secretsandsimpletorment

[secretsandsimpletorment]

When You Start to Feel Alive Again

When you start to feel alive again, you finally

start to breathe, to think, to love. And it's raw, it's

emotion, it's growth - and with growth comes growing

pains, but they don't ache quite so badly anymore.

For the first time in a long time, sunrises make

you smile, and you start to appreciate the world,

even with all its dead ends and grey skies and

sad people. Because even when there's

thunder and lighting and wind, you know the grass

will be a little greener and the air will smell a little sweeter

after the storm. And you realize there is good in the world,

too, and that people are kind, just a bit misguided sometimes,

and everyone's hurting, just like you, so no one

is ever truly alone - you realize you are never truly alone.

When you start to feel alive again, you finally understand that

the world isn't all that bad at all - really, it's amazing.

And the world made you, so by all logic,

you must be pretty damn amazing too.

- June 15, 2021

[secretsandsimpletorment]

Over and Over and Over

The muffled noise of feet on the floor, thump, thump, thump—

the very same sound a fist makes as it

slams into the punching bag,

over and over and over.

Rhythmic, like music, pounding, muscles screaming, but

there is always

need

for more.

Knuckles bleed, skin split and burning and—

then it’s over. When I can only feel the new pain

and I can’t feel Her anymore.

Over and over and over, until that bag

turns into concrete and brick walls, and

the scabs on my fingers haven’t closed in weeks, and

it hurts less

every time— so I have to hit harder,

hit more,

throw my arms and my body into clearing Her

from my head.

But there She is, right in front of me, always

front and center in my

mind—

and I don’t care at first, because

She was always welcome there, but then

I have to remind myself,

over and over and over,

that I hate Her, and She is not mine anymore, and

She never will be

again.

And so I make new scabs on my knuckles.

The skin on my hands disappears

as the thoughts of Her are pushed away,

because all I can focus on

is every punch,

the burning,

the pain,

over and over and over.

And when she is finally gone—

so am I.

- may 21, 2021

[secretsandsimpletorment]

Nightmares

His greatest fear was sleeping—not the sleep itself

but the drifting, split-second loss of control before

all consciousness departs and the brain takes over and

nothing else matters but the Void.

He fed off of control, because

when he was in power over his mind, there was no room for

the Thoughts, no gaps for them to worm their way

into his head

and take over.

But a moment’s lapse in control,

and they started bubbling up from inside him,

and he could never seem to cut them off or turn them away.

And he was afraid, afraid of how his mouth would blurt things

that he did not mean and of how his fingers would type

the words he could not bear to say aloud and of how he could not—

Stop.

Until it was too late, and the damage was done, and he was

completely drained.

Completely

numb.

His greatest fear was sleeping—in the fuzzy space between the Awake

and the Void,

he found his diseased mind loved to play tricks

on his heart

and his head

and his eyes—and in the time it took for

his eyelids to droop and his breathing to slow,

he writhed and screamed for someone, anyone, to

wake

me

up.

He could not bear the slipping, the falling away

from the world,

into a place where he could not tell what was real,

and what was just another bitter lie—

lies, he was tired of the lies.

His greatest fear was sleeping—and so he kept himself

in the Awake, hoping it would be enough

for him to finally keep

control.

But the Void called, closer

and closer,

and finally it stole him away,

quietly,

almost peacefully—

and the fever dreams turned into nightmares.

- May 11, 2021

[secretsandsimpletorment]

Curiosity Killed the Cat

They always told her not to leave home. Do not explore, do not run away, do not step for even a moment through the gate. It is for your own safety, they said. You do not want or need to see what is outside, they said. She was told that she was special. She was told that she needed to be preserved.

But she had a heart that longed for adventure and a soul that was always searching, trying to find something to fill her idle time and her idle hands. And the day the gate was left open by mistake, the curiosity inside her bubbled up and burst her into a thousand pieces; she had no control over her two feet, which were soon scraping against the long drive, soon crossing the threshold of the gate which had kept her trapped for so many years.

At the edge of the outside world, she turned and surveyed her own quaint house, and with its boarded windows and chained door, it appeared more like a prison than it ever had. The long-dead tree between her and the house seemed to be stretching its many arms toward her, beckoning her back inside, back to the safety she had always known - but she turned her back on that world, and opened her eyes to a new one.

She was quite disappointed. The world outside the gate was not as she had expected; faint memories of green grass and birdsong filled her head, but her eyes showed her nothing but the same dead world and thick, still air she had become accustomed to within the confines of her own fence. She stood on the edge of a long, narrow street, with identical lots and houses on either side. Some had fences similar to her own, but none quite so high; several had been reduced to merely a few jagged boards, somehow still clinging to one another with the strength of the last remaining nails.

The street continued on for as far as she could see. In the distance, taller buildings loomed, surrounded by the same grey haze that darkened the sky and made it impossible to tell where the sun was. Everything was cast with shadow. Nothing moved.

