worry flood


None of my worries is the least of my worries.

All my worries are on the top shelf and constantly flooding my mind.

I’m replaying everything in my head all the time.

From the tiniest detail, like that time I knocked over two plates of colored beads in kindergarten and had to stay during recess to clean up my mess.

To really heavier ones, like that time I made my mother cry.

In fact, when I say “tiniest detail”, I don’t mean it from my point of view. I mean it from most people’s, I guess. For me, all of these are as big as the other though I can make the difference between bigger ones.

They’re replaying in my mind most of the day. All the while I’m busy worrying about now and what’s next; what once was is always there, what happened haunts me all day long.

Sometimes not and I feel lightweight and I feel like I can go on and be reckless again and feel fine.

But then it comes again, at any random fucking hour of the day and it doesn’t stop. Not until I’ve collapsed under the weight of how my teacher called me out for daydreaming back when I was 7.

Everything sticks with me forever and I can’t just scrap it like a gum on the sole of my shoe. The darkness haunts me forever. I have all these creepy bugs with their small legs carefully buried in my scalp and there doesn’t go a day they aren’t hungry for some brain goo.

And when my mind obsesses over something good, how does that turn out, you ask? Well, it eventually figures out a way to darken the scene and have the prettiest flowers smell like rotten meat.

I hope I’m not my only friend because it seems I don’t want me to be happy. And fighting against myself sometimes just seem so pointless. I’m all I have, so why should I wage war upon me?

This endless worry flood has me sailing away on a self-destructive path. And I go with the flow.

All this dead water that infiltrates my lungs has such a bittersweet taste that I can’t even begin to think of letting go of.

This familiar taste, I could fight till the end.

But maybe I don’t want to win.

Maybe I just want it to flood me, just like that, and drown.

Because there is nothing sweeter than defeat and surrender to the storm.


I tried to work on Uncage’s next chapter tonight but I just couldn’t do it. My mind was too busy. And, look what I managed to vomit onto my keyboard. Isn’t it wonderful? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Images. Words.

Pain is a color and I’m a rainbow.


Darkness isn’t necessarily black. It is not colors that I lack but a darker shade of black; or maybe a bottle of Jack; or stronger bones in my back…

I wanted to make this a poem but it seems the shaking in my mind cannot handle structured writing, so I will have to let it be whatever it decides to be. I will let my fingers type these confused thoughts of mine and stain my white keyboard with the poisonned ink that leaks through my broken nails. Ain’t that just the way it always goes anyways? I am nothing more than the puppet of my own thoughts.

I’ve been thinking about darkness, as in the spots that cover my heart and soul; the pain, the silent wounds, the invisible scars, the bright crevasses. And again, my brain has sewed another fancy disguise for my bleeding soul from the tasteless word-stew that simmers forever in the back of my mouth. Because this blood never lingers on my flesh and shimmers better than when I hum these word-stuffed melodies. I can watch it dance and rejoice as I praise it with my dark poetry, the only music I can create.

Darkness isn’t necessarily black. I can tell because when I look inside, I can see the colorful polka dots adorning my soul.

My best friend used to call me her rainbow, I have lost track of her reason why, but today I have found my own. If I’m a rainbow, pain is a color and my thoughts are artists. And, of course, I’m holding the bigger brush and when I’m not poking my eyes with it, I paint the biggest patches of colors and take care of any needed touch-ups.

My heart is the color of the sky, a blue that gets deeper at night when my soul is an ocean where demons can’t drown.

My hands are the color of fire, a red that gets deeper when I wrap them around my neck tight enough to shut me up.

And my green-tinted smiles they’re here to hide my rotten faith and hopes.

My head is a mess right now. I was already dealing with the storm’s unexpected come-back and now I have all these doubts and whatnots coming uninvited to the party. The place is too crowded, it’s hard to breathe and I’m losing sleep again, and weight, and strength, and hope, and faith. But, believe it or not, I somehow am in better shape than usual. I mean, I’m a mess and this is very heavy to carry around. But I still feel like I’m handling it better than ever before. But maybe that’s just another illusion.

I’m glad I got that out. I had these few lines lying around for a while now and I just had to get them out. They’ll remain here for now. Maybe they will later find home in a poem or a song, if I ever birth one of these again.

And let me just add that, as much as this sounds dramatic, too dark or whatever you wanna call it, I’m a very positive person. Don’t get me wrong, I ooze darkness and cold coffee; but I still shine, even when I shine dark. I might even be the most optimistic person I’ve met so far. I mean, if you trim all the excessive use of words, the dark tone and all the dramatic poetry, there’s light here! Not because I admit and often emphasize the ugly and darkness of certain things (mostly me) doesn’t mean I don’t see the beautiful. I actually, sadly(there it is again!…), see it everywhere.

