The Library

Introduction

I had never been one to jump so openly into things, especially those of which I had loved. Writing, for one, had been nothing but a way to study those that came before me, my predecessors. It was an outlet I began to use, however, never was it done consistently. Seldom did I believe that any of my contributions were worth noting.

I believed, in my simple mind at the time, that with getting closer to the core of your being, you lost sight of that which you held the closest.

Because, in the end, nothing is permanent. I was a being of science, to study formulas and gain some newer explanation as to why things certain things happened. 

I sought out an explanation for the tides and the moon, the commencement of Spring and the regression of life in the Winter.

To me, life was a journey that was filled with events that one had to learn to master, an incredible ebb and flow of circumstances all passing through a person like wind through a turbine. With each event, you were able to progress with new knowledge and insight that would improve the quality of life regardless of the outcome.

Though, that never quenched my thirst. I still looked to the heavens, scanning the limited sky, in search of an answer that would perhaps, give me the hope I had lost.

I kept questioning this feeling, one akin to a fire that was yet to be lit, and my soul felt barren. Even now, I’m still unsure of what I’m missing. Yet, I kept looking.  I searched for an explanation as to why I was so flawed.

Could it have been the vessel that carried this weight, the circumstances, or could it have been how the cards fell.

Science is beginning to lose meaning as I reflect on my small, minuscule life. 

Aphrodite’s Blessing

I think I’ve fallen.

Though Aphrodite has eluded my gaze, I’ve felt her gentle hands grasp my heart and set it ablaze.

As I walk down the trail, my thoughts provide great company and comfort when assessing my current situation.

I’ll ask for no council, as it’s only been whispers down roads I cannot turn back from, but I’ll consider what Aphrodite herself has told me.

These beings are tricky and conniving and though they can provide the fated silver-lining, I hold her hand in navigating one of the roughest seas that she has had me sail through.

I simply can’t comprehend what has made me so ill.

It appears as if Cupid has come to torment me with his arrow

And there we were, nights spent in a haze of devotion, or clear-cut emotion, that we couldn’t dare deny.

Now, if I was to ask you, would you give me the answer closest to how you truly feel?

If I confessed my love to you and I lost everything,

Would it have ever made a difference, were you listening?

It should hurt me to know that loving you is wasting time,

pining over someone that was never mine.

But you, my dear, make these feelings worth thousands of heartbreaks.

The vines that grow on your pillars only add character that many would envy.

Alas, they cannot understand your plight and take it as a surface issue but I see you.

You’ve no need for a mirror as I have always seen you, yet, you turn me away.

Can’t you understand how much harder it is to love you from a tower than by your side?

How I long to take walks in your forest and appreciate the only true beauty I have ever known.

The ocean is beautiful, yes, but you are an exception I have loved for years. I’ve driven myself mad from holding these words back.

I’d cross any ocean and sea for you.

I’d change the law of nature, it’s beauty and all, to match that of yours and even still, you are an exception.

But I tire of chasing.

 not when I have an ocean at my door, beckoning me forth to enjoy it’s riches.

Aphrodite, I address this to you.

Please return to me my mind and all the sense I have lost in exploring this man. If not for anything else, Goddess of Love, aid me in keeping this one happy.

He, who rests by my side, keep his youthful innocence and grant him the easiest passage through life.

My heartbreak will forever be worth it, but not his.

Those In the Garden

I am slowly inching closer to becoming a recluse.

To hide in what is perhaps the only nurturing environment left, why would I not leave soon?

Beauty that is not selfish, greedy or unkind,

I seek for your guidance in these trying times.

I have no life here in this pitiful little city.

Those I call friends watch me with great interest or great pity

to see what magic trick I can pull out of the hat.

With hands shaking, a personality gift wrapped,

Never to be me, no, but the person they’d like to see.

All while I lay stuttering and stopping, my soul crying and clawing for any escape from this unbreakable cage one can only find sulking in humanity.

I hope you never know what it’s like to feel yourself lose your humanity.

I know see that I’m complacent to my circumstances.

Never have I been more than a jester, 

entertaining those around me with stories and tales of how I’d burned a part of myself to keep them warm.

How I danced through fire to escape those that sought to hurt me, sickle and all.