She should have turned back and locked herself in the house, never to leave again. She should have heeded the warnings she’d heard for years. But she could not resist the temptation to explore, just a little bit.

And so she started to walk.

Her footsteps echoed down the empty street, a jarring sound in the silent world. Each house was the same: grey walls, dead grass, broken concrete driveway. She soon lost track of how many she had passed; when she turned around, the street behind her looked the same as the street in front, and the street in front looked the same as the street behind. And hadn’t she been facing the other way before? There, the fence on the right she had seen that was mostly intact. But the other way... the other way, there was the same fence.

She spun around, trying to discern which direction she had been going, and which direction she had been leaving. She quite wished she was back in her own house, staring at the grey walls. But instead she stared at the grey concrete, finding herself completely and utterly lost.

Then. Then, then, then, out of the silent world, suddenly there was sound. Her mind sought for the word, something to describe what she was hearing. A faint memory wormed itself into her head - a warm fire and warm arms around her and warm music... music! It was music. And inexplicably, she could hear it, just when she found herself alone and lost. She could not be lost if there was music.

She still did not know where she was, or where she came from, but she had a direction to go and something to look for. Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her along the street in search of the music.

As she walked, the sound became louder. She did not notice as the houses on either side of her became larger, taller buildings, as the road got wider. Her feet simply continued on, following the music.

After some time, the sound abruptly cut off. Her eyes snapped open, and she took in her new surroundings. She was still in the street, but she had left the squat, humble houses behind. On every side, buildings loomed to the sky, some so tall she could not see their tops through the gloom. How peculiar, she thought, I’ve only been walking for a few moments.

Unsure what to do next, and still very lost, she stepped up to one of the shorter buildings, seemingly only one floor. She leaned against one of the filthy windows and peered inside. Tall, dark shelves lined the room, filled with rectangular objects packed tightly together. There was a word for these, too, but she could not remember what it was.

She stepped back. There was a sign beside the window. It had likely once been painted, but like everything else, it had faded to the same blank grey. As she was examining the sign, the music suddenly started up again, coming from within the building.

She was already halfway inside before she even realized she had opened the door. The music filled the room, vibrating through the walls and the floor. She spun around, feeling the sound wash over her. It reminded her of colors she had not seen in a very long time.

The music pulsed through her as she stepped up to a shelf and scrutinized the stacked objects. They were not uniform, but rather all different widths and heights. She pulled one down and found that it opened on one side only, and that the many pieces of paper within were covered with tiny black shapes. The paper was rough against her fingers as she turned the pages, trying to discern what the markings were, what they meant.

She did not notice the music was fading until she could not hear it anymore, and instead, she heard a voice.

“Have you never seen a book before?”

She turned around to find a very dark man with very long hair and very blue eyes sitting at a table, staring intently at her and holding a book... books, that was what they were called!

She shook her head and looked down at the book in her hands. The man was difficult to look at, but his bright eyes were still trained on her.

“Would you like to come take a look at this one?” the man asked, his voice grating and deep.

She should have walked out the door then. But yet again, the curiosity instilled so deep into her bones welled up, and she could not resist the few steps forward that carried her to the edge of the table. She looked into the man's eyes, and after several seconds felt that something was quite wrong.

The eyes were not alive enough for her liking. They looked almost like glass.

The man smiled.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here, kitten.” he said, almost hissing. Lighting fast, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, turning it over so that the soft, white skin was exposed. Next to the blue-green vein running up her forearm, there was a single black dot, with a thin line crossing through it. It had been there for as long as she could remember.

“Ah, yes. One of Them.” the man growled, smiling again. “You should have done what you were told. You should have never left.”

She looked into the man’s bright blue glass eyes as he smiled wider, wider, wider. But his smile was all wrong. Where teeth should have been, there were insects and maggots of every kind, spilling out of his mouth and onto the counter, onto the floor, onto the young woman standing in front of him who simply could not look away.

She stared as the man's body crumbled away, as creatures skittered away into the shadows. The man's hair turned to dust, his skin flaked and floated away, and his eyes - with a clunk they each fell to the counter, and then to the floor. The young woman could not move, could not breathe. She should have screamed, should have tried to run, should have done something other than stand there and stare. But she could not.

And now the creatures, the insects and maggots, the things of rot and death from the man began to climb onto the young woman under her clothes and over her skin. The feeling of a thousand small legs on her body snapped her out of the stupor she was in, and she began swatting them away. But it was too late.

The things, the things that were once part of the man covered her, crawling on her and around her and in her. The music began playing again, a different song than before - this time, haunting and foreboding.

She took one final breath as everything went dark.

Quite a few years later, against his better judgement, a man entered the store, searching for something to satisfy his curiosity. A young woman sat at a table holding a book, her striking blue eyes fixated upon him, and upon the mark on his wrist. When he locked eyes with her, he could not look away.

