News: My thoughts are clouds I cannot fathom into pastries.

--1 June 2018--

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

December 31, 2012

A Brush with Death: My Anaphylaxis Experience

This is a true story of an experience I endured on December 30th 2012 :) The writing is rather poor since it's a first draft and therefore a very rough copy...however I am not about to re-read that have fun picking through the bones yourself :P


A Brush with Death: My Anaphylaxis Experience

It was a regular day at church. Ok, well, it looked regular. The skies were a broken shade of grey and snow littered the ground, petering off into dangerous little patches of ice. My shoes clicked annoyingly as I crossed the pavement from the car to the front door. Stealth was always my desire, especially after my dad’s lecture many years back on how silly it was to wear noisy shoes.
The morning progressed as it always does. I practiced the worship songs downstairs with our pianist and then chatted for a while with my friends. Before I knew it we were well into the service, singing and praising our Lord and Saviour.
However, things began going wrong when we got to the benediction offering. I arose to sing the last song and felt a piercing pain in my abdomen. It had been there, constantly niggling the underside of my consciousness for the past two days, but this was different. This was a transformation from nuisance to beast. I panted for another breath and clutched my side; the sensation heightened as we rounded into the second verse. I felt my forehead start burning, so I began to pray as I sang, asking the Lord for mercy and that He would let me get through this without making any mistakes.
The Lord is good indeed; I walked off that stage feeling confident that no one noticed my plight. After grabbing my bag and jacket from the second row of pews, I snuck to the back and sat down next to my mom.
“Good job!” she said in an enthusiastic whisper under her breath.
I smiled and felt my eyes start watering. My hand returned to my side and I curled in pain. Mom instantly noticed,
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my side. That pain is awful.” I replied.
“Do you want to go see dad?”
“Yes, yes please.”
Mom nodded and then grabbed her bag and we both left by the back door.
Upon reaching the hospital we waited at the eastern entrance for my dad to meet us. He came, swiftly and noiselessly careening around a bend all the while smiling.
“What’s up kiddo?” he asked.
I explained what was wrong and how I believed the pain to be related to the multiple falls I had experience from skiing on Friday. He asked me to point to where I had pain, then he nodded and said,
“Ok, we’ll get one of the other doctors to see you, let me just check in here for a moment.” (since physicians are generally not allowed to treat their own family members, due to safety reasons)
He entered into a side room and several minutes later returned with Dr. D in tow. After going through the same set of questions and pointing to where I felt pain, both doctors decided I needed to be properly examined so they tore off in search of a free bed.
They finally found one and Dr. D proceeded to examine my abdomen. He determined that the pain I was feeling wasn’t simply from common human ailments and he said to my parents,
“I believe it is the spleen. If the pain had been lower in the abdomen I wouldn’t be worried, but with the way it is I think she should have an ultrasound. Best to get it checked out right away.”
After thanking Dr. D for his time, my dad led my mom and I through a networked maze of passageways and then deposited us at the emergency sign-in counter. He then left to care for some sick patients.
It took a little while to sign in, but after it had all be done, mom and I managed to find a seat in the unusually crowded waiting room. I’d just gotten comfortable and was proceeding to grin at every elderly individual my eye contacted when a commotion in front of us caught our eye.
One of the nurses was standing down the hallway and was signaling with her finger, indicating we should follow her. At first, I raised my hand to myself and questioned,
I looked at mom. The nurse continued nodding her head and signaling. We both got up and joined her. She then quietly took us through the emergency room doors and led us back to an empty room with a bed.
“Have to be sneaky around here.” She said, “Don’t want the other patients to get upset, thinking ‘Oh she just got in and now she’s going? Why is that?’”
I grinned as she continued,
“Plus, there’s got to be some perks to having an insider, right?”
“Of course.” We agreed.
“Now I’ll just change the linen on this bed and when I’m gone you can slip into this lovely gown I have.”
I rolled my eyes as she produced a typical, chalky blue coloured gown.
