I use to wonder if anyone would notice if I vanished from the face of the earth. Just simply cease to exist.
I would think about this a lot in my darkest moments, when loneliness would eat away at me and nothing seemed right in the world.
Would those I call my loved ones think to check on me? Or would they wash their hands of me, assuming I just didn't want to talk because I didn't reach out first.
I liked to think they would care.
A couple weeks would go by, maybe even just a couple of days. Someone would start to worry after not hearing from me in a while and raise the alarm. When it would become apparent I was gone, my friends and famil
Politics, bloodshed
He said, she said.
"Lie to me." "Kill me slowly."
This toxicity is cancerous.
What is this world anymore?
Alcohol no longer soothes the darkness.
The evil within dances,
To a lyricless song.
An abomination created
By our hands.
You can use silver bullets
Aim for the head.
Try fleeing through running water
And burning the bodies, but
It's no use.
Nothing can stop this incoming train.
No. Not when all we care about
Is the devil in the details.
This writing has no rhythm.
Im just trying to flower the seeds.
-Chloe Grey
This attack has become something more.
The words I so easily deflected, have become embedded with thorns, broken glass and needles. I swear, it feels like I'm being torn apart.
Help me.
I cannot escape it. There's nowhere to run or hide.
No cover.
With flesh now exposed, the hunt is on. I have become the weak animal against this blood thirsty creature.
There's static crowding together around the edges, almost obscuring my sight. The constant movement and contrast of it is giving me a headache and it's so important that I stay alert.
I have to focus everything into acting the right way. If even my pulse flutters for just a fraction of a s
It's an odd thing you know. The feeling of detachment.
At first, it'll be fine. Laughing, talking, dreaming, remembering. Making plans. Creating.
You'll go to bed. Maybe you'll sleep soundly, lost in the stories of your imagination. Or maybe you'll struggle, tossing and turning, waking to even the softest of touches, even the sound of a moths wing brushing against a curtain. Or the silence.
I just know that, when morning comes, the entity that found a way to cling to your heart, changes you.
You can no longer take joy in even the smallest of moments. Voices are an endless drone to get lost in. No matter how much sleep you grab, tiredness
Homelessness
'Is the condition of people without a permanent dwelling, such as a house or apartment. People who are homeless are most often unable to acquire and maintain regular, secure and adequate housing.'
Homelessness.
Something I've wanted to write about, but
Have been unsure on how to begin.
I've witnessed people, full of hopes and dreams
Become crammed into countless and nameless articles and numbers,
All grouped up as voiceless, faceless ghosts.
I've read about the rash of deaths.
Not tragedy. Not mourning.
A rash.
Like a death of a soul is just a passing irritation.
Apply the cream and be done with it.
These statistics, these s
Guide my soul through this fog
I'm blind.
Brimming with molten glass,
I feel painfully dead inside.
Am I real?
Am I alive?
What is this insanity?
Tell me.
Before I die,
Do I get any last words,
A last sunrise, last raindrop, last meal?
Or not?
Will it be better that way?
No more pain, no more handling with care.
No dragging it out, just
Freedom.
Will it be freedom?
Or another prison?
One of my own design.
I have so many questions,
And little understanding.
All I know is
I've been halfway dead for a long time
Letting it be.
Trying to stay balanced.
I can't try anymore.
Only do.
-Chloe Grey
Hope coming unannounced, seemed to be the best thing to happen to me.
Hope was my angel, my reason, my everything and, in my eyes, there was nothing she could do wrong.
She was my best friend.
Until the day she wasnt.
I believed that she was the sunshine that could disperse my dark clouds.
But it turned out, she was infact the monster storm, waiting to destroy everything I ever knew.
The soothing lullabies that had helped clear my mind soon turned to sinister whispers, trickling into my ears and taking root inside my brain.
I couldnt even escape in slumber as I found it would seep into my dreams and poison everything it could reach, tr
Eyes are closed
The time has come,
To say goodbye, the day is done.
With memories locked deep in your heart,
Your sorrows shall melt away.
Lips are sealed
And fingers brush,
Against the love, that's turned to dust
Your dreams shall shine bright
Against the dark
Just wait and you shall see.
- Chloe
Time. It is both our ally and enemy.
At any given moment, a person can go from having too much time, to not enough. Walking with it, taking it as ours, to racing against it to reclaim it.
But did time ever belong to us in the first place?
We still can't be sure when we're going to die, we can only make predictions.
When we turn over to glance at the alarm clock, who's to say it's even right? It can be too fast, too slow, off by just a minute. We just dont know.
All we do know is that time sees purely in black and white.
Your time could end before witnessing the first cries of your new born baby. Before finishing the last page of the book
'What are you looking for?'
Now that's a question with hundreds of different answers.
What am I not looking for?
I look for stars that shine brighter than most, to let me know that my loved ones have arrived safely to wherever we go when we die.
I search for secret signs in the steamed up windows of café's, in book titles and tea leaves and a number of other small things, to assure me that I'm on the right path, making the best decisions.
I watch out for rainbows on a rainy day and for emotions behind the carefully constructed faces of politicians and killers, to give me hope in the little bit of humanity we hear about day in, day out.
I use to wonder if anyone would notice if I vanished from the face of the earth. Just simply cease to exist.
