I ate a THC gummy just a while ago. I am completely stoned, and a schizophrenic. It is Christmas day, 1:00 AM. Merry Christmas.

               They keep me on edge. ON a difficult, uncomfortable edge. I do not feel comfort. Until I get poked by this voice. Ok, then I associated it with that feeling, and it took it and gave it back, but only to my perception.

               I win with positivity.

If I believe psychosis and drugs, it’s that I can have this wish and that there is no real order to the world. I know that to be wrong, and I want it to be wrong. It means I have power, strength, to change my surroundings with a set structure. I want to feel in control, and also feel in command of where I stand in life.

               Psychosis especially takes this from me.

My thoughts were ridiculous before. And the voices are suggesting them. Hearing voices is a damned mental illness. Don’t think of me as different or stupid because I am hearing these voices and have these thoughts. This is a serious mental condition that is brought about because of an unfair chemical imbalance. There is no cure for it. It is not my fault.

               I hear hallucinations who hint at the idea of being other people, that their mere presence shows them as real people. I do blame what I thought on hearing voices, and that is an unfair chemical imbalance.

I am using this to heal.

               It’s the only way to make your writing have importance no matter what you write. I am using it for my own wellbeing. It’s not fun and games, even though it can be tons of fun, it is not relaxing, although should be done relaxed, it is not greedily trying to sell the best idea, it is to get my own wellbeing in a better place.

               It just feels better.

               I am only trying to make myself feel better.

If I kept hearing voices a secret my mind would explode. So this in a way, of sharing it with people, makes me feel better. That’s why I do write and sell books. It just feels better if someone knows what I am going through. I can’t just go running to forget about this, although I could try. I can’t keep a light journal to myself, because it feels like I’m not getting any better.

               I just can’t stand being alone against this fucking horror!

               It’s fucking terrifying! It’s goddamn evil!

It wants me to put on the edge between believing it and not. I have ridiculous ideas about my ideas not being mine, because my head is see through or something.

               Y’know what, this is stupid. I’m not going to believe the voices are real people. There’s too much damn evidence to believe they are not. These “people” do not randomly turn into ideas in my head. They would be living their own life, and focused on the stimuli around them.

Abstract art will go with my constructed self conscious content.

The voices try hard to use their own twisted reason against my own. I just try to ignore them. Let me talk about dissociation for a second.

I am my characters. They become me, and a few of them are helpful. Even real characters, like someone I know, someone famous, or just a passerby, can become me. As I write this they are all jumping in my skin, agreeing or disagreeing with my words.

Like the waitress of the diner I once went to. 

Like Yule Tidings, my angel.

Like Satan.

Let’s talk about the narrative that has unfolded with these characters.

John, the main voice that I hear, is taken by the Devil. 

This horror can happen regularly in my mind. The voices are the Devil.

So they are, because I have thought this into being.

Satan at my back, whispering with the lyrics of this song I’m playing. It’s a dirty rap song, so I can see how Satan would jump into this.

Satan was a very strong hallucination for me, at one point. And as I think this… as believable as it is, I don’t know if it is real.

I am sinking into delusions.

But is Satan real? My voices are real, like I mean I hear them. I know they aren’t real, but the sensory distortion is.

I’ve lived with this for five years.

Satan at the edge of my psyche. John (the voice) tormenting me. Kayla being his attack dog.

I suppose I must commend this music artist I am listening to of his skill in creating something so horrible for me, but it is slightly annoying.

So, the character of Jesus spins the wheel, and makes something good. It’s really the perception of good, that makes good. Miracles… I’ve talked to Jesus Christ, my dead Uncle in Heaven, too. Miracles are all how you look at it. You could say life itself, in the universe we’re living in, is a miracle. You could say your very consciousness is a damn bloody miracle.

And so I am thankful for that.

It’s about time we hit an up note in our song.

This character, Jesus Christ, provides me strength and support. Doesn’t matter if he’s real or not, I feel him with me very real because of my illness. You might think I’m lying. You might think I’m crazy. So? So what?

Do you feel better? Or not?

I know I feel better, so my goals have been achieved.

Depression… Anxiety… Fuck ‘em both.

Just have to work with your problems one on one sometimes.

I will continue again in my studies of my problems later.

A picture!

I strangely really needed that. I feel much better.

Abstract art will go with my hallucinated self conscious content.

Let us continue to delve, while we have the strength to do so, in the safety of the light.

