Seismic

A Story by yellow devil

In the context of my life, I'm a broken toy, but I have a use. The compliments and love from others only slightly slacken my self abuse. I'm trying to find a pathway of my own without wrecking the lives of others. So far all that comes to mind is to be alone, under my covers. I've left behind the parts of me that made my life something of worth. It feels as though all I have left to do is to reclusively roam this earth. As I do it I laugh and joke, it keeps me far from friends. A constant mass of confused sorrow through whatever life transcends. Eternally avoiding those that doubt me, because my self loathing cuts deeper still. My soul, however, is not empty, just completely garbage filled. I love an angel who is quite the warrior, and can never be my own. I just have to find a way to clean my tertiary throne. The directions have all pointed me to a place where life is moot. Weeding me out for posturing emotion, I need to find my root. Though she has more than I'll ever concur. Not on a level of property, but I'll always belong to her. To make her proud will be my only success. It will fulfill something through my encapsulating mess. Saintly savior that my selfish views twisted to an obsession. A storied history evolved it from emotion to possession. Souls that were bound, I guess I'm selfish in how I see. Another crayon chapter in the nonsensical novel of me. Frustrating thing is, this book is all out of order. It only makes sense in a life of no quarter.

© 2013 yellow devil

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Priscilla Sayers

Another amazing piece of expression... I love your honesty dear poet. I know the "Angel" you speak of has to be proud of you. How can she not. You must stop beating yourself up and look back with new eyes... Remember those times when laughter rang true and time moved slowly giving you the gift of savoring the blessing. Reflect on good, the bad will only consume you dear poet.