The Things I Leave
The Things I Leave gone stories
  1
  •  
  0
  •   0 comments
Share

silent_death
silent_death Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   11 days ago
One from the mind.

The Things I Leave

Well Worn Sweaters Sleeves more of dirt and sweat than cloth Hoods are more likely to be up than laying flat Pockets filled with ink stains and pencil lead Tainted with the scent of tree sap and rainy days

Thousands of Pictures Shots of moments in time where I stood on Earth and decided something was good enough at that moment to be captured forever in a photo. A type of Godhood to decide what should and shouldn't be seen beyond that second you click the button.

Aimless Doodles Ink and graphite on thin slices of wood holding an image, from my brain, an image from my psyche, an image from me.

Years Worth of Music 8760 hours, 525600 minutes, 31536000 seconds. All music. The melody is trapped in a recording banging through speakers on their way out but only their ghost just to be heard for the pleasure of us.

Boxes of paper Shoe boxes filled with scribbled chicken scratch crumpled notes and ideas all thrown to be kept and read another time. Why hold onto such things? In the end, isn't it just deep shit on paper?

Razors Sharp tools of power hidden throughout the house some banished from my memory for my skin's sake. Sharp tools stained in the blood of insides, in the blood of my tears. Sharp tools of magic; painting silver, coming out red.

My Bed A holder of nightmare sweats, painful sobs, bloodstains, and cum. A fossil of my body embedded in the bedrock mattress and sea of sheets and blankets. A temple of the only home I ever felt obligated to go back to, to live in, to die in.

Blue Eyes Bagged and bloodshot; Blackened and bruised; they hold the truth behind my jokes and sharp remarks. I've heard of my eyes being ice, glaciers of frozen emotions most below the cool waters. I've heard they are fire, malice only pure evil can harness and control.

Vent Sketches Feelings and thoughts of 3 AM Sky Highs and countless insomniac nights hidden within their marks. Moths of the cavity inside me, inside my mind, fluttering against the page printing images beyond the meaning of all else.

Lighters and Needles Broken and burnt lighters Charred and stained pipes Dirtied and tainted bongs Used and reused needles Powdered and dirtied grinders Blackened and bent spoons Stretched and snapped rubber The tools of my corrupted use.

Marks of Freedom Soot tattoos and needle scars along the crook of the arms, Skin pops and razor marks dotting the thighs. Collapsed veins and withdrawal symptoms hallmarks of the past. You think they would disappear after a while but the signs call to be replaced.

I've left more and unfortunately still will but remember, you may not change the earth while you're here but you can always taint it.

silent_death

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store
COMMENTS (0)
SHOUTOUTS (0)