Smells. I smell things, that should not be there. I am forcing the hallucinations to create a smell. It’s their cue, and is up to them to do so… but the funny thing is, if they do not hallucinate me, then I have won anyway.

This double strong armed argument I need to use a lot. Like so.

I CHALLENGE THEE, voices, TO MAKE ME SMELL A HALLUCINATION!!

They don’t want to do what I say. That would be admitting my authority and their weakness. They do not give me a smell, which I do not want them to anyway.

This was a rather easy challenge, though. I smoke constantly, and my sense of smell isn’t very good because of it. I basically challenged them to appear at a location that doesn’t exist.

Well. Let’s do another, one I am fearing right now. Images.

And as I talk about this, I feel a twitch in my body of another I hate. The sense of touch is warped, and it feels as if they’re touching me.

Now that I’ve explained the smell challenge, they are attacking me with the others. 

I cling to my body’s movements, blinking, feeling…

And I have just become conscious of my own blinking.

This was terrifying at the beginning, and they would make me blink despite not needing to. I am stronger now, especially with my meds. I’m also listening to something positive, which helps a lot. It does not help to listen to dark and evil when you want to not think of that. That’s just stupidly counterproductive.

So, I take pleasure in my senses, as I once did. I am mindful of my full body, even the blinking. Every breath, every blink, every heartbeat. I notice them, and I can smell the smoke of the tobacco I breathed in.

And then the voices threaten to take it away… They cannot, but if I associate something to them, then they did.

It’s very tricky, and I warn you of people like this. They make you believe they have authority and power where really, they have none. If you associate them to the actions they say they do, even if there is another explanation, they gain power over you.

But, the voices are like blinking. Forget you do it, and you don’t notice it.

So I’m going to ignore it right now. I have hallucinated all five senses and more, feeling presences and having strange stimuli I cannot explain. 

Let’s talk about the “other” than hallucinating with five senses. My doctor calls it dissociative episodes.

First, the pic. Then we’ll go to the next.

Abstract art will go with my swearing and self conscious content.

I have just had a mental battle with the voices! WHAT FUCKING FUN!

It was very tedious. It was very annoying. I dislike them more than anyone I have ever known. They call my name, when there is no one there to do so. They criticize my very essence. Anything that they can hurt, they do.

I just wish I could destroy them. Punch them, kill them, fuck ‘em to death.

That’s how much I hate something inside of me. I believed it was not anything associated with me, before. They feel like foreign forces invading my body and mind. 

I have hallucinated worse than a simple calling of names. I have tasted foul garbage in my mouth, or sweet delicious body parts. None were welcome. I was eating nothing, heck even smoking to get rid of the taste. And when I talk about it, the hallucination threaten to show.

“Don’t you want to taste vagina?” the voices say, as my flavor turns.

This is how crude they are, how despicable. They use anything to harm. I guess I must continue, and talk about the voices, and the hallucinations.

The smell of shit. Literal, shit. …And the voices continue to do the taste thing. I have just tried to orderly go into the next hallucination, but they are stuck in my taste.

I just don’t know how to make it stop. This strange consciousness inside of me that is not me. I do not become this entity, but this entity is there. Like your mind, body, and actions are on show for them. THEM. The worst people you ever knew. And they’re not even real.

They dodge and evade, counterattack and block. They fight me back, in ways I don’t expect. I’ve taunted them now, I’ve challenged them. They do not give up, and accept a challenge.

I was just shouting and swearing at the voices. Telling them to be silent. TO SHUT UP.

They do not, and continue with my torture.

This is why it’s so dangerous to go down this mental path. I know I’ll fear the worst.

And shit! Wasn’t this about anxiety and depression??

I suppose the voices can be contributing to those two a lot.

Just that I even have them. That I hear this alien force in my mind, warping and distorting my senses. A presence at my back, ready to pounce. It can make life feel unbearable at times.

I suppose we should start with an up note, in my dire symphony of words.

I suppose… I should combat it now, with worth, happiness, and peace.

I need peace.

Desperately.

I just wish this taste would leave me, of nothing there.

Abstract art will go with my swimming in self conscious content.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to figure out the roots of my anxiety and depression, in hopes of bringing my findings to my therapist so she can cure me of it. I most likely will not be cured of anxiety and depression, but if I can at least figure ways around it, I will be so much more happy.

I have a few days before my next therapy session, so I’ve got work to do to figure out the problem of the problem.

