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.

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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. ❤