The Head

You

I hear you

I've gone to you for advice again

And like always I hear but don't listen

I know you have fought long and hard with my same struggle

And that you want me to be happy because you're my friend

You are wise

You know that I am stubborn and don't always value happiness

But even though I try to listen because you're my friend

I am foolish

And I know that in my pigheadedness and refusal to listen I might just be making this worse and hurting myself more and I know you don't want me to learn this lesson the hard way like you did because that's not how things have to be

But it's how things are

And it's how things will stay

Sometimes you need to trust your heart over your head

And sometimes you need to listen to something but

Not you

No Houses No Homes

Trapped in a prison of our own design

Trapped by monotony

Trapped by our own foolishness

and most importantly

Trapped of our own volition

Fleeing the work of five

Seek adventure in the other two

Imagine our own diversions like children

Drink and breathe poison to forget reality

Fleeing the places we work

Flashing lights and sounds

Long into the dark and quiet night

Returning only for

Rest and peace in stillness

Long into the bright and busy day

Are we not wanderers

In the glaring light of day

In the obscuring dark of night

Having nowhere to return to

No houses

No homes

Hypocrisy

I am ruled by my emotions

I am foolish

I am weak

But I know you

You are stronger than I 

So I give you this advice: 

Do not make the mistakes I have

Get out

Before you become the user and abuser

Before you manipulate only because it's fun

Before you end up too broken to follow this advice

Broken like this vinyl veneer of a man skip skip skipping and repeating this advice

A hypocrite telling you to let go

With his own hands clenched tight

Or at least I'd like to believe 

I'm not giving this advice 

To save another from how I was hurt

Because the way I held on was different 

Not because I rule emotions

Not because I fool others

Not because I exploit weakness

Because I am weak

And I lie even to myself 

And that lie is my real hypocrisy 

Last Watch

Pacing up and down

Dark and empty halls

There is but one sound

Click click click

The footsteps of the last watch

Overseeing the desolate masses

With darkened and recessed eyes

Click click click

Each step passes another door

And behind each door resides

A new person with new demons

Each protected only by the last watch

Click click click

I pace these empty halls

With darkened eyes

Past darkened doorways

Listening to others darkened hearts

paying no mind to my own, beating with my footsteps, drowned out more each doorway, a heart burning ever dimmer, a beat growing ever softer

drowned out

Click

Perfect

I finally understand why you hate it

The overzealous discipline

The taking it too seriously

The endless toil

The futile pursuit

All in the name of "perfect"

I loved it for a long time

I sought until I could not see

I ran until I could not stand

I sang until I could not speak

Poured everything I had

Into everything I did

And painted perfect pictures of everything I wanted

Even of you

All the things that worked mattered

All the things that didn't didn't

Beautiful moments engraved

Painful moments erased

And I ran after that perfect image of you endlessly never getting any closer but always believing I could one day lay next to her and watch the clouds

Until I could not

I wish it had been earlier

I had known you earlier

I had believed you earlier

I had tried to fix this earlier

I hate it too now

But it's too late to stop trying

So I am stuck chasing you and chasing this abstract idea

Pouring everything into nothing

Never to be happy

So used to the perfection in my mind that nothing in this imperfect world could ever hope to make staying in it at all worthwhile

So if you find my body

Sleeping below an imperfectly tied knot

Wincing at imperfectly drawn lines

Crying by an imperfectly pulled trigger

Bury me anyway

And write on my gravestone:

I was not perfect

And neither are you

And I guess that

is ok

Prometheus or "My Inner Light"

        My old friend, I thank you for your letter, but  I write speeches for many to hear and take my views from, not correspondence for but one person to view me as they wish to. So I respond to you with this one and hope you will listen to what I say rather than proselytize at me about what I willfully abandoned.
        You are right about me, I do believe that words are for expressing something older than themselves, something dark and primal. My use of words to express these ancient things called emotions is art, not an expression of any personal struggle and certainly not a god damn "cry for help." And this art is not a voice "for the dark," it is my voice representing the dark. Helping others understand and deal with the darkness that is part of life now and helping them more than any prophet of things to come ever could.
        And I do believe in a "let there be light," but not the one of your precious YHWH. Those words were spoken in myth by the poster child of human ingenuity, Prometheus of Greek myth. Light was not a gift from a benevolent creator, it was stolen from a harsh and uncaring universe. We created our own light long ago when we first became bright enough to rub two sticks together. We let there be light and saw that it was good, and more importantly that it was ours.
        And so I won't join your crusade for a light I no longer believe in. I respect your beliefs, as everyone needs something to lean on, but I do not want or need your particular crutch. I did at one point but now I have a new and better thing to believe in but that is myself and my own inner light. I, like everyone else on this planet, am my own god and the master of my own fate. So I have to believe that I have the forethought and ingenuity of Prometheus to carry me through, and refuse to rely on a cosmic safety net.
        Frankly, I am angry that you act as if you know me better than I know myself, that you view my life as unsatisfactory because I am not the same as you, and that you presume I need help because my art does not reflect your ideals. Yes, life is a pile of shit. It's painful, it's dark, and it's uncaring about you or me or anyone else. But god damn it I love it anyway, and I ain't quite done with it yet.
Soli Ego Gloria,
-VNV

_________________________________________________________________________________

I suppose Jesus is a Fuckboy by my friend Will could be considered related reading to this. I'm not in the habit of promoting others but check him out, his writing's way better than mine.

A Light in the Darkness

There is a reason we call the addictions and neuroses and insecurities that constantly haunt us our "demons." Though more a concept than a being, the Devil is very real. He even has a name: Lucifer, Bringer of Light. When you look the Devil in the face, as we are often forced to, he casts light into the darkness around you. And make no mistake, a light in the darkness is only a blessing when its director has your best interest in mind.

1. Nobody is afraid of the dark, they are afraid of the uncertainties which it conceals. Carefully selected lights illuminate those parts of that amalgam which we truly fear. Every worst case scenario that flashes through our minds to prevent action has been carefully staged to appear in full light.
2. The light at the end of the tunnel is the universal euphemism for hope in times of despair. Hope, however, is not always a good thing. Sometimes that light of how is an oncoming train ready to run us down. And so false hope is the lights left on just too long at the tragic end of the first act. 
3. Walking in the dead of night with only a flashlight to guide us, our vision is severely constricted. Every snap of a twig or rustle of bramble outside that small circle of clarity inspires worry and apprehension. And so the anxiety that keeps us ever on our toes is the lone spotlight focused center stage, making the surroundings seem so much darker

Knowing the uselessness of darkness, the Devil uses light to bring humanity to its knees. And while we lay there wretched and broken, one last spotlight shines onto the scene. In full light the stage is set for the final blaze of glory  

a knife

a gun

a rope

a balcony

a lake

a bottle

a syringe

And amidst this whole charade we never realized who was holding the flashlight, standing in the background, pushing us ever closer to the precipice, and chuckling as we stumbled over the edge. 

The Devil is not real 

But we are