One thing, I woke up this morning dreading having to go back to school again. I did not like school, and I know a lot of people don’t, but I dreaded having to go back there, which I was in my dreams. In my dreams, I’m always trying to get away from school, but it always brings me back there.

It’s horribly hellish, but probably just means I’ve got to figure out better sleeping habits. Usually the nightmares happen when I haven’t been sleeping well.

I will escape from this, but now I don’t know what to write about. I could go on about fucking anxiety and depression, but I hate doing that. I hate going into trauma, reliving my own worst nightmares and the feelings that come with. I hate it.

As you can see, I hate a lot, and also have become self conscious of an audience, as well. The first two blurbs were more for me, then me and my therapist, and now to whoever you are. I suppose we’ll go down this journey together, and see what we find.

My goals: To find the root of my anxiety and depression, to combat trauma and somehow come to peace with it, and to make art.

These don’t seem like very substantial goals, but they’re probably my hardest goals to complete out of any of my stories. I will try to write a story about it, and it will be completely nonfiction, with my own musings I suppose. All my stories were to get away from depression, anxiety, and my worst symptom of mental illness, hearing voices.

I hear voices now once a day, in an intense episode. It’s completely random as to when it happens, but if I notice hearing voices then I tend to hear them more. Even talking about them has released that valve in my brain, and now I will soon hear voices. They start as a muffled voice, then continue until they are very loud, talking about me or to me.

They continue by being very negative. I’ve been working on training them to be more positive, so when I do hear them, they will be less of a burden.

Now. Let’s try something. I will hypothetically strip myself of my one outlet, my only escape.

Writing.

I have now wrote nothing, built no worlds, and made no art.

And it feels so empty.

So… worthless without it.

Like I am just dust in the breeze.

Instead I weigh myself down from the sandstorm of time, and continue to make pieces that may last for ages.

And if they don’t…

At least I tried.

Writing gives me purpose.

I would be no one without it.

Just a sad mental case who drinks a lot.

But then I think about how writing caused my first psychotic break.

This is incredibly raw, writing your feelings, and is a live wire into my psyche. I even find things I am not aware of in my writing, that only come to light as I look at the page and use language.

It’s straight to the heart, and when you give this heart to others, and they smash it and show it off to everyone, it can be very painful.

It can even make you lose sanity and bearing with the real world.

That’s what happened to me.

I thought I could, thought I should, trust an individual with my deep hearted writing.

And I was sorely mistaken.

I bled, after that, mentally and literally.

Shards in my brain, razor on the skin.

And now, years later, I have not been rescued from this hell.

I continue to flounder in this sadness, this anxiety, and the horrors of the deep as I try and try to build a boat.

I will, one day.

I WILL.

Abstract art will go with my moaning of self conscious content.

Second entry. I feel like shit. I know I’ve made mistakes, and they’re stuck as mistakes. I worry about it, every time. I have anxiety with it. I pick, and pick, and pick at the scab, until I am bleeding and ripped. I need to drink. I need to DRINK! This is anxiety. This is my fucking mistakes.

“I’ll never be a great writer. I’ve messed up every book. They’re all fucked.” my anxiety says.

“I want to slice my wrist. I want to be done. I feel like I’ll never make it.” says depression.

I want to be done with this feeling. I don’t like to feel like this. I want to feel happy, content, satisfied. It is just such a struggle how. I don’t know how. I need to fix this. 

I can’t think about this right now.

I need to read. I need to distract myself. I want to get drunk and read. That will feel good. But what if I don’t? Don’t feel good??

Naked ladies. I will draw one. That makes me happy.

Even though I don’t draw right.

I will try to draw.

I have drawn well.

BASELESS, completely random, only what felt good.

BASELESS, artless, worthless junk.

I feel like it won’t make a lick of sense.

OR worth.

Or even… happiness.

It will be another skip on the pond.

As the reader skips past it.

I just am so fucking nervous, all the fucking time.

So I use my self perceived perfection in writing to be my shield.

Everything is beautiful! It’s all great! Is the feeling after I’ve written something with heart.

This I have written with anxiety.

My heart.

My poor heart.

Always the victim, never the suitor.

I need love, but with the anxiety??

I’d pass up on it.

I don’t need to stress about a one other.

A certain, one other.

A special, only one other.

This is not for me.

I need beauty, and if you like me, I will be happy enough.

Beauty and humor at least!

Something good, because damn, I am depressed, anxious, and schizophrenic.

And I absolutely hate the word “schizophrenia.”

