InternalDualism

  Room filled with bodies, yet as vacant as the words and stares.  Noise escapes lips but no thoughts follow, words as translucent as the drinks they nurse.  Snarky remarks and judgmental glares replace caring hearts and loving words.  A full room of invisible people stumble into another bottle.  

Timid is the man with many faces, carrying his bag of masks and personalities every where he goesTimid is the man with many faces, carrying his bag of masks and personalities every where he goes  One may see the cynic, apprehensive with a sense of nihilism towards every aspect of his existence. Struggling to find meaning in any aspect of his life.  Another may laugh with the comedian, with whom everything is a joke and there is fun to be had at every avenue of his day. Striving to make all around him smile from ear to ear.  Another still may sit with the poet, who finds both majestic beauty and unbearable sadness in every word, sight, a

  He ran as fast as he could, as far as he could. Gasping for air as his legs began to give out beneath him. He collapsed in the sand eventually, drenched in a cold sweat.  "That couldn't have been real", he thought to himself as he tried to regain his breath. "But it must be real, it was there right in front of. But the screaming! That shrill, piercing shriek! What in the fuck was that thing?".  His breathing finally user control, he continued his trek back to town. He knew he had to do something, tell someone about the creature he'd seen. But what would he even do? Who do you tell? Surely no one would even believe him he thought, likely

  Awake to a familiar beeping. Clock says its morning, though the starry sky and cold air would seem to disagree. I step into the scalding hot shower, eyes still heavy from a restless nights sleep. I slowly awaken as the steam rises from my body, eyes finally beginning to open as I dry myself off an throw on whatever clothes are closest to grab.  I set out on my bike through the cold, soothing morning air. High On Fire's "Turk" blares in my ears, giving me the audible adrenaline for the day as I pass by sleeping drifters and darkened store fronts.  I await outside for my coworkers, drinking my starting dose of caffeine and inhaling my fir

 I'm sitting on a plane, my family sitting in the rows next to me. We're headed on vacation. Seated in coach, which smells of a musty attic, air stale and dusty. I begin to fall asleep. I awake alone, standing in front and a worn down barn. Red paint all but washed away, leaving jut red flecks strewn across the splintered dry rotted wood. On either side stands a large oak tree. The leaves green as can be, but the trunks are colored akin to burnt charcoal. The branches and leaves are still, motionless. There is no air, yet some how I still breathe deeper and deeper, the pace of each breath quicker than the last. An unsettling wave of fear an

While living by the ocean, I would sit daily by the waters edge, silent as passersby would enjoy the day with loved ones. An elderly man would walk by every day, walking his small dog, which remained his companion after his wife had passed. We would always wave as he passed, and I remained fixated on the waves. One day he stopped. He asked me why I was always by myself. "Don't you have someone to go to the beach with?", he asked, understanding loneliness and the toll it can take. My first thought was to answer no. I had no friends, no love, family far away. But the then I thought for a moment, and replied "I'm here with the ocean, she's my g