When I have met and conversed with others, I felt as if I was no longer human.

Labeled a monster, backed into a jagged corner with each spike piercing my skin, 

I know I’m the bear in the middle of the circus, forced to play this role I no longer agree to.

But it appears I’ve gained this awareness too late.

Again I love, again I hate.

It seems to me that with each passing day the infection that is humanity seeps further into my veins, sending my body to burn with a hatred I know is that of a monster.

You’ve made me into the very thing I feared at night.

Gripped with terror, I hated those with eyes that lacked life.

I was a child with only love for this world and those in it,

hoping to redeem myself by giving the love I never received.

Perhaps, I believed, that if I loved enough,

Someone, somewhere, would love me.

Enough to listen to my words, understand my life and who I was, 

but I was a child, and at that, naive.

I know now, the essence of life has been tainted by those who take. 

Of course, they’ll take and only ever keep taking.

Greedy like those in the Garden.

Those I know belong in the Garden, far away from whatever will become of me.

I quickly lose interest of what you have to offer.

I hope all that I was dies with me.

Let this world burn, for at last, it’s finally keeping me warm.

To Fall in Love With the Experience

To find a greater purpose in the mundane things, if this is your solution to addressing the greater issue of a biological hate for the circumstances,

Why must we also be forbidden from feeling so strongly?

Why must we reject our nature, and in turn, pick up the scraps and fall in love with the outcome we’ve placed ourselves in. 

Well, I reject that.

How many times have I heard of a deep-rooted unhappiness running it’s course with those around me, those full of young blood.

Them, like myself, have admitted defeat in forms so problematic, that fighting seems to no longer push for change.

I reject this.

I was told, on numerous occasions, that I felt too strongly, that my love should be bottled and saved.

In a world where we lack so much, empathy and care, I felt as if perhaps, I was born with too soft of a heart to properly survive.

we are scared of the unknown, that of which we do not understand.

However, to not understand, is to limit our continuous mission for new knowledge.

This, in turn, kills the human spirit and destroys the cravings which have fueled us for so long.

we must overcome the fear of that we do not understand to break free from the prejudice we hold to those we have not given chances.

The true fear should come from the ignorance we hold in failing to understand others, for in doing so, we fail to understand ourselves.

Loss of Color

It was the smell.

I could smell the cigarettes.

I know that I’m not like them.

I remember everything like it was yesterday. Funny enough, every time I try to think back on what has occurred, it feels like an old film reel is playing. The stutters and pauses seem to fit with all the gaps I have in my memory. 

But that didn’t stop you from playing. You looked so beautiful. You were the one thing I was able to hold without breaking. You, in your magnificence, always looking back at me like you knew what lied ahead. 

You always calmed me.

You knew why I held on so tight, even when we weren’t falling. 

You keep loving them, I keep hating them.

People, they bring a v̴̹͔̺̝̗̖̮̤̙̤̇͋̐͑̅͛̋̑̎̕ì̵͕̱̗̯̬̠̘̳͚̦̝̞͒̾̿̈́̓̆͊͂̓͒̌̒ĺ̷͍̻̠̗̄͠e̷̜̣̪̋́̈́͂̏͐̋͊̀͛͝ ̶̧͐̈́́̓d̵̨͕̤͉̬͙̲̹̯̻̘͝͝ḯ̸̢̡̧̛͎͚͚̣̤̳̤̮̏̐̿́̔̏͑̊ͅͅs̶̰̰̖̹̪͎̫̀̌̆͊̐e̵̼̖̟̦̤̙̦͙̣̖̼̪̗̅̀̊̂̈̾̌̚a̸̦̪̰̞̘̞̞̟͊͒́́̓̅͒̌́̊̆̎͠͝ş̷͈̟̙̫͉͎͕̫̩̰̘͋́̓̈́̀́̏͆̉̾͑e̴̮̘͙̤̰͖̜̟̺̹̰̫̋̾̓̆̉̐́͐͜ I’d frankly go without.

I tried talking to you, but you’re just so loud. That morning, I tried getting up. It’s never easy anymore, these bones have just seen experienced too much. Their wear rivals that of a used mule, I’d say. But that never stopped you. The constant movement between doors in a house that should have been silent, it kept me up. 