It means nothing! Not even the disease, it is just a general group random people are thrown into if they have a strange mind.

You hear schizophrenia, you think bad, dangerous, unstable, unclean, and fucking worthless.

Like my opinion doesn’t even matter.

Like I don’t even matter.

I matter to a lot of people.

To me sometimes too.

So keep your schizophrenia.

I am just like you.

Abstract art will go with my blurbing of self conscious content.

It happens randomly, usually after I’ve been feeling good. Then I feel bad. I feel like my worthless life is worthless. I get stuck in this point, no way out, until I feel like getting a high from something else. Doesn’t matter what. Sex, food, purchases, alcohol, art, writing, whatever can get me out of this. It seems… necessary. In a way, and so I don’t feel bad about it until it’s over.

Then, I keep going, until I hit the low again. I swear it must be something genetic, because it’s so… consistent.

I have just drunk half a bottle of wine. Not drunk, not undrunk.

I believe a lot of it has to go with trauma. I have scars, literal and mental, that haunt me.

Let’s go back into one… To see if I can actually get this done.

JC on my fist. I feel angry. I feel like growling… I was just such an animal, when I broke that window, smashed my dad’s face.

AND I’m SO bloody FURIOUS that all my hell came from that.

My mother called the cops. I bear her no ill will. Only the cops.

What else would you have done, but call for help?

When your son is fighting your husband, insane yelling happening from upstairs.

AND my siblings, my poor siblings, caught in the mix. Trying to hold me down. Trying, and failing. All of them. Crying. As I roared and yelled.

I didn’t even feel remorse! I felt like I won. LIKE I WON.

The cops… made me think differently.

He threw me down.

When I was trying to get in the fucking car.

My brother told me off.

And I felt like he was the man.

A big man.

A proud man.

Who had the courage to talk against my insanity.

I hate that cop.

I absolutely… hate him.

Feels good to say!

Yeah. I know his name… I know who he is.

I hate him.

I will never reveal his name.

Because I hate him.

I’m sick of him.

Tired of his image.

I don’t need it anymore.

Never did.

If you are him, know that I hate you!

I don’t care if it was your job, to make money, or you were trying to do the best thing for everyone…

I don’t believe it.

The way you bullied my brother, even as I was in jail.

COP.

No one knew…

That I had a mental illness…

You should’ve, though.

COP.

It doesn’t matter why the voices hate me. They do. I’m going to try again to make a nonfiction account of my life. The first was getting a little too holier than thou.

I am a writer, an artist, and an independent author. I hear voices and suffer through other hallucinations including dissociation. I suffer from anxiety attacks that feel like I’m standing on the thin edge of a knife. I have been depressed, on and off, for a very long time.

The voices are talking behind me as I write. That’s where it feels like the voices are currently coming from. It works best for them like this because they can use that blind spot in my sensory perception to create terror that isn’t there.

I have a cat called Hippie. He is my second cat that I have owned. The first cat was an old bat of a cat, a big brown fluffy tom named Donnie. He was very friendly, and loved to lay on me. Hippie-

I just heard a loud shot outside of the house. Sounded kind of like fireworks. Probably just fireworks.

Hippie is a crazy circus animal cat. He loves to play, and runs around and attacks lots of things.

Another damn shot. I sure hope it was fireworks.

I am sometimes afraid to leave my home.

I believe it is agoraphobia.

So yeah. I’m kind of a mess.             

What’s the scariest thought is the voices admitting they want to control me. That means they were not in a position of control ever. It is always scary for me, hearing voices. They want to say a command and watch me do it. It is a very dangerous entity! If anyone has it like this, my sympathies go out to you. It’s no wonder that people with schizophrenia kill themselves off. I want to break that statistic. I want people who do have the disease to also have hope. I want myself to live a good long time, and beat this damned curse of a genetic disease.

The hallucinations are intrusive and unwanted. They can be slight, like make you feel like you have a crick in your neck, to forcing your body to shut down.

Oh. And I’m not some scary lunatic out to get you. I am the victim here. I fear for my own life more often than trying to harm yours.

I binge drink. I smoke tobacco constantly. It helps. I tried marijuana again, and whenever I smoked it… I kept on telling myself, this is fun. I’m having fun. It makes things fun.

When I just didn’t enjoy it. I never really did, besides very few times where feeling feels better with marijuana.

But it is my self-remedy. My own way to combat my illness. Of course I have other, non alcoholic ways of helping myself…

Let’s talk about a few of them, if you are ever hearing too many foreign and unwanted voices in your head.

