Throw that shade!
Cast a shadow!
We’re obviously worth it;
Because our light obviously hurts you.
We’ll keep on shining;
You keep shading.
Slicin’ n shadin’ ain’t gonna get you anywhere!
So instead find a passion;
Find something to put that energy into…
Ask me – I know,
I’ve been there before…
I’ve been the one doing the hurt,
Making people cry,
Making hearts bleed,
Letting my darkness dim shine.
I changed. So can you.
Light creates more energy;
Darkness only kills it.
This little girl has a story:
She grew up in a dark world,
But was surrounded by pinks
And soft pastel colours,
Barbie dolls and tea cup sets,
Clothes for princesses,
A tiara to top it off.
It was the perfect facade…
Pink reminded her of blood –
And pastel was the colour of happiness she hated…
Barbies were her mother,
And tea cups symbols of oppression.
Princess clothing – a mocking gesture to the world,
And a tiara – the final broken halo of goodness.
She cast her spells
(curses – that sort of thing)
And sprinkled her glitter.
(cyanide – looked like weird snow!)
She baked everyone cookies
(filled with rat poison)
and even gave her neighbours gifts!
(bombs – strong enough to damage, but not kill)
She was the sweetest girl,
She was happy too!
Can we blame her then
For living happily?
He wanders slowly through the
darkest purples of the forest.
The moon decides to hide behind
an indigo shy cloud.
The leaves beneath his feet
crunch as the filthy rats squeal and squeak.
Little fireflies chase the hidden light
as he chases his desires.
The weary wild wind invades the canopies
of slumbering life
causing an owl to shake its feathers.
He steps onward through the hanging vines,
past the cold shimmering river
shining ultraviolet in the mist of thought.
A howl of the weary wolf wakes
the night air.
He shivers slightly as his foot
is pieced by bones of an unfortunate prey.
His blood mixes with the dirt of his journey
as he slowly veers off nature’s path
right into the heart of his lover’s sight.
Little hidden boy;
Dark voice inside.
Look deeper
And beyond the eyes
Until you feel
The body
Locked away
Behind forbidden skies.
Little hidden boy,
Screaming for a ride.
Please help him out –
He’s never been outside.
Little hidden boy,
gnawing for a chance.
Give him hope –
One day he’ll share
A dance.
Little hidden boy,
Not so small anymore.
Many years in dark
Manifest monsters
After all.
The boy that is picked last for
the team is pitied;
but what about the boy that
isn’t picked but rather chosen by default?
The guy who tries but fails
is look upon and helped along…
The guy that tries and fails
and tries and fails and tries and fails
and tries isn’t even noticed.
The girl who gets her first kiss
with the help of a friend is glorified.
The girl who never even talks
to boys is never seen.
The man that tried to kill himself
is loved more for attempting to do so;
yet the poor man who succeeded
had only his aunt at his funeral.
Within every saintly soul
lies a dark demon
which will claw and gnaw
until it eventually escapes!
It will chew chips of brittle success
and manifest malignant doubts
in your perfect picture of happiness…
But as long as you know knowledge
like this you can tame this torture…
Praying will access amiable powers
which can help protect the people you love.
Even Saints have Shadows;
for if you are walking willfully in the light,
you cast a deadly darkness behind.
Silence.
It always starts with the silence.
My mind lives for the silence, my demons survive off it. Only when my surroundings are quieter than my mind, does the evil emerge. It is in the silences that my mind is given the chance to wander; the chance to devour my courage and chew on my consciousness. It is in the silences that my deepest and darkest fears emerge to the surface – like diseased slime.
It’s in these silences that I am truly myself; because only the darkness can see me, and darkness is blind. The masks I wear sink and the pretenses that I bear dissipate. It leaves me feeling exposed, naked. My only companions are the demons I have suppressed during the noise of life; but in the silence I cannot control them. They run ominously and recklessly through the hollow corridors of my consciousness. They scream and shout. Their haunted and twisted rants echo through my entire being, shaking my existence from the core.
In these moments I am paralysed as if I’m a bare seed in the black gloved hands of an omnipotent phantasm of my own creation; a beast so powerful, so dark it dare not show itself to others. Not because it is fearful, but because my darkness is most harmful to me, not others.
The only way to beat the blackness is to succumb to it; to let it take over every inch of my being. That’s the only way I can still convince myself I am in control, because I have the choice to give in. And through the darkness can I only find peace… Without the darkness there wouldn’t be hope and without hope there wouldn’t be goodness.
How then can I be blamed for my sins? It is the darkness. The black gloves of power make me do it. I have no choice.
Neither do you.
Mr Individualist 