My eyes kept darting, back and forth and back and forth. I tried to look for anyone in the darkness of my room. Though I knew if I kept looking, I might find someone I didn’t want to see. At least I wouldn’t be alone. Everyone was just so loud, yet my room stayed silent. I had hoped that if they heard my example, they’d follow. But they didn’t. 

It was raining and I finally got up. Friday.

Today was the day I was heading to you.

You never liked the rain, you thought you’d get wet. You also always had a reason to avoid it. Your powders, your hair, it could never get wet. 

I didn’t trust myself behind the wheel. 

I somehow always ended up in a ditch.

I stopped following the ideology that lead me to you.  I’ve made up my mind.

Bur how many times will I say this before I believe it? 

I’m sorry, I keep getting sidetracked.

I made my way to you. Down the stairs where you always were. Right where I left you, I found you. So beautiful. 

You listened. Unlike the others, you listened.

Everyone else can just be so loud, that speaking becomes pointless. They won’t listen, anyways.

The dog saw what I did. It smiled at me too.

When I hit you, it looked up, but kept quiet.

When I dragged you down, it looked, but after everything, it already expects it.

No, no. 

I’m no writer. I write because here, I can speak. If anything, I’m hurting.

I’ll lose you before I lose myself, that’s how it goes.

Did you hear?

I heard a knock.

Ó̸̙̀n̸̗̖̤̫̾̽̃̓͂̊c̴̺̱̼͈̤̙̞͈͍͎͐̓̈́̄̈̕ę̵̧̨̢͙̜̯͙̪̞͍̠̑̽́͊̈́̾͑̊̀̍̋̓͘͜ͅ,̸̱̝͙̩̘̎̊ ̴̰̤̞̲͎̻̹̩̦͇͈͔͔͕͓̑͑̀͛̈͌͑̈̅̈́t̶͔͇̮̼̆̎̑̕w̷̧̽̄̈́́͋͊̑̽̉͝i̸̛͔̤̙̮̹̬͑̇̑͒͗͗̋͊̾̾̌̿̀͝c̸̟̼̗̊͋̃̈́͐́́̇̾͑̽̕͝ȩ̶̯̺͖̫͕͌́̈́́͗͋͊̓̍͒͘͝,̷̛̘͔̞̟̤̟͖̘̙͙͇̲̟͍͗̔́͂̆̒̾̌̃̈́́̚ ̴̲̭̻̫̲̞̱̰̝̙̺̗͔͖̜̈́̃̃͗͘t̴̨̮̟̣̫̺͋̍͑͐̆̒̾̓̎̎̄̐̈́h̷̢̘̖̟̭̱̗̗͉̬̥̞̜̹̍͜͝ŗ̶̛̥͓͊͗̈ḯ̵̢̨̩͖̯̖͉̠͍̦̟̖͖̪̂̍̂̍̃̕͝͝͝c̷̡̣͓̟̫͛̀͆̿͌͗̈́̾͌͘͘̚̚͘e̷̡̠͕̞̬̦̺̻͓͉͉͈̎̊̊͐͜.̴̛̛̩͇̣̯̜͛̎̊̐͗̾̈́̊̌͒̒̏ͅ

The door shook with each thrust of the hand, but I stayed sitting. I’m too tired to open the door now. The door knob kept turning and I just looked. I’ve accepted my fate. 

When the hinges finally gave out, I looked. 

When the door opened, I looked. 

And I found myself. 

Let me go.

“You can do so much better then staying trapped in this room.” 

I know how this goes. 

“Let me get you out.” You’ll say, pointing outside. You’ll hope that I realize that you weren’t trying to break in, you were trying to break me out.

I know. 

This disease keeps evolving, morphing into something smarter. Most of the time, it’s smarter than me. I know you as well as you know me. That’s why I just can’t understand the game you play. I can’t leave. I don’t belong out there. Who I am, I’ve fought to keep. 

Why would I go out there, the expanse that seeks to rewrite your being? That seeks to change you and praises compliance.

I’m not like that. I wasn’t made to follow you. I was made to watch you from afar. You may know what lies ahead, but I keep weaving stories from the past. 