Writing. Using your voice. Speaking aloud. Make your voice strong. Speak well and speak often. It just makes things a lot less lonely. You do not only need to listen to hallucinated voices. You can listen to yourself or a loved one too.

That’s been my main solution to my disease for years. Just keep writing. It distracted me, kept me set on a task, cheered me up and relaxed me. I realize I also have to try other things as well to make my life better.

I’m so glad I never have to smoke weed again. Paranoia is a bitch.

I’m torn trying to stay awake a bit longer, or I could sleep. I don’t want to die.

I have to remind myself of that sometimes.

I am hearing them. It is very taxing and annoying.

So I draw instead sometimes. It helps keep me focused and is fun.

The pictures of the skeleton chick is Ysbel.

It is eternally a fight for my soul. And now I have a new ally. Ysbel. With the others, they may help me beat back the forces of John and Satan. Those are the main voices in my head.

So. We now have antagonists. Wonderful. I was tempted to add The Lich in the enemy section. But he surprised me, just with how he feels to write. He feels like he’s on my side.

Ok. This is a primordial primal being, whose entire goal was to destroy everything. He is strong.

Jesus is strong too, and on my side.

And it’s running off the rails again. This time it looks pretty fucked. I don’t need anyone, I’ve got me.

I like company. Don’t necessarily need it.

I feel stuck now,

And that horrid feeling of loss abounds.

So I draw.

Lukas Allen

                My two villains are real. Harrowing monsters, unholy boogeymen, evil incarnate. They are Satan and the Lich.

                Does the Lich look harmless as a simple photograph?

                The monsters in the dark are real in your own head. The monsters of the dark have power in your fear. These two in mine especially.

                Every stumble, every spook, as night and nightmare bring horror to life.

                I have met these two. I have seen them in the dark purple clouded sky.

                They offered me their gift.

                And there is no way to say no.

                Little fears can grow into huge phobias, an idea can become quite tangible when seen in the dark. Monsters are everywhere, whether you believe them to be your neighbor or fictitious entities, monsters roam rampant. My personal boogeymen are the Lich and Satan, who know my desires, my thoughts, and play on my insecurities. I will show how to reprocess a monster into a helpful force, because when that fear is harnessed to your side, it becomes easier to manage, as well as a powerful ally against horror.

                You’ve probably seen horror movies, horror shows, like one that is currently popular based on real events. These events are actually, because seen from a third person viewer, unreal to you in most capacities, unless you were unfortunate enough to be the rare case of interacting with such horror. These shows, these events in history, are much less scary than say, the monster under your bed, or the person who mugged you last summer. The reality of tangible horror is always much scarier. So how do we harness that power into a strength? Each person’s horror is unique to them, as different as any identity.

                My horror stems from these two creatures, who attacked me in a psychotic relapse. Imagine doing drugs. Imagine being insane. I felt like I was on the worst hallucinogen, created form chemical imbalances in my body, as I desperately clawed for sanity.

                During my relapse, these horrors attacked me, some based on trauma, some based on imagination. Satan is quite real for religious folk, even though in more sober mind times I decline giving him any sort of power, even that of reality. The Lich is a signal for me, who is a signal of relapsing and things getting worse. Satan is usually along for the ride, always waiting in my mind.

                The Lich is beside me now, drinking my drink, saying hello to the kind viewers.

                Satan is looking on disapprovingly at every mistake.

                So let’s continue, how do I personally harness these two personal nightmares?

                I reprocess them, I use my power of control on my mind. The Lich I spent many long years trying to turn into, if not a force for good, then a force of harmlessness. I wrote books about him, with him as the antagonist, and defeated him in a fictitious setting. This worked very well for my own personal nightmare, and in the end I even showed it mercy.

                Satan is a monster set in time, in many religious folks’ doctrine, even though in my opinion he should never be given any credence. This took a long time too, battling Satan, and if I have not defeated him, I have at least reasoned him out and made him powerless in my mind. He is trapped in the darkness of the pages, and will stay that way for me.

                So next time when these two break into my reality, I will treat them instead as what they are. Harmless. Not because they are unreal to me, I assure you they feel very real to my mind, but because I have defeated them, and will use the strengths of my victories, the learning of my losses, to never fall again. If I do I’ll just get back up again, and this tenacity is what makes horror powerless to us. The power to continue on through the night.

                Bravery is the power to continue.