Once everything was set and I was in my robe of honour, a lady came in to do some blood work. I cringed as I saw the needle but as usual, the pain of its entry was far less than expected. She left as quickly as she came, the only difference was she now carried four vials of my life source.
Dad joined us afterwards and had mom follow him to go grab a coffee.  Mom was hesitant at first,
“She’s not going anywhere, right?” she asked
“No no, the doctor is going to be a while yet in coming. They’re really busy here. We’ll be back before she’s gone.”
It was about the time that he uttered that statement that Murphy’s Law began to roll (if I may be so whimsical in my usage of that theory).
I sat on the hospital bed, legs crossed, reading my book…the curtains suddenly fluttered and I lifted my head, expecting my parents to be present. Instead, there was a wiry lady gesturing that I should follow her.
“We’ll get your ultrasound done now. Just bring your valuables with you. Maybe leave your book here so people know you’ll be back.”
I glanced down at my book for a moment and then warily looked back up at the stranger. Slowly, I set my book on the bed, then I slipped into my shoes and snatched up my bag and tightened my jacket around me.
“Are you ok to walk or do you want a chair?”
I nearly burst out laughing, but I managed to control myself as I emphatically replied, “Oh no no, I’m totally fine.”
She raised an eyebrow, then we set out.
The ultrasound went well. It was an odd experience. The wiry technician lady first poured this really hot gel onto my abdomen, then she smothered it around using the sensory device, all the while picking up images of my internal organs. She clicked away, snapping pictures for about 15 minutes, before she handed me a towel and told me to wipe off the gel.
It was kinda gross but very cool at the same time.
I left the room and found my mom waiting outside with my book looking slightly anxious.
“Dad says come get a coffee and sure enough we return and you’re gone. Every single time. I shouldn’t listen to him anymore.” She sipped her coffee and handed me my book, which I tucked away inside my bag.
“Ah well, everything is fine.” I replied, looking hard at her coffee.
“No you can’t have any. Not until everything is done.” She said, throwing out a little smirk.
Dad soon appeared with another doctor in tow. I’ll just call him Dr. White; I don’t remember his real name, but he had very white hair. After being introduced, dad led Dr. White to the ultrasound room and had him help interpret the results.  Both men returned after a little while and dad said,
“She’ll have to have a CT scan. There’s a little bit of fluid around her spleen and it needs a closer look.”
It wasn’t more than 10 minutes before I was led to another room. Mom was told to wait outside. The female technician was very nice. She had me lie down on this large moving bed/table contraption, the tracks of which would  pull and push the bed through this round, skinny donut object.
“Now we have to put in an IV because we’ll be administering some contrast to you. Which arm would you prefer?”
I indicated my right arm and we proceeded to talk about skiing (since that was most likely the cause of my spleen injury) and made other small talk. After everything was set and a lead sheet had been placed over my legs and waist, she told me,
“Now I’m going to move the bed in and I want you to put your arms up on the top of this here [indicating the donut]. When you hear the instructions to breathe, just follow them. I’ll come out and tell you when we start the contrast.”
The first bit went just fine. I followed the automated voice instructions and grinned as I heard my dad’s voice in the background, laughing and talking to the technician.
The lady then came out and fumbled around with some lines on my left side.
“Ok, so we’re going to start the contrast in a moment. Once it gets going you’ll feel like you’re peeing your pants and you might get a metallic taste in your mouth.”
I raised my eyebrow at this while she clipped in the line to my IV and then told me she was starting the contrast.
It took about twenty seconds before I began to feel the symptoms she warned me of; I notified her and she said,
“Ok, now we’re going to take a few more runs of this thing then we’ll be done.”
I nodded and then she left. The sensation of burning began to take over the metallic taste in my mouth; every cell felt as though it was super-heating. I touched my tongue to my palate and my eyes widened at the heat. My brain began to feel very warm.
The bed slowly moved through the donut and the automated voice came back on, telling me to breathe in and hold it.
