The Joy Graveyard – unfinished and ??? story?


The only reason I am posting an unfinished and poorly written story is that I had the lovely idea of filming a video for my second channel where I read it, badly. So I figured I’d link to a written version of it because I didn’t do an awesome job at reading it mostly because I’m tired but really just because it’s me. So here we go! (You can click here to watch the video if you’re a brave soul)


The Joy Graveyard (?need a better title?)

This is the story of a girl who knew better. For inside her heart, where most would bury their rancor, she kept all that was dear to her. She knew better than to let hate devour the light and the love in her. Most people would bite their tongue and tell not where they hurt; they would swallow the rage and the poisonous fire but never mention how upset an event/a person left them. But not her for she knew better than to let the darkness destroy her like it did her forefathers. No, she wouldn’t trap the hate out of sight and let it consume her insides. When she’d bite her tongue, it’d be for a laugh or a smile.

She had seen, countless times, how slow and painful a death such a life brings. And she had witnessed the terrifying explosion that happens when too much has been shoved down the throat and all the burning poison, like a herd of suns, rushes out of a person’s mouth and attacks anything it lays eyes on. With her wide eyes, she had watched the decay, the destruction, the darkness reign over these people and replace them piece by piece, throwing the human away and leaving only rotten flesh and hollow bones; demons.

She knew better than. Or at least so she thought.

This is the story of a girl who never laughed and barely smiled but lived maybe to be the happiest of them all. She had figured out the key to happiness, or at least, how to shield oneself against the darkness and leave this world as human as we entered it. She took all the sparks, all the light and buried it deep inside her heart. She filled herself with blue skies and bird songs. She swallowed all her smiles before they even reached her lips, she choked on her laughter and packed them tightly in tiny jars and planted them in the soil of her heart, the deepest she could reach.

As years passed by, the joy kept stacking up inside. Her friends and family kept wondering why she was always so sad and not laughing, why did she never seem to be having a good time? And she never said anything to them because they were all fake happy and couldn’t understand. To pretend was their way of life. She was happier than they could ever have wished to be.

With all this happiness inside of her, she was all set for life; she didn’t have to worry about facing tragedies because she could always reach inside to get some light. Would some bad luck strike her, she’d just open one of those jars, dig up a few smiles and she’d make it out alright. And there was always something to smile or laugh about, so she’d keep harvesting and would never run out.

Only once in her whole lifetime had she been so full of happiness that she had a breakdown. And like she predicted it was nothing destructive. It was a moment of pure happiness where she contaminated everyone in the room. It was on her twenty fifth birthday, when her mom had flown all the way from the other side of the earth to surprise her and she stood there in the middle of her tiny apartment with her friends, her boyfriend and a new dog. She was just full to the brim and after a single tear ran down her cheek, she broke the concerned silence with a laughter. Her mother cried when she saw her smile and laugh like that, like she hadn’t in forever. And the whole day was cheerful and everybody was happy and having a good time; not pretending. But that was the only time.

After that, she just kept stacking and stacking. The light was a little harder to find as the tragedies finally found her. She lost her dog. Then her mom. Eventually, her job. And maybe bits of her mind too. But life still went on and she could still reach inside to drink from those tiny jars on those long nights she’d cry herself to sleep. The world grew darker around her as her hair also progressively lost their color, but she still sought the light. She kept looking for it, eventually it got to a point where there were only sparks to be found but she’d manage to catch them and bury them just the same. And on the day she finally went to visit the clouds, she had the biggest smile on her face. ๐Ÿ™‚


You can chose a path of self-destruction and allow hate to enter your heart and eat away at your soul or you can chose to let the light, no matter how small a spark, how weak a flame it is be the one riding shotgun. I think that’s mostly the idea I had in mind when I wrote this.

I believe it was the day right after the a7x show when I was on my way back “home” after a sleepless night at the hotel. I was in the metro and I just had a lighting hit my head and try to write the idea as quick as I could with my eyes half open.

As per usual, my writing this idea into a story is taking it to an extreme. And I don’t think that this girl truly knew better nor had the key to happiness. But I think she was onto something! ๐Ÿ˜‰

You really do have power over your life and how the story unrolls and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can make the choice to actually take charge! It’s easy to let the darkness consume you, it’s really easy. And I know that it always seems like a good idea to just bury what’s bad inside and never mention it, never think about it, just look away. It feels safer and for a while you feel like you’re actually okay and you can lead a normal life. But it kills you slowly and silently, like a gas leak in your house while you’re asleep. It is not the solution.

I believe you have to face the darkness inside and outside and seek the light. Easier said than done, I know! But evil ways always seem so much more painless and easier at first sight, it’s on the long run that you truly see how destructive they are. You can run, but you’ll never escape because it’s all inside of you and all around you anyway, so looking away is actually a pretty silly thing to do. Build up walls and paint them the color of the rainbow but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s dark outside and it’s raining inside of you.

It can be hard and painful sometimes to face the darkness. And some things you really can’t deal with and have to bury as deep as you can because they are just too much. I know. I just think that you need to try your hardest to keep the dark out of you, and especially those silly things that can turn into bitter acid in the back of your throat after you’ve let them sit in here for too long. Hate is a big no-no to me.

My point is, you have the choice and the power and it’s you who decide what eats you and what you eat. So think twice or thrice before holding grudges over those people who didn’t take out the trash once when it was their turn to, those who never gave you back those twenty bucks they borrowed, those who broke you and those who taught you life a little too hard. Don’t let hate and darkness be the master of your life; you are not a puppet so stand up to yourself and keep your soul as safe as you can.