I don’t like being called a pessimistic or a fatalist or whatever things you people can come up with, because I’m not. I see the light and the beauty in places you would never even think of looking, and I don’t give up even when I do; so shut up with your labels that don’t even fit. And to quote that Paramore song, “For a Pessimistic, I’m Pretty Optimistic“.

Cherish your pets while you have them and water your plants. ❤

One night out.


The lights hurt me; the sounds do too. Everything hurts. I hide behind my hands. It’s not enough to calm me down. It’s not enough to protect me. It’s merely a shelter through which I can still feel all the bombs being dropped from the sky.

I’m not shaking. My breathing isn’t heavy. It’s all inside. I’m paralyzed. This is nothing, I say to myself. I’m not even shaking, this is stupid, I say. Why don’t you move? Why? But I just can’t. I want to cry. I’m mad at myself for being so weak. I’m mad at myself for being sick while my body isn’t showing any signs. I’m not shaking. I feel stupid. I feel selfish and useless. You’re full of shit, Chloë. I recall what he told me. I’m making all this up. I’m full of shit. I’m selfish and hurting everyone else. I’m sick. A mess.

My hands are glued to my forehead, like a small roof infusing my eyes with a light darkness. I can’t move. If I move I won’t be fine. I find a semblance of comfort and safety in this position. My body wouldn’t respond anyways, would it? If I try to move I’ll fall, won’t I? If I don’t see them, they don’t exist therefore they can’t see me and I can be fine.

I want to cry. I just want to go home. I want to hide. I need silence and the comfort of my bed to relive this moment over and over in my head and torture myself. I don’t want to be here anymore. But I don’t want to move. To get out, I’ll have to take my hands away from my face and that’ll leave me exposed. Exposed to the light, the sounds, the eyes, the room. I don’t want to face this. Maybe if I remain like this long enough I’ll disappear; or maybe they will. I want to try this. I don’t feel strong enough to look up. Staring at my legs feels good, okay? These blue jeans make my legs look fine. These are my legs. From my body, right?

I hear someone speak. It’s so far yet so close. She says “I’ll pay the bill and we’ll leave, okay?” No, it ain’t okay. It’s not. But if it isn’t for you I won’t get out of here. She gets up and grabs her jacket. I can’t get up. She’s waiting for me. Haven’t I ruined the night enough already? I don’t care if I have to rip my skin off to get those hands away from me. She’s mad at me. She’s disappointed in me. I ruined this for both of us. But mostly her. I get up. I’m sorry. But thank you, oh thank you so much. My skin is intact. But I’m burning up. We walk. I can’t look up. The noise is killing me. I stare at her feet and follow them. I say sorry to them. My tongue is missing. My mouth is a hollow cavity that cannot even gulp down enough air to ease the lightheadedness. Thank you for saving me from this hell. Does she know?

She stops many times. There are so many people. They’re all probably staring at me right now. “Look at that weird girl walking with her eyes glued to the floor.” “Why does she play with her hands like that?” I feel ugly. Stop staring, guys. We wait in line to pay. This feels like forever. I feel weird. I feel bad for leaving so early. I barely ate. I ruined this.

We walk out. I close my jacket and put my hood up. I don’t want to see the lights and surely not the people in the streets. I stare at the ground and let my feet do the job. I’m on autopilot. My body is. My mind is busy overthinking everything and going back on old and fresher memories and stamp everything with guilt, shame, doubt or anything else it feels the need to. I feel like crying but it won’t work. I let my feet carry me. They know the damn road too well by now. I feel horrible. Shaking. But not very much still.

Halfway home. Now I feel numb. I open my jacket. It’s getting hot in here. Get rid of the hood. The light doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t feel very real. I think about my small room and how it’s devoid of people; how it’s devoid of the outside world. I feel sad. Is this how my life shall be till the end? I don’t like being alone. I don’t like this poisonous bubble. But part of me doesn’t want to pop it; not that I could.

We’re getting there. I see a group of people not so far from the main entry. I flinch for a second but keep going, staring back down.

Finally inside. I get rid of the damn jacket and walk into the bathroom. I’m slightly shaking and my breathing is heavy but not so much. I take my clothes off and wish someone would do it for me. This is so tiring. I manage. I get in the shower and almost burn to death. I can’t think fast enough. After three tries, I get the right temperature; not really, but good enough. I stand numbly under the water and let it wash away the infinite bullshit I am covered in. I can’t cry. I’m bored. I get out.

Now I’ve got to put clothes on. The. Struggle. I don’t feel anything anymore. I brush my teeth. Boy, do I look ugly. So much darkness on my face. My soul leaked again, I think. I don’t even laugh at my own jokes. Great, I think, my favorite kind of nights!