This time, I was unable to hold it. I felt a sneeze coming on, however I became a little confused when it didn’t just stop after one. I began sneezing rapidly in succession and my eyes started watering. My legs were now burning with heat and my abdomen felt unnaturally warm.
The technician came out and stood over me; she looked at me and said,
“Are you ok?”
I nodded my head and laughed between sneezes, “Yeah I’m fine, just have to really sneeze. I’m not sure why.”
The lady’s face took on a concerned look and before I knew it a kindly looking doctor joined her on my right side and my dad appeared on my left.
“Her face is going really red.” They noted, “and she’s starting to shake.”
Dad’s face became somewhat unreadable. I was trying to answer their questions but my face felt like it was on fire and I was burning from the inside out, my body began to itch.
“Can you still swallow?” dad asked me
“Yes, I can.” I said, sneezing again. Now tears were pouring down my face, despite the fact that I wasn’t really crying. I was trying to laugh but my breath began to come out in shallow gasps as I tried to hold back the sneezes.
“Where’s the medical kit?” said the kindly doctor in a very stern tone, “Why don’t we have the medical kit?”
“Can you still breathe?” my dad asked me firmly
“Kind of.” I felt more tears flow down my face. The heat was becoming unbearable now. I tried to breathe in but I couldn’t exhale. I started struggling for breath; I looked up at dad and shook my head, this time I began to cry for real.
“Get me the atropine!! Where’s the epinephrine!! She’s having an allergic reaction!” my dad spoke in a commanding voice that I’ve only ever heard him use in serious situations.
The mention of atropine seriously freaked me out. I’d studied about it in cell physiology. It was used to counteract the effects of fatal nerve gases like sarin. The fact that dad was calling for it now meant that I was in danger.
The kindly looking doctor grabbed my hand and squeezed, “It’s going to be ok, just keep breathing and stay calm.”
His face looked anything but calm.
By now, my hands were trembling, my face was (apparently) redder than a tomato, my throat had constricted, I was sneezing, and everything either felt like it was burning or buzzing.
Dad swiftly returned to my side with a long syringe.
“Epinephrine. Where do I administer it? Does she have an IV?”
“She has an IV.” The technician raised my arm towards my chest.
“0.4 ccs.” Dad said, then he began depressing the syringe, “That’ll make you feel better.”
“0.2ccs came back out the tube.” He said calmly, “I’m giving her another 0.2.”
I began to feel the effects of the epinephrine very quickly as it was directly injected into my blood stream. Every single cell inside my mouth began to buzz. My arms and upper body began to shake, nearly progressing into convulsions. It felt as though my heart was on a joy ride; it galloped along at such a ridiculously fast speed I felt like passing out.
Even my mere words cannot describe how utterly horrible this experience was…and it still wasn’t over.
“You’re pretty red there, girl.” My dad grinned down at me, his face still taunt.
The buzzing and trembling sensation carried on. I laid my head back on the bed/table. Soon, noise from the hallway arrested my interest. The doors flew open and a stretcher was wheeled in; I saw my mom outside looking very concerned, which only worried me further.
“Ok sweetie, when you’re ready you’ll need to shift over onto this bed.” The technician had strung my IV up to a bag of fluid after they'd injected a shot of saline to clean the tubing. I nodded and took a few more seconds before I crawled over onto the bed. They wasted no time in covering me with a blanket and wheeling me out of the CT room. I began to feel very cold. My hands turned to ice.
The bed raced through the hallway into emergency where they were met by younger doctor who also grabbed a-hold of the bed. They then wheeled me into the trauma room and slapped round, sticky sensors to my chest and upper abdomen, connecting them to a heart machine. One nurse pulled out a blanket from a boxy machine and smiled at me,
“See, it’s been kept warm just for you. Here let’s put this on ya now.” She draped it over my body while another individual strapped a gas mask to my face.
“The mask will administer --- [I don’t remember the name of the gas] which will help open up your respiratory tract. You should be able to breathe better soon.”
“Wow, is she ever red.” Someone commented
Mom wrapped my feet under the blanket and then said, “Her nose is really white but her face is red.”
“It’s weird isn’t it.” Dad smiled, “How’re you feeling now?”
I grinned back, wishing I could blow my nose, “Much better.” I said.
My hands were still shaking violently, but over time this subsided.
Within a few minutes, though, my eyes began to swell up and my skin started breaking out in hives. Quite uncomfortable, I dare say.

