But that’s not what matters. My name doesn’t matter because my name doesn’t mean anything. “A rose by any other” and whatnot. But I am not a rose. No, no, I am definitely far from being a rose. What am I? Well, perhaps you can tell me because I’m just not quite sure. I’m kind of hoping that maybe you might be able to help me.
Hm, now I’m thinking. Do I really need help? I mean, do I really need to know what I am? Does anyone else? Sometimes I think it would be good if people knew but, others… Sometimes I think it would be better if nobody knew. Like, if I just went to my special place and nobody came back. Sure, eventually someone may find my friends and I but, by then, even who I was wouldn’t matter because my name would be long gone. I’d still be a mystery. A file somewhere. Old dust.
Maybe I should tell you about my friends. That may be a good place to start. That whole: guilty by association kind of thing. Perhaps that would be the best way to introduce myself. Maybe you’ll find some clues. I don’t have many friends but the ones I do have are certainly not going anywhere. I liked them a lot so I made sure that we were friends for life. Sometimes I wonder if they like our little place but I picked it out just for them. Well, actually, I picked it out for my very first friend and then just brought any new ones there to show it to them. Continue reading
This was shared with me by a friend that found something she wanted me to see (well, that’s sort of obvious). What is actually kind of ironic is that the exact episode of which the author speaks truly resonated with me as well. “Here’s not here”. Those are not the words I’ve spoken to myself out loud in a bad terror episode. Those are not the exact thoughts I’ve had when trying to discern my whereabouts in the morning. However, “Here’s not here” is the EXACT same truth of which I am trying to convince myself to reduce the terror and paranoia. The most eloquent I could come up with is “I accidentally woke up in the wrong place”.
While my issue has nothing to do with a bad break up, I feel this woman’s words, her meaning, and it resonates with me in a way that I understand. I’d just like to say to Girl with the Octopus Heart: you are not alone in having the zombie apocalypse change your life. It gave me a different perspective and that particular episode actually made me cry so I watched it twice in hopes that I could better learn why. So much can be learned about ourselves if we just listen to those willing to share.
Sobbing through an episode of AMC’s The Walking Dead, I watched as the man I used to know and love as Drew Carey’s cross-dressing brother deliver a monologue about PTSD. I know, you’re already wond…
Source: How the Zombie Apocalypse was a Door for My Broken Heart or What I Learned from the Walking Dead
I’ve been going through old backups and have found a lot of poetry that I’ve written. I know what this one was about to me but I never gave it a name. If you have one you think would be good, leave it in the comments and thanks for reading.
Unnamed circa 2005
by Lacy Sereduk
She sits alone in her quiet room
Away from all the torment
She sits and broods and wastes away
With blood her only adornment
Silence is her only speech
That never ever flows
And when the time finally wastes away
She’ll be the only one who knows
So many tears down rapidly fall
To wash away the sins
With moonlights deathly call
The end of time begins Continue reading