- jan 5, 2021

[secretsandsimpletorment]

when tears became a weapon

she liked to think that she was strong

when something went wrong, she stood and fought

and braced herself against the storms

her weary, worn bones shaking and breaking

but still holding out

time went on, and she remained strong

still solid, never battered down

her weapons were her fists and her words and her mind

but one day she discovered

that she could fight in a different way

manipulate, calm the storms instead of beating them back

when tears became a weapon

she was unstoppable

- feb 11, 2021

[secretsandsimpletorment]

books

to say she loved books would be an understatement.

one might say that she was fond of literature,

or that she enjoyed reading,

but only if they had never witnessed the way her eyes lit up

and danced across the pages with such excitement

that it seemed as if she would explode.

she was a machine - devouring her meals cover, pages, ink and all.

but outside of her books, she longed for an escape,

an escape from the tumult of the one world

that did not only exist in her head.

without her books, she was tossed about among the masses,

drifting and shifting and utterly lost.

she was insignificant, merely a subscript in the middle of a thousand-page novel.

to say she loved books would be an understatement.

"love" could not begin to express

that she was nothing without them.

- January 27, 2021

[secretsandsimpletorment]

alone

And it’s 3am

On a Sunday morning

All I want to do

Is close my eyes

Why do all these thoughts

Always come back

At the times when

I feel the least alive

But the wind whispers softly in my ears

It sings, listen to his lies

He won’t kiss and tell

With another one

And that alone is grounds for a goodbye

What happened here

We’ll sift through the wreckage

Check our pockets

To see how far it goes

You were warned

You can hardly say it’s his fault

But then again

He’s the one taking off her clothes

And maybe it’s all in your head

You’re being crazy, paranoid again

But you can’t put down the phone

Waiting for him to say that he’s alone

Is he alone?

- Dec 13, 2020

[secretsandsimpletorment]

the better option

All she can hear are screams. The earth shakes beneath her. Her hands grasp for a wall that does not exist, and she falls to her knees. She covers her ears but it does nothing to block out the piercing sound. A whispering wind is all around her, rustling the branches of invisible trees as they rake down her arms. Piercing shrieks tear the air, hitting her like bullets and punching holes in her fragile body. Thick darkness engulfs her, a solid black that presses on her mouth and her throat and her chest. She cannot breathe, she cannot think. Fingers grasp her ankles and her wrists as she crawls towards nothing, ragged nails digging into her skin. Thick, warm puddles fill around her hands, the metallic tang choking her as she sinks. She pushes her forehead to the floor, while faces appear in her mind, grotesque smiles and rotting teeth and stringy, matted hair. Something grips her eyelids and tears them open, ripping eyelashes from their follicles and leaving burning skin behind. What she is supposed to see, she does not know. Everything is simply pain, and pain, and pain. She does not deserve this. No one does.

A blinding light flashes in front of her, illuminating a haggard creature crouching over a hole in the ground. “Come down with me, love,” it murmurs in a rasping, quivering voice. “I promise it’s better than staying.” The thing tumbles into the chasm, and its manic cackling fades away as the world goes dark.

All she can hear are screams. This time, they are her own.

- aug 31 2020

[secretsandsimpletorment]

do not tell me that it isn't working

i don't need to hear

what i already know

that the words i’ve cried out have

reached the wrong ears

or none at all

that the tears and the sweat and the blood

have been drowned in the bathtub

with so many dreams

that the screams in my head

never tumble out of my lips

but rather fall back into my stomach

and twist and writhe and churn

and emerge as a thing

cold and rigid

that slips from my tongue

and binds my wrists as i try

to stop it

do not tell me to keep trying

as if perseverance could

free me from these bars and chains

already my stregth is spent

simply holding the weight of the metal

over my head

if only to protect

those below my feet

and the ropes slip and burn

fire around my neck

and the walls are always pressing

in and in and in

get me out of this place

the gallows are a daydream

hot air pulls shivers from my skin

so thin and easy

to break

i can almost hear myself

shattering

do not tell me to walk out the door

there is no one

no one

holding me here

but myself

because one toe over the threshold

and i become

destruction

- aug 13 2020

[secretsandsimpletorment]

the king is away, they said

he may have ruled you then

but all that remains are the ghosts of his words

and the shadows of his smiles

and the echos of his laughter

he collared the hounds

bridled the horses

left an untamed animal to rule itself

his speeches seemed convinced

that this kingdom ruled him

he'd give his own blood if only

to quiet the cries of the small peasant child

starving in the cold

but now he has bigger problems

the king is away, they said

there's no use hoping

farther shores called his name

finer sands twisted his longing

horrors will fall when the sun

slips into the grasping arms

of the ocean

dark skies await us

as we remain waiting

for the king to return

- aug 6 2020