content for it be untitled. However, if anyone has a suggestion.... well, I'd be receptive. I'm also considering changing it to "the universe herself" instead of "the universe itself" as I've always thought of the universe as feminine instead of androgynous. But that's a minor thing, and it doesn't really stand out, so I'll probably leave it the way it is, especially given that it's been a while since I wrote the poem, and I'm not sure if I feel right rewriting it now... the mood has changed, so if I changed one thing I think I'd end up changing a dozen.

Doh... I've got to learn how these forums work better. My noobie status stands out horribly when I reply to someone instead of replying to the main thread.... which is what I meant to do...

And I'm not sure how to fix it. Oh well. I'll figure it out as time goes on, but it's no big deal really, this isn't exactly of earth-shaking importance.