iamthegb

[iamthegb]

I don't wanna hear the good side

Of this goodbye

If you wanna go, baby, just leave

And don't tell me that you still care

And I'll always be special

'Cause those words don't mean a damn thing

And I hate that I'm still up

Drunk as fuck

2:00 A.M., writing this damn song

But I guess I'm getting okay

At not being okay

Give it time. Maybe I can move on

You said my life was too fucked up

To be with you

But here you go to the bar 'til two

And I wanna know what he has that I don't

I was ready for the real thing

No more shame

In this life I live

'Cause I would change for you

You don't know the hope you gave to me

But I guess I'm doing okay

Just need some cocaine

And a bottle that can float my mind

Take a trip to another world

Where you would be mine

And I don't wanna hear the good side

Of this goodbye

If you wanna go, baby, just leave

Don't tell me that you still care

And I'll always be special

'Cause those words don't mean a damn thing

And I hate that I'm still up

Drunk as fuck

3:00 A.M., writing this damn song

But I guess I'm pretty okay

At not being okay

Give it time, baby, I'll move on

I found a couple of long hairs

On the pillowcase

Where you looked over and smiled at me

But a picture ain't worth as many words as they claim

And don't tell me it's gonna be okay

I can find my own way to the door

I don't need your excuses to ease my pain

I guess it's just time to try to fix myself

And I don't wanna hear the good side

'Cause there ain't no good side

You're never gonna see what I see

Don't tell me that you still care

And you'll always be there

'Cause those words are just fucking with me

And I hate that I'm still up

Drunk as fuck

4:00 A.M., writing this damn song

But I guess I'm okay

With not being okay

Just a few more weeks, baby, I'll be gone

[iamthegb]

In the fog-drenched streets of Victorian London, the city’s shadows were filled with more than just the whispers of fear—they were alive with the resolve of a group of women who had grown tired of living in terror. By day, they were the forgotten souls of Whitechapel, forced into lives that society refused to acknowledge. By night, however, they were something else entirely: The Scarlet Sisters, a band of vigilante prostitutes determined to bring an end to Jack the Ripper’s reign of terror.

At the heart of the group was Eleanor “Ellie” Devereaux, a sharp-witted woman with a fiery spirit and an indomitable will. Once a governess, her fall from grace had not dulled her mind or her sense of justice. With her was Maggie O’Connell, an Irish beauty with a talent for deception, and Charlotte "Lottie" Drake, whose gentle demeanor belied her deadly skill with a blade.

The Scarlet Sisters had seen too many of their own brutally murdered by the man the papers called Jack. The police, clueless and dismissive, failed to protect them, viewing the lives of these women as expendable. But Ellie and her companions knew that they were far from powerless.

Their first step was to gather intelligence. Lottie charmed her way into the confidence of dockworkers and tavern-goers, learning of a man with a peculiar gait who seemed to vanish into thin air after the killings. Maggie used her cunning to infiltrate the upper echelons of society, posing as a maid in the homes of wealthy men who might harbor dark secrets. Ellie, the mastermind, mapped out their strategy with military precision, using her knowledge of the city’s underbelly to predict where the Ripper would strike next.

Night after night, the Scarlet Sisters prowled the alleys and backstreets, laying traps and following leads. They became as much a part of the night as the killer himself, yet always one step behind. Until one evening, when Maggie returned with news that chilled them all: A wealthy doctor had been seen lingering near the site of the last murder, a man known for his skill with a scalpel.

Ellie knew the time had come. Disguised as a helpless streetwalker, she positioned herself in the path of this so-called gentleman. The fog was thick, the streets empty. When the man approached, his eyes glinting with the anticipation of another kill, Ellie’s heart pounded not with fear, but with righteous fury.

As he reached out, Ellie’s hand moved faster than a striking viper, and the blade she had hidden in her sleeve found its mark. The man staggered back, stunned, but before he could react, Lottie and Maggie emerged from the shadows, pinning him to the ground.

The man laughed—a cold, eerie sound that echoed in the narrow alley. “You think you’ve won?” he sneered. “The city will never believe the word of whores over mine.”

But Ellie leaned close, her voice a whisper of steel. “They don’t need to. You’re going to disappear, just like the women you killed. Only, no one will miss you.”

That night, the fog swallowed more than just the last breath of a murderer. It swallowed the terror that had gripped Whitechapel. The Scarlet Sisters left the body where it would never be found, and by morning, they were just three more faces in the crowd, eyes tired but triumphant.

And as the weeks passed and the killings ceased, the city whispered of Jack the Ripper no more. But in the quiet corners of Whitechapel, among the women who walked the streets with heads held a little higher, the Scarlet Sisters were spoken of in reverent tones—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there were those who would fight back, and win.

[iamthegb]

I love you so much

[iamthegb]

As I sit here now, watching the cigarette smoke slowly, lazily swirl upwards, I wonder why I even write this. It's not as if you will believe me. No one would. I wouldn't believe me either, were I not the one living in this hellish, endless nightmare. But I just have to get it out. I have to tell someone. Anyone.

I saw him again last night. The man at the bottom of the stairs. Just as I have seen him every night for the last year. Just as I know I will see him again tonight. Once again, he looked right at me. Me, sitting at the top of the staircase, smoking a cigarette. He, standing at the bottom. I didn't bother trying to speak to him. It wouldn't do any good. He never answers. I don't remember when I stopped trying to communicate with him, this man at the bottom of the stairs. This shadowy figure who is there, yet is not there at all. This man who looks exactly like me, but is nothing like me. How could he be me? I am me. But when I see him, it's like looking in a mirror, yet, having a stranger staring back at you from the other side of the glass.