I’m done! Thanks for reading! I’ll leave you with a very fitting quote of Hayley (MY QUEEN) Williams. Until next post, don’t forget to sit down, breathe and think before choosing to go left or right. โค

“I have the ability to build myself up or break myself down. Strength comes from within. […] “B.O.Y.” means “Beware Of You”. Be aware of your power. We have the choice to live positively or in our own destruction.”

The Day I Forgot My Book (aka “yesterday”)


I have this book. It’s always with me, in my bag, no matter where I go. I’ve had it for a few months now but never actually started reading until a few weeks ago! And I still go very slowly about it. I’m barely four stories in. It is a book that I have always wanted to read, so you’d have expected me to devour it as soon as I’d lay my hands on it (like I did Red Dragon), but I didn’t. I barely touch it and when I do, I only take the smallest, slowest sips. But it is always with me.

In my bag. On my desk. On the chair covered inย clothes near my bed. In my hands. Between my teeth. On the shelf. On the floor. I always have it around even though I’m usually not reading it. It’s just here. Like I need it to be.

Usually, when I pick it up and actually read a few words is when I’m outside waiting for something, sitting somewhere, and probably panicking inside and trying to keep it together. Or just trying to make time fly faster!ย (But I’m trying to bring back the habit of reading before bedtime, because it’s a healthy habit and it feels very good also!) And that’s about it. I’ve had it for over seven months now!

I never realized how important this book was to me until Monday afternoon when my “doctor” called me and told me it seemed I had forgotten my book on his desk. I had forgotten my book. I left my book on his desk. I forgot my book…

I was suddenly assaulted by a wave of “HOW?”s and got very anxious. How could I have forgotten it? I always check behind me when I leave somewhere to make sure I didn’t forget anything. But…

I remember putting on the desk when I arrived. And, then… I didn’t pick it back up when I left. I took my jacket and back on the chair and I just left. I didn’t look back to make sure I had everything with me. I just walked out the door and left. But, how?? Right? Well, I was already having a hard time getting through that day, I was exhausted and the talk we had just left me slightly weakened I guess. So I forgot.

I forgot my book! The worst part is that I didn’t even realize it! I was so caught up in thoughts and blurriness. And then I was thinking about my painting and… Never once did I realize that something was missing until that phone call. But once I did, I just collapsed. I didn’t know it before, but this book actually contributes greatly to my well being by just being around. And without it, my room seemed emptier and I just felt lost and terribly anxious.

When was I going to have enough courage to go back there and get it back? Was I going to wait until my next appointment in 600 years? How was I supposed to live in that room devoid of guitar and now missing that tiny little bundle of dead trees and ink? I was terribly sad. Sadder than this day had already made me.

And well, I sat down and let it sink in. And I realized.

This book was my thing to look forward to, in a way. I had all these stories which I yearned to read with me, all the time, and the possibility to read any at any time. I knew that I could always turn to my book if I ever felt anxious in the bus, alone in my room, or just feeling like everything outside and inside of me was assaulting me. I hold all these stories greatly to my heart even though I have never read most of them because I don’t doubt their perfection, and I could just pick one and drown in it anytime I’d feel like it. It was always there and that felt good knowing it.

Also, I guess, always having it around had some sense of familiarity to it. I was used to seeing it, touching it, feeling its weight in my backpack. And that’s very important to me. Things that are constant, that don’t change, that are always with me. They keep me grounded and make me feel safe and not like a blurry bubble of darkness floating away.

And there’s that ritual of always putting it in my backpack, then taking it back out once I’m home and putting it on my desk and eventually moving it on my bed. (But never reading it! haha) That’s also important. It gives me the tiniest sense of purpose and like I’m in control.

All in all, it was an anxiety reliever and a best friend. Andย having it snatched from my shaky hands made it clear how it was a vital part of my days and contributed greatly to my getting through the waves. Well, I forgot it, so it was all my fault. Nobody snatched it from me. My carelessness did… I still can’t believe it that I just forgot about it like that. I took it for granted that’s what I did.

Anyways, worry not! Today, with the great help of my best friend who stayed on the phone with me all afternoon, I went and got my baby back. The doctor had leftย it in an envelop with the lady at the front desk and I honestly thought that having it back would involve more conversation but it didn’t. Phew! I was so happy to have it in my hands again. Ripped the silly envelop off and threw it away (in a TRASH CAN!, of course, because I care about Mother Earth โค ) and there it was…

Back in my hands again, my long lost friend.

I had a horrible night last night. I worried about what I could do before sleeping now that the book I never read wasn’t here for me to read anymore? Nothing felt right. Then, I had the weirdest dreams because I’m so tired lately and mostly dream about food, conversations I am going to have the next day, taking out the trash, the a7x concert, or just doing the dishes. Life without this book is unbearable.

As soon as I got back home, I did what one does when being reunited with such a good friend after sooooooo long and I took a thousand pictures with my laptop. I had a photoshoot with my book to celebrate our reunion. I love it so much! ๐Ÿ˜€

Quite an adventure, huh?! Got my book back and, luckily, it hasn’t lost any of its comforting powers and the safety waves are still a-flowin’! Now, I can go outside again and not feel so naked. ๐Ÿ˜›

This books provides solid ground to stand on when my vision blurs and I start to quake. I need it around, just to look at it and acknowledge it as a fixed point that keeps me chained to reality.

And I also love knowing that this compact little thing holds so many worlds inside of it, each filled with different shades of gloom and strange characters, and knowing that I can just dive in, no matter where I am, to escape whatever it is I’m running from. The stories are really great, so well-written and I just love everything about this book (and more). 100% would recommend to anyone that hasn’t read it or just remind those that have to maybe go back and re-read it because it’s such a piece of art!

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Reunited at last… โค

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, Chloรซ. 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 theย 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