          Lukas Allen

Fictitious bipolar trauma, Bipolar Feelings in the rain.

1.

I was walking home in the rain. It was such a great night.

            The best night.

            The greatest night of my life.

            The best night ever.

            I started running, with a smile on my face.

            I started running, like some idiotic fool in the rain.

            I whooped in glee.

            I roared in triumph!

            I met her.

            And I knew she’d be my wife, one day.

            My true love.

            I knew it.

            And I couldn’t stop this great feeling!

            Like a downpour in my heart, in my head, in my body.

            As the rain falls.

            A cop looks at me from his car, slows down past me.

            I smile a big hearted smile at him.

            He drives off. Good for him.

            I walk a bit.

            I go through the forest path.     

            It’s a nice night, I knew the way.

            The lamps showed the way through the forest.

            I sat on a wet bench, laughing to myself for a while.

            I smoked a cigarette in the rain, protecting the cig from the wetness falling down.

            I walk down the path, puffing and puffing, huffing and huffing.

            I walk down the path, and smoke my cig.

            I get out of the rainy night forest.

            And my home is just down the street.

            I notice the many little houses.

            If only they knew my victory tonight.

            I met her.

            And she would be mine.

            I walked into my house, unlocking the door.

            2.

            I was walking home in the rain. It was such a great night. The rain pitter pattered around me, as I could see every single beautiful color in existence.

            It was the best night.

            The greatest night of my life.

            The best night ever.

            I started running, with a smile on my face.

I felt like my heart was going to explode, I was so happy.

            I started running, like some idiotic fool in the rain.

            I whooped in glee.

            I roared in triumph!

            Like a lion!

            I met her.

            And I knew she’d be my wife, one day.

            I knew this more than any truth I’d ever known.

            My true love.

            I knew it.

            And I couldn’t stop this great feeling!

            It was like a train, going a thousand miles an hour, rushing past me, destroying all in its path!

            Like a downpour in my heart, in my head, in my body.

            As the rain falls.

            The colors were so beautiful.

            A cop looks at me from his car, slows down past me.

            I smile a big hearted smile at him.

            He rolls down his window.

            And nods at me.

            He drives off. Good for him.

            I walk a bit.

            I go through the forest path.

            It’s kind of dark.          

            It’s a nice night, I knew the way.

            The lamps showed the way through the forest.

            I sat on a wet bench, laughing to myself for a while.

            I couldn’t stop this crazy, awesome laugh. I felt like the forest was laughing with me!

            I smoked a cigarette in the rain, protecting the cig from the wetness falling down.

            I walk down the path, puffing and puffing, huffing and huffing.

            Like a big bad wolf, on his cigarette puff.

            I walk down the path, and smoke my cig.

            I get out of the rainy night forest.

            Finally. The light.

            And my home is just down the street.

            I notice the many little houses.

            Like anthills.

            If only they knew my victory tonight.

            I met her.

            And she would be mine.

            I walked into my house, fumbling with my keys, and unlocking the door.

            3.

            I was walking home in the rain. It was such a great night. The rain pitter pattered around me, as I could see every single beautiful color in existence. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope of color. I was listening to my music in the rain, coming from my mp3 player.

            Lucy in the skyyy with diamonds…

            It was the best night.

            The greatest night of my life.

            The best night ever.

            Better than any night anyone has ever had.

            I started running, with a smile on my face.

            Grinning like some lunatic from an asylum.

            My smile hurt I felt so happy!

I felt like my heart was going to explode, I was so happy.

            I started running, like some idiotic fool in the rain.

            I whooped in glee.

            I cackled in delight.

            I roared in triumph!

            Like a lion!

            Howling in the rain, like a wolf!

            I met her.

            And I knew she’d be my wife, one day.

            I knew this more than any truth I’d ever known.

            My true love.

            I knew it.

            It was fated to be.

            And I couldn’t stop this great feeling!

            It was like a train, going a thousand miles an hour, rushing past me, destroying all in its path!

            It was like a plane, I felt so high, faster than a jet!

            Like a dam exploding, bursting and flooding all.

            Like a downpour in my heart, in my head, in my body.

            As the rain falls.

            The colors were so beautiful.

            Like a kaleidoscope of color…

            Every little droplet, casting rainbows in my eyes…

            So vivid… like the trails.

            A cop looks at me from his car, slows down past me.

            I smile a big hearted smile at him.

            He rolls down his window.

            He asks me if I’m ok.

            I nod to him.