I stare into space as I mechanically fill my bottle of water and sit on the bed. I grab my computer. It’s so slow. Please, don’t do this right now. I need some music. It’s finally on. Struggling to give me what I ask for, but hey, I can’t complain. “Like master, like pet” or whatever. I finally get my music. I hesitate. I don’t know what I need right now, I think. I listen to one song. Then another one. Still not it. I DON’T KNOW. I finally settle for BMTH’s That’s the Spirit album and open my WordPress tab.

I type down some shit on a draft. Things I thought of in the midst of my freaking out at the restaurant. I’m always amazed at how, through all the mayhem inside, my mind can still think “Hey, that could be a great start for a poem!” or “Next. Best. Saddest. Song. Ever. Will write!” Oh, how artistic do we become when we’re at our worst!

I open another post and think “catharsis”. I start typing what I think will be a poem but soon turns out to be a weird somehow vague post about how fucked I am. I’m hungry but I brush it off; my body won’t accept it, I won’t swallow and ugh.

I finish it and re-read it at least a thousand times without changing one word. But just to be sure, you know. I put some space in there. Doesn’t that take away from the spontaneity? I thought it had a better impact without all these spaces. It felt more like the actual thing that way. I keep the spaces so that if anyone actually reads it, it won’t be that much a pain in the ass.

I post it and pick my 3DS in the hopes of finding some peace of mind. My stare is still very far away. I’m not here anymore. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be back in the cockpit. Maybe not. Every day is a surprise. What will I get? What degree of hell? How will I manage? Usually, not so well. Ah, can’t wait!

Uncage the Night, Chapter VII


(I WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU, READER, THAT THIS IS A HORROR STORY WHICH MEANS THAT IT SURELY CONTAINS: GORE(blood, guts, this kind of thing, you know), STRONG LANGUAGE(mostly ‘fuck’s), STRONG IMAGERY(blood, death, murders, etc) AND OVERALL LOTS OF BAD THINGS THAT CAN BE DISTURBING, TRIGGERING, ETC, SO BE VERY AWARE OF THIS BEFORE YOU READ please)


Leslie threw herself on her parents’ bed and quickly bundled up in the covers. She was now more than ever unwilling to face the monstrous mirror glued to the ceiling. Continue reading

Uncage the Night, Chapter III


(I WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU, READER, THAT THIS IS A HORROR STORY WHICH MEANS THAT IT SURELY CONTAINS: GORE(blood, guts, this kind of thing, you know), STRONG LANGUAGE(mostly ‘fuck’s), STRONG IMAGERY(blood, death, murders, etc) AND OVERALL LOTS OF BAD THINGS THAT CAN BE DISTURBING, TRIGGERING, ETC, SO BE VERY AWARE OF THIS BEFORE YOU READ please)


The birds seemed to be out for the weekend too but the sun hadn’t given up on her; it was here shinning brighter than it had in a long time. Feeling rays of sunshine brushing her cheeks and scratching her fragile skin made Leslie feel alive and cheered her up. Continue reading

Uncage The Night, Chapter II


(I WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU, READER, THAT THIS IS A HORROR STORY WHICH MEANS THAT IT SURELY CONTAINS: GORE(blood, guts, this kind of thing, you know), STRONG LANGUAGE(mostly ‘fuck’s), STRONG IMAGERY(blood, death, murders, etc) AND OVERALL LOTS OF BAD THINGS THAT CAN BE DISTURBING, TRIGGERING, ETC, SO BE VERY AWARE OF THIS BEFORE YOU READ please)


“Fuck!” Her heart was racing. She sat up straight and brought her knees to her face where tears were streaming. Breathing was nearly impossible; she was on the edge of having a panic attack. In a rush, she went to the bathroom to shower in hopes the water would wash away the filth of that nightmare. Continue reading

HOMECOMING


I found this weird story on a girl’s blog yesterday and I’m glad I saved it cos the blog was deleted a short while after I copied and pasted it on my computer. You can think it’s fake, it’s all up to you. But something you can’t deny is that it’s dangerous out there and there are things in the dark, and they’re not waiting anymore. We’re not safe anymore.



Last night was my first night at the hotel. After a long and warm shower, I lied on my bed thinking it was not such a bad thing after all and that the week I’ll spend here could actually be enjoyable. I felt really cozy and comfortable. The place looked so nice I thought I wouldn’t even want to go out anymore to do what I came here for.