You know this.

So why can’t you let me go?

I̸̧̱̗̟̹̞̪͖̯͕̻̟̰̓̈́͋͗̽̎͋͌̓̔͘͜͜͝ ̵̡̛̭͚̠͎̪̥͇͓̥̺̻̹̩̑͑̑̑̿͊͝͠ḱ̵̨͙̜̮̮͖͇͍̫͙̳̫̱̿̂̐͐͆̿̿̆̐̆̏ë̴̦̜̣͚̩̯̠̺̭͚́̃́́̅́̀̔̈́̋̈́͋͠e̴̡̹̬̤̣̻͍̱̪͚̗͎̘̟͌̍ṕ̴̨̡̯̜̥̙̗͙͊̎̑̔̒̅̚͜͝ ̸̧̭̹̗͚͈̣̜̣̒̄́͋̈́̿̓̇̊̽̎̚s̶̛͈͐̉̈̈́̑͒̐̉͒̉̽̎̕͝ê̶̡̨̛̯͈̜͙̤̼̬̼̣̟̪̟͔̐͋͆̾̐͛̊͒̊̅e̷̜̟̳̞̺̺̟̅͐̔̒̀͒̔͗͜į̵̬͉̫̫͙͇̰̰̲̲̜̱̓̑̒̔͆̑͒̃͜n̴̩̭̎̽͛͗̾͆͑́g̵̢̬͇̩͇̮̻̳̃̑͐̓͋̋̋͑͗̀͌̇̆̐ͅ ̴̡̛͎͉̹͈̮͎͉̪̭͌̔̏̅̾̈̕̚͘͜͝f̸̡͖̠͕̩̑͛͝ȧ̵̱͕̦̋̕c̵̡̡̛͍̼̠̘̅̒̿e̸̦͈̫̘͎̙̖̝͑̀͌͊̓͒͑̎̄̚͘̚ş̸̙̘̦̙̩̻̼͉͍̩̒̆̆̕͘ͅ.̷̻̫̣̝̭̰̣̦̻̤̋́̅́̈́̈́͊͋̆͋̕͜

I’m tormented by those I couldn’t fix. These stories have all failed by my hands, please let this stop. I can’t keep living like this. I see your face, I trace your smiles, I follow your mold almost exactly.

We’ve lost. I’m tired, my mind smells of something burning because it is. I experience a type of pain I only wish others would know. I can’t find footing. My pain is real, yet I feel it as if it comes from a story. The thoughts have been put so eloquently in my mind. 

However, just because it’s Been delivered beautifully, doesn’t mean the contents can’t make me nauseous. I feel sick.

How much will I have to write to rid myself of these demons. How many letters will I have to write, words I’ll have to speak to get rid of you.

I’ve sacrificed my being, what else do you want?

It has been a bit, hasn’t it?

Isn’t it nice? To walk freely among this world and yours, to feel the emotions you were born with, saved from those I’ve grown to know. I envy you, for when you’ve finally had your fill, you can leave this place and move onto one that satisfies your growing hunger. I stay here, stuck and praying for an end that will seemingly never come. I tire of the feeling that life is marbled, cold and hard to the touch. Where is the warmth I was promised?

Where is the joy I was told of when life was finally given? Joy is nothing but a temporary fix to hide the true nature of the life we live, cursed to mask it for the sake of everyone but ourselves.

For when the night comes for you, you can awake knowing that the day is fresh and young. I have been hoping to wake up for a very long time now. Years, decades of torture done by a hand I can never see. May God strike me if it is my own.

But I can never show my face again, I know if I do, the hounds barking at my door with tear it off of myself and lay it bare so that I can finally see the true nature of who I am.

When all else fails, I come back to here, this very stage to write all that I could not say.

Voice, given by lucifer, is troubled and weak. I have the capabilities to write, but never shall I speak. If only you understood my plight, given through a letter addressed to him, noticed by the many silent eyes in the room.

All I want is to believe I am human, too.

You’ve been sent to spy on me from above, let the daggers placed into your innocent hands be the ones to finally send the stake through my heart.

Which poem do you think is Wolfson’s favorite?

The Crimson Door

Death

Funeral

Aranthene and Doliopsys