            And he nods at me.

            He drives off. Good for him. I bet he knew how great my life was going to be.

            I walk a bit.

            I go through the forest path.

            It’s kind of dark.

            I hope I didn’t meet anyone here.          

            It’s a nice night though, I knew the way.

            The lamps showed the way through the forest.

            Most of them flickered and were off.

            But I could still see the way.

            I sat on a wet bench, laughing to myself for a while.

            I couldn’t stop this crazy, awesome laugh. I felt like the forest was laughing with me!

            I thought I heard someone laugh down the path.

            I nervously say, “Hello?”

            No one answers.

            I smoked a cigarette in the rain, protecting the cig from the wetness falling down.

            I walk down the path, puffing and puffing, huffing and huffing.

            Like a big bad wolf, on his cigarette puff.

            I walk down the path, and smoke my cig.

            I get out of the rainy night forest.

            Finally. The light. The last bit of lamps were off.

            And my home is just down the street.

            I notice the many little houses.

            Like anthills.

            Like haunted houses.

            If only they knew my victory tonight.

            The ants would dance with ghosts in happiness.

            I met her.

            And she would be mine.

            I walked into my house, fumbling with my keys, dropping them, but picking them back up, and unlocking the door.

            4.

            I was walking home in the rain. It was such a great night. The rain pitter pattered around me, as I could see every single beautiful color in existence. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope of color. I was listening to my music in the rain, coming from my mp3 player.

            Lucy in the skyyy with diamonds…

            I love you, Lucy.

            I love you so much.

            It was the best night.

Lucy was so pretty.

            The greatest night of my life.

            The best night ever.

            Better than any night anyone has ever had.

            Best night in existence.

            With Lucy.

            I started running, with a smile on my face.

            Grinning like some lunatic from an asylum.

            Did I escape from one?

            No, that was years ago.

            The asylum… haha… What a horrible place.

            My smile hurt I felt so happy!

I felt like my heart was going to explode, I was so happy.

            I started running, like some idiotic fool in the rain.

            I whooped in glee.

            I cackled in delight.

            I roared in triumph!

            Like a lion!

            Howling in the rain, like a wolf!

            Shivering in the rain.

            I met her.

            Lucy.

            And I knew she’d be my wife, one day.

            I knew this more than any truth I’d ever known.

            My true love.

            My lovely Lucy.

            I knew it.

            It was fated to be.

            Prophets prophesied this day.

            Our children would be kings and queens.

            As Lucy and I rule over the land.

            And I couldn’t stop this great feeling!

            It was like a train, going a thousand miles an hour, rushing past me, destroying all in its path!

            It was like a plane, I felt so high, faster than a jet!

            Like a dam exploding, bursting and flooding all.

            Like a downpour in my heart, in my head, in my body.

            As the rain falls.

            The colors were so beautiful.

            Like a kaleidoscope of color…

            Every little droplet, casting rainbows in my eyes…

            So vivid… like the trails.

            Like the hallucinations I’m seeing…

            I knew they were hallucinations. Didn’t mean they weren’t still fun!

            A cop looks at me from his car, slows down past me.

            I smile a big hearted smile at him.

            He rolls down his window.

            He asks me if I’m ok.

            He asks me if I’m high.

            I shake my head.

            He pauses.

            Says, “Get out of here, kid. You’re too young. Go.”

            And he nods at me.

            He drives off. Good for him. I bet he knew how great my life was going to be.

            He probably knew I was high.

            He could’ve arrested me.

            He could’ve taken me to jail.

            I walk a bit.

            I go through the forest path.

            It’s kind of dark.

            Very dark, like eyes are watching me from the shadows.

            I felt like it was following me.

            Whatever I saw before.

            The monster.

            The big one.

            THE SCARY ONE.

            I hope I could escape it.

            I hope I didn’t meet anyone here.

            I hope I didn’t meet it.  

            It’s a nice night though, I knew the way.

            The lamps showed the way through the forest.

            Most of them flickered and were off.

            But I could still see the way.

            Because my pupils were so enlarged.

            I sat on a wet bench, laughing to myself for a while.

            Laughing very nervously.

            I couldn’t stop this crazy, nervous laugh. I felt like the forest was laughing at me!

            I thought I heard someone laugh down the path.

            I nervously say, “Hello?”

            “Hello.” someone says back.

            I stare down the path.

            I’m scared.

            I try to continue smoking.

            I have to relight it a few times.

