Find me
if you dare.
if you don't
i'll be alone
forever.

I am so confused.

You
Often
Got
Upset.
Ranting.
Torture.

(I'm doing a food poems. Silly me.)

Too
Overwhelming
For
U

But seriously. Isn't it easier to get lost in the dark?

Despite my Intentions

I almost always get bored with what i'm writing.
This story is no exception...it would have been easier if i wrote it in word so I could just post it all.

whatever.

All I have to say is fifteen thousand things may happen but life is just a charade and so none of them really matter in the long run.

not to say it's not an enjoyable charade. but it still is just something we do because we have to.

Flying Downwards

The room was sterile-smelling, white, and practically empty, save the presence of a hospital bed enclosing a frail looking child. Emmanuel stepped in the door, let it swing close behind him, and pulled off his scrubs.
His wings burst out of their wrappings, showering the pale child in a cascade of white down.
"I bring a message from the Lord."
The child wasn't listening, or at least she wasn't moving. Her brown hair was strewn across her face, covering her eyes. Her tiny chest was heaving.
Emmanuel tried again.
"I bring a message from the Lord." He shook his wings again, but the child did not move.
He wondered vaguely if she was already dead. It was forbidden to touch living people, because upon realizing angels are made of skin and bones, the illusion of a vision is shattered.
But he was almost certain she was, considering her chest had stopped heaving.
He was in deep trouble anyway. He had failed to deliver the message to the child before she died, and it would really make no difference if he touched her hand, just to see.
His fingers closed around two of the girl's. Their surface was cool and clammy.
Well, he thought, she is most certainly dead.
It was quiet for another moment, and then she turned her head towards him, her hair jerking out of her eyes.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Emmanuel backed away quickly.
"I am no one. I am a vision. Go back to sleep."
He didn't know where to go. He was trapped. His wings were exposed, just as he shortly would be.
The window was open. Emmanuel took a running leap out it, the glass shattering painfully around his shoulders. He pulsed his wings, testing, and then gave them one powerful swoop, rising towards the heavens as fast as he could.
When he reached the gates, he was turned away.
You failed your task, God told him. Return to earth and spend time among your people until you comprehend life. Then return, and we shall see if we have a place for you.
And so Emmanuel fell.

Feeling the Distance

I'm feeling the distance between you and me.
We said we'd never grow apart, but have we?
It's not enough to make me cry,
But if you said goodbye
I think I'd shut down eternally.

***

Emotional days are like humps in the road
of life
it's hard to keep on dragging your feet
along
when the sun's beating down
no one's there to pick you up and you're

alone.

Isolated from even yourself.
In a million fragmented ways
I reach out but all I can reach is
the dust that was stars.

***

We all try our hands at something new...poetry is sometimes the thing I turn to for best expression. I am definitely better at the short story or novel, but I do like to get my feelings out there, and sometimes a story just won't do.
That being said, Emmanuel part III will continue tomorrow.
I am getting my first tattoo this weekend and three of my best friends don't even know.
That's the kind of isolation I'm talking about.

Flying Downwards

Emmanuel's story is not too different from any other, except for its start and its finish.
He was created by God as a messanger to the people of Earth. His sole purpose was to fulfill the wishes of those who bid him do their will.
But unfortunately, he failed one task set forward to him. A mother and her dying child prayed for a message from the Lord, and it became Emmanuel's task to come to them and give them hope of the child's survival. He descended, as he had since he was a boy, to earth, disguised as a human, his wings bundled up behind his back. When he arrived at the hospital, dressed in scrubs, he looked around him, and for the first time considered the human race.
Ambulances rushed in and out of the small unloading zone, bringing the severely injured into the hospital's gates. It was not unlike Heaven, Emmanuel thought. The needy came to the door of God, and were accepted unconditionally.
He felt the chaos around him in the air. Pain, desperation, fear--things that as an angel he was particularly honed to identify. He entered the main doors, casting around for the radiation wing.
Following a group of visitors to the elevator, he felt somewhat small. The people surrounding him had intense emotions, he was swimming in them. But he, as an angel, could only feel what others felt, not what he chose to.
It amounted to what we can describe as jealousy.
Emmanuel walked down the hallway of the radiation wing and into room 157.

Flying Downwards

The thing sat on the top of a spire, church bells clanging below it, echoing through its ribcage. It rested its cheek against its shoulder, feeling the vibration drift up through its body.
The day was cold and cloudy, with heavy winds. The villagers were convening at church because of the ominous weather. The pastor hurried into the church below, his robes billowing around him. He was followed by a three children shepherded by a mother, a beggar, two horsemen, and a soldier. The church doors slammed shut and the thing listened to the pastor begin his sermon.
He was talking about angels.
"The angel fell from Heaven, and our heavenly Father, blessed be thy name, cast it down to Hell, where it ruled for eternity. Thy Lord our Father and the angels of Heaven kept order in the skies--"
The thing ruffled its wings. They were sticky, laced with sweat and tar from the street, and it shifted from side to side, trying to loosen its wingtips, which were stuck together.
"--while the monster Satan ruled below us."
It took off, its matted wings billowing out in a cascade of black feathers. Its eyes shone ominously out from a mass of black hair, and its body was of human male form. It flew towards the woods, searching for a place to rest.
It settled in a meadow, among flowering grasses and brambles. As it landed, its hair blew out of its face, and it was revealed that the creature was indeed a man. A man with wings.
He sat there for several hours, listening. Finally, behind him, he heard footsteps approaching.
He turned his weary head and saw a girl, perhaps nineteen, carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers. She stopped in the clearing, stared at him, and dropped the flowers.
The man turned away, expecting the same reaction he always got.
He heard footsteps approaching and felt a hand on his shoulder. He threw it off and wheeled around. The girl dodged back, staring.
"Qui es-tu?" she asked, pointing a shaking finger at him. "Qui es-tu, demon?"
"I don't speak French," he answered, his voice rumbling deeply through the meadow.
"What are you?" she stammered, backing further away.
"I am an angel," he replied.
"The pastor summoned you. He brought you to us!" the girl's expression changed to something closer to disbelief.
"I am not that kind of angel," the man corrected. "My name is Emmanuel."
She stopped talking for a moment, considered, and sat down next to him, watching him carefully.
"Then you work for Satan."
"No. I have never seen Satan. I work for no one. I am a free man."
"Angels cannot be free," she said, staring. "They work for God."
"God created me," he agreed. "But I flew downwards from Heaven."
"That is called falling," she said, and closed her eyes.
This is the story of Emmanuel, the fallen angel.

The beginning of something I'm working on. :)

Laughter

If only everything were as simple as a laugh.
I wish I could change every bad emotion I have ever had into a laugh. If I could laugh in the face of fear, anxiety, loneliness...it wouldn't be able to laugh back at me.
I'm listening to the laughter of my roommates in the other room. I'm not in a mood for laughing. I'm lost in myself, confused. Meditation is helping but my mind is muddled today, full of reasons, lies, truths, desperation, and stress.
Focusing has become a struggle. I cannot live in a place where all we discuss is our social lives. I need something more. I need a thirst for the same kind of intellect I want to possess. Talk to me about Kant, or about Descartes, or about anything, God, anything at all. Just not Gossip Girl.
So I'm drifting into non-existance. My logic: Why stay in this plane when there's little left to stay for?
I should be all means be a druggie. Too bad I'm morally opposed.

Certainty

I just don't know.