I heard a knock on the window and brushed it off – it was probably a bird. I didn’t even bother moving and grabbed my book to down a bunch of chapters before sleeping. Another knock brutally cut me in the middle of a word – it was definitely just some jerk having some midnight fun or something. My eyes sank back in the ink of my old book, only to be stopped again by a third knock; multiple knocks, actually. The jerk seemed to not have enough fun already and decided to annoy the fuck out of me. I ran my fingers through my hair and yelled. “Can’t you fucking stop already?” But it didn’t stop, instead, it got louder and louder.
I jumped off the bed and walked, with my blood on the edge of boiling in my veins, towards the window. Then I stopped in my tracks a few feet away from it when a thought occurred to me – my room’s on the fifth floor. The crazy knocking had stopped. My heart couldn’t help but race in my tiny chest and I could feel pearls of sweat starting to form on my forehead. I took a minute to rationalize; there couldn’t be anyone behind those red velvet curtains, so why would I flip my shit out? Then, I realized that this was exactly the reason why. I let a deep breathe in and in a rapid though shaky way, opened the curtains… Nothing.
I breathed again and turned around to find my book on my bed but it knocked again. Three times. I froze. I didn’t want to turn around of course but something made me change my mind – the wind. I could feel the wind blowing on my bare legs which could not be possible as the window was closed last time I checked. I slowly lifted my left foot and as I started to move my neck, I heard a knock. On the door this time; my door. I was getting really mad at this point so I ran to the door and opened it quickly to scream at whoever would show up behind it.
“What the fu– ”, I choked. There was a guy from the hotel staff standing there with a sorry look on his face and a little basket full of tiny bottles of shampoo and body lotion and fucking chocolates. “Hmm, is this for me?” I asked after staring at him for too long I presume.
“Yes, it is but–” I grabbed the thing from his hands (I really like chocolate) and then questioned him with my eyes while I ate one with a blue package. He hesitated a bit and then he continued. “Ma’am, you’re not supposed to be in this room. We made a little mistake.”
“So, that’s what the basket’s for? Why thank you. Feel free to make more mistakes, sir.” I said with a wink that had no impact on his attitude whatsoever; I guess my friends lied when they said I was attractive when I do that. “Why do you keep looking over my shoulder? You need something there or–”
“Can you follow me now? I will guide you to a better room.” He looked more nervous by the second.
“Yeah, sure, just let me grab my things.” I didn’t want to stay here anyways so off I went with the cute hotel staff. I turned around ready to head to my bed but he grabbed me by the wrist and with a serious look on his sweaty face he said: “We should really go, now.” I didn’t protest anymore and followed him to the lift in my panties(Should I mention there were teddy bears all over them? Which is probably why he didn’t react to the wink now that I think about it…).

He talked to me as if nothing had happen on our way to my new room and explained that tomorrow morning “the guys” would bring me my stuffs. He was really nice and extremely good at hiding secrets it seemed. I went to sleep without hearing any knocks and woke up with my bag and my things inside outside my door. There was also a little tissue with numbers on it: 0905152306. I just assumed it was the cute guy’s phone number and that I actually didn’t fail my seduction plan.
Little did I know that it was actually a date and a time. I’ve only just discovered it as I’m typing this for whoever out there will read. Saturday, September 9th. I’ve only got six minutes left until we reach 23:06 and then I don’t know what will happen but my computer will send this in twelve minutes so I might be able to record what happens then for you. If I die – why would I die, huh? – I think this could help, I don’t know, maybe the police or just curious lil’ shits on the internet looking for thrills or whatever. I just really have no idea what could happen, maybe it was a joke, but I just took some precautions in case something do happen and it’s bad.

So here we are, it’s already 23:07 and I’m still here, nothing happened. We can all go home and rejoice. Wait. No, it’s not possible. I think I just heard a knock on the window. I can’t stay here, I’m going to grab my keys and leave.
Okay. I can’t find my keys. It just knocked again. I want to go. Please. I know no one can read this just yet but I need help. I don’t want to scream, maybe it could hear me and I’m not sure I want that. I should’ve stayed home, I’m sorry dad, I’m sorry mom. I just wanted to feel a bit freer. It’s knocked again. I think this was the last warning. It’s gonna come and get me. It’s gonna come and get me. My message will be sent in two minutes but there was so much I wanted to say. Oh my. It’s here. I don’t know how it got in through the window but it’s here. And it’s walking towards me. So tall. So dark. Oh God, what is this? Why me? It walks so slowly but it’s staring at me. I can’t stop typing I’m so scared. It’s getting close. It’s got a 

(The message was followed by four blank pages which turned out to be full of one word written all over the pages in capital letters and white color: HOMECOMING. I don’t know what that means but it surely ain’t something good. We’re not hunters anymore; we’re the preys. Be careful in hotels, guys.)



Another creepypasta submission. Wrote it a bit as a parody in the style of some crappypastas I’ve read. But it still gives a bit of chills imo, even though it’s a bit funny!