            I smoked a cigarette in the rain, protecting the cig from the wetness falling down.

            I feel like whoever it was went away.

            I walk down the path, puffing and puffing, huffing and huffing.

            Like a big bad wolf, on his cigarette puff.

            But I feel like a scared little pig.

            I walk down the path, and smoke my cig.

            I get out of the rainy night forest.

            Finally. The light. The last bit of lamps were off.

            I break out running again.

            And my home is just down the street.

            I notice the many little houses.

            Like anthills.

            Like haunted houses.

            Like crypts.

            If only they knew my victory tonight.

            The ants would dance with ghosts in happiness.

            And the dead would rise from their tombs.

            I met her.

            LUCY.

            And she would be mine.

            I walked into my house, fumbling with my keys, dropping them, but picking them back up.

            This was the wrong key.

            I try another one.

            It’s the wrong key.

            I try another one.

            I laugh nervously.

            And unlock the door.

            5.

            I was walking home in the rain. It was such a terrible night. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what I was seeing. The LSD was making me trip too hard.

 The rain pitter pattered around me, as I could see every single beautiful color in existence. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope of color. I was listening to my music in the rain, coming from my mp3 player.

            Lucy in the skyyy with diamonds…

            I love you, Lucy.

            I love you too much.

Lucy was so pretty.

            Lucy.

            I started running, with a smile on my face.

            Grinning like some lunatic from an asylum.

            Did I escape from one?

            No, that was years ago.

            The asylum… haha… What a horrible place.

            My smile hurt!

            Why couldn’t I STOP SMILING?

I felt like my heart was going to explode.

            I started running, like some idiotic fool in the rain.

            Shivering in the rain.

            I met her.

            Lucy.

            And I knew she’d be my wife, one day.

            I knew this more than any truth I’d ever known.

            My true love.

            My lovely Lucy.

            I knew it.

            It had to be.

            My head felt like it would burst, exploding with my heart.

            It was like a train, going a thousand miles an hour, rushing past me, destroying all in its path!

            It was like a plane, I felt so high, faster than a jet!

            Like a dam exploding, bursting and flooding all.

            Like dying.

            Like a downpour in my heart, in my head, in my body.

            As the rain falls.

            The colors were so beautiful.

            Like a kaleidoscope of color…

            Every little droplet, casting rainbows in my eyes…

            So vivid… like the trails.

            Like the hallucinations I’m seeing…

            I knew they were hallucinations.

            I couldn’t stop the hallucinations.

            A cop looks at me from his car, slows down past me.

            I smile.

            He rolls down his window.

            He asks me if I’m ok.

            He asks me if I’m high.

            I shake my head.

            My heart is beating so fast.

            He pauses.

            Says, “Get out of here, kid.”

            And he scowls at me.

            He drives off.

            He probably knew I was high.

            He could’ve arrested me.

            He could’ve taken me to jail.

            He could’ve killed me.

            I walk a bit.

            I go through the forest path.

            It’s very dark.

            Very dark.

            Only the abyss.

            I felt like it was following me.

            Whatever I saw before.

            THE SCARY ONE.

            I hope I could escape it.

            I hope I didn’t meet anyone here.

            It’s a nice night though, I knew the way.

            The lamps showed the way through the forest.

            Most of them were off.

            But I could still see the way.

            Because my pupils were so enlarged.

            I sat on a wet bench, laughing to myself for a while.

            Laughing very nervously.

            I couldn’t stop this crazy, nervous laugh.

            I felt like I was so alone.

            I thought I heard someone laugh down the path.

            I nervously say, “Hello?”

            “I’m going to kill you.” someone says back.

            I stare down the path.

            W-Was it just a hallucination??

            I’m scared.

            Terrified.

            I try to continue smoking.

            I have to relight it a few times.

            I smoked a cigarette in the rain, protecting the cig from the wetness falling down.

            I feel like whoever is there is waiting for me.

            I walk down the path, puffing and puffing, huffing and huffing.

            Like a big bad wolf, on his cigarette puff.

            But I feel like a scared little pig.

            I run down the path, and smoke my cig.

            I get out of the rainy night forest.

            Finally. The light.

            I run more.

            It’s just down the street.

            I notice the many little houses.

            Like anthills.

            Like haunted houses.

            Like crypts.

            If only they knew.

            The ants would dance with ghosts in happiness.

            And the dead would rise from their tombs.

            I met her.

            LUCY.

            And she would be mine.

            This has to be her house.