I would think about this a lot in my darkest moments, when loneliness would eat away at me and nothing seemed right in the world.
Would those I call my loved ones think to check on me? Or would they wash their hands of me, assuming I just didn't want to talk because I didn't reach out first.
I liked to think they would care.
A couple weeks would go by, maybe even just a couple of days. Someone would start to worry after not hearing from me in a while and raise the alarm. When it would become apparent I was gone, my friends and famil
Politics, bloodshed
He said, she said.
"Lie to me." "Kill me slowly."
This toxicity is cancerous.
What is this world anymore?
Alcohol no longer soothes the darkness.
The evil within dances,
To a lyricless song.
An abomination created
By our hands.
You can use silver bullets
Aim for the head.
Try fleeing through running water
And burning the bodies, but
It's no use.
Nothing can stop this incoming train.
No. Not when all we care about
Is the devil in the details.
This writing has no rhythm.
Im just trying to flower the seeds.
-Chloe Grey
This attack has become something more.
The words I so easily deflected, have become embedded with thorns, broken glass and needles. I swear, it feels like I'm being torn apart.
Help me.
I cannot escape it. There's nowhere to run or hide.
No cover.
With flesh now exposed, the hunt is on. I have become the weak animal against this blood thirsty creature.
There's static crowding together around the edges, almost obscuring my sight. The constant movement and contrast of it is giving me a headache and it's so important that I stay alert.
I have to focus everything into acting the right way. If even my pulse flutters for just a fraction of a s
It's an odd thing you know. The feeling of detachment.
At first, it'll be fine. Laughing, talking, dreaming, remembering. Making plans. Creating.
You'll go to bed. Maybe you'll sleep soundly, lost in the stories of your imagination. Or maybe you'll struggle, tossing and turning, waking to even the softest of touches, even the sound of a moths wing brushing against a curtain. Or the silence.
I just know that, when morning comes, the entity that found a way to cling to your heart, changes you.
You can no longer take joy in even the smallest of moments. Voices are an endless drone to get lost in. No matter how much sleep you grab, tiredness
Homelessness
'Is the condition of people without a permanent dwelling, such as a house or apartment. People who are homeless are most often unable to acquire and maintain regular, secure and adequate housing.'
Homelessness.
Something I've wanted to write about, but
Have been unsure on how to begin.
I've witnessed people, full of hopes and dreams
Become crammed into countless and nameless articles and numbers,
All grouped up as voiceless, faceless ghosts.
I've read about the rash of deaths.
Not tragedy. Not mourning.
A rash.
Like a death of a soul is just a passing irritation.
Apply the cream and be done with it.
These statistics, these s
Guide my soul through this fog
I'm blind.
Brimming with molten glass,
I feel painfully dead inside.
Am I real?
Am I alive?
What is this insanity?
Tell me.
Before I die,
Do I get any last words,
A last sunrise, last raindrop, last meal?
Or not?
Will it be better that way?
No more pain, no more handling with care.
No dragging it out, just
Freedom.
Will it be freedom?
Or another prison?
One of my own design.
I have so many questions,
And little understanding.
All I know is
I've been halfway dead for a long time
Letting it be.
Trying to stay balanced.
I can't try anymore.
Only do.
-Chloe Grey
Hope coming unannounced, seemed to be the best thing to happen to me.
Hope was my angel, my reason, my everything and, in my eyes, there was nothing she could do wrong.
She was my best friend.
Until the day she wasnt.
I believed that she was the sunshine that could disperse my dark clouds.
But it turned out, she was infact the monster storm, waiting to destroy everything I ever knew.
The soothing lullabies that had helped clear my mind soon turned to sinister whispers, trickling into my ears and taking root inside my brain.
I couldnt even escape in slumber as I found it would seep into my dreams and poison everything it could reach, tr
Eyes are closed
The time has come,
To say goodbye, the day is done.
With memories locked deep in your heart,
Your sorrows shall melt away.
Lips are sealed
And fingers brush,
Against the love, that's turned to dust
Your dreams shall shine bright
Against the dark
Just wait and you shall see.
- Chloe
Time. It is both our ally and enemy.
At any given moment, a person can go from having too much time, to not enough. Walking with it, taking it as ours, to racing against it to reclaim it.
But did time ever belong to us in the first place?
We still can't be sure when we're going to die, we can only make predictions.
When we turn over to glance at the alarm clock, who's to say it's even right? It can be too fast, too slow, off by just a minute. We just dont know.
All we do know is that time sees purely in black and white.
Your time could end before witnessing the first cries of your new born baby. Before finishing the last page of the book
'What are you looking for?'
Now that's a question with hundreds of different answers.
What am I not looking for?
I look for stars that shine brighter than most, to let me know that my loved ones have arrived safely to wherever we go when we die.
I search for secret signs in the steamed up windows of café's, in book titles and tea leaves and a number of other small things, to assure me that I'm on the right path, making the best decisions.
I watch out for rainbows on a rainy day and for emotions behind the carefully constructed faces of politicians and killers, to give me hope in the little bit of humanity we hear about day in, day out.
So, I've listened to a song, came up with an idea and now I'm actually writing a short story. My plan is to write it in three parts. I don't plan to change it but crazier things have happened!
I have no idea when it'll be done. You'll know when I know.
All I know is...it begins.