I'm sorry, I've gotten ahead of myself. Perhaps I should start from the beginning.

It was August of last year when I moved into my little townhouse. I was in the middle of a divorce, and needed a place to live, preferably on the lower end of the economic spectrum. In the end she got everything, the house, the furniture, all of our friends. I was left with only my car, and my clothes. But, none of that is important. What is important is I was able to find my current home, in its typical middle class neighborhood, for the very reasonable sum of $500 a month. I say reasonable, but in truth it was an absolute bargain, considering everything around it was at least double that price, if not more. I had to jump on the opportunity.

The townhouse itself is nothing overly spectacular. But it is clean, and cozy, and furnished. I've never actually met my landlord. Everything was handled by phone, and the payments are all made via an online system. The day I moved in, I arrived to find the key in the lock, with a note taped to the door, apologizing for not being there in person, and explaining that another tenant had a water pipe burst, and he had to tend to that, as it was, after all, an emergency. I am fairly introverted myself, so it suited me just fine.

For the first month of living there, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I would go to work, come home, order takeout, watch a bit of television, and go off to bed. Then, one night, I began to hear noises. The stairs creaking. I brushed it off as nothing more than the house settling. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

The next night, I again heard the creaking on the stairs, only this time, it was followed by what sounded like the kitchen sink running. I quickly lept out bed, and ran downstairs to investigate, but there was nothing. All the lights were off. There was no water running in the kitchen. Everything was absolutely still and quiet. I chalked it up to an over active imagination, and sauntered back up the stairs to bed.

The following night, I once again heard the creaking coming from the stairs. This time however, it was followed by the faint sound of the television, and a man's quiet laughter. I again hurried down the stairs to the living room to find... absolutely nothing at all. I began to wonder if I was going mad. Perhaps I needed some human contact outside of the courteous, forced good mornings from my co-workers, whom I had never really been overly social with.

The next evening, I decided to stop off at a bar after work. Maybe I just needed to be around people. I had a few drinks, listened to the music, and watched the people. I didn't really interact much. As I said before, I am rather introverted.

I arrived home around ten at night. As I opened the front door, I saw him for the first time. He was sitting at the top of the stairs, smoking a cigarette. He seemed both surprised and not surprised to see me, as I was too see him. His hand shook a bit as he raised the cigarette to his lips. I shouted at him, but he only continued to stare at me with that mix of frustration and slight panic in his eyes. He appeared to be writing something.

It was the same the next night. And the following. And every night, including this night. Just sitting, and smoking, and writing, and silently staring. He closes the door, this man who looks like me, but isn't me.

And he is gone.

I am gone.

[iamthegb]

What do you look like in my eyes?

How do I see you?

I see a desert sunset. A sky painted with reds, blues, orange, and purples of beautiful perfection.

I see the clearest midnight. Stars shining brightly against a blackened sky. The light guiding me through the eternal darkness.

I see the roiling passion of a raging sea. Sucking, and pulling me into the embrace of her heaving waves.

I see a rainbow after a storm. The promise of a better tomorrow. An end to destruction.

I see the peaceful silence of a snow covered wood in deepest winter. That hush I dare not disturb with crunch of snow, or snap of twig, or quietest whisper.

I see a meadow in spring, covered as far as human eye can see with blossoming wildflowers, and teeming with new life.

I see a cozy fireplace. That lif preserving warmth which keeps at bay the cold and lightless void.

I see raw magic, and the deepest mysteries revealed in ancient tongues, long since forgotten by men.

I see the ever expanding cosmos whirling around me as I rapidly plunge headlong, forwards or backwards, through time and space, too fast for me to comprehend. Yet, I know every speck, every particle, every atom intimately.

I see the hand of God working perfection into every flawless curve, every delicate hair. The bluest of eyes, which have gazed with loving understanding at my soul laid bare, naked and vulnerable.

I see eternity.

I see Forever.

I see home.

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

Well...

now that spotify wrapped is here, tell me your 3rd, 6rd and 9th songs in the tags

[iamthegb]

I'm glad you're finally getting proper treatment. Hopefully you feel much better soon

[iamthegb]

My Dearest Beloved,

It is with great excitement I write to you today. My life has improved, due to the following bizarre happenings detailed below.

Professionally, I have left civilized society in order to hunt the beasts which lurk in the deep woods. This has greatly improved my life, and health. My family is missing, and it is my greatest hope your family is still detectable on this physical plane. Physically, I am in dire need of larger spears with which to fight the hogbeasts.

I am greatly saddened by your long absence, and I pray to embrace you again very soon.

With all my love forever,

Your Eternal Servant

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

Happy Thanksgiving!

[iamthegb]

Thirty-three years. Thirty-three years is how long it took me to find something I didn't know was missing. Until the day I found it. Found you. Found forever. A year of pain, and joy, and tears, and laughter. And now it's thirty-four. Thirty-five will be better. Thirty-six, better still. On and on and on through the ages. Eternity. Forever. I'm glad you made it out of the void.

[iamthegb]

The more you know

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul

And so, they are

But not like you think

So many times have I been lost in her eyes

In them I have discovered oceans of emotion

Sadness so deep, you could drown in it

Joy so profound, it will make you soar to the very heights of heaven

But most of all, I have seen love

A love which cannot be explained by any tongue of men or gods or devils

A love which threatens to consume and burn away all that you are with its heat

But its flames are so warm, like a fireplace at home

Home

The eyes are indeed a window into the soul

But not hers

When I get lost in those deep blue eyes

The reflection screams so loudly, in the softest, gentlest, whisper

MINE

mine

Always

Forever

Mine