After my shaking had decreased, they quickly wheeled me back to the CT room and finished the scans without administering any contrast, as it was already in my system.
After that ordeal, I stayed in the hospital for a good 4 hours; my dad and several other physicians monitored me before releasing me and sending mom and I home with a prepared shot of epinephrine.
I turned out that my spleen had about 3 mL of blood around it, but it wasn't torn, only bruised. That was great, because it meant I didn't have to have a surgery.
Mom told me afterwards that dad had talked to her and said that if he hadn’t been there to give me the epinephrine, the other physician and the technician would have called a code blue (essentially that alerts the hospital that a patient’s life is in danger). Apparently they were unprepared for such a severe allergic reaction that they had nearly nothing present to counteract anaphylaxis.

So that was my brush with death. And it’s crazy to think that only 1 in 100,000 people experience a severe, life threating reaction to contrast…and I happened to be one of them. I’m just so thankful to God that I am still around today :)

November 25, 2012

Soothe My Weary Soul -- A Poem

A short poem I'm working on (written in iambic pentameter). Inspired by Dante's Prayer; you can listen to the song by clicking the link. 

Google Images


Soothe My Weary Soul

Breathe life and joy into this feeble heart,
Accentuate each sinew now with might,
And turn my gaze to heaven high in hope,
For life I seek amidst my earthly plight.
Each ear tuned fast to every sweetn'ning sound,
And those of harsh distraught bring somber prayer.
The soul replies with tension and remorse,
My silenced thought flees swiftly through the air.

Known paths oft traveled well by friends lie dry
Beneath the stars they shudder in despair,
Desiring soft caress of weary leathered foot,
Yet traveled not for fear of baleful snare.

I lie among the dewy, frozen leaves
My breath coagulates between the oaks;
The softened sound of woodlark in the trees
Now soothes my soul to rest from earthly yolks.

Dear friend, clasp hands with me in bravery,
And swear this day to walk in honest truth
For every step tread not in God’s true will,
Is one step more to Hell-tormented youth. 


Signed with soft silence, 


November 18, 2012

Wallflower & Universal Plaster -- (A Poem)

A poem I wrote yesterday, because it was raining :) 



Wallflower & Universal Plaster

It rains.
The sky sheds tears,
Each one drips, twirling tumbling downwards,
Crashing upon the rotting, diseased earth.
Heaven’s glory, bestowed upon that which dies.

Fold over your cloak,
In shame, refuse the stars the chance to see
Eternal beauty separated from the finite
By a veil of gossamer clouds:
Quaking and shifting, perusing the surface
Like a penny dropped into a fountain,
Sending ripples through its medium.

As a gargoyle perches upon a cathedral
So the earth perches upon the continuum of time and space,
Restless to venture within,
Yet held back by the sun.
A wallflower in the universal dance.


Signed with a golden leaf, 


November 3, 2012

To Heaven; To The Lost; Heard -- (3 Short Poems)

Sometimes a writer cannot express what they desire...simplicity is best.

[[Music: You Are Loved (Don't Give Up) by Josh Groban]]



To Heaven

Is a poem,
Of the whirlwind
Within –
Which I cannot
Stolen words,
Falling till they smash
To the bottom -
Of my heart.
And stirred up
Like a breeze,
They crystallize together
My soul flies away
With the birds

To Heaven.


To The Lost

This is for those,
Who lost their words
And cannot find them.
Search your soul,
Take hold of the light
And set it free.



Silence in pieces
Moderate pieces,
Oh don't you realize,
Uncover your eyes
And See.
I hear you,
You are precious
And loved.


Signed with wind,


October 30, 2012

Conglomerate I -- A Poem

Hey ya'll, so I decided to spew out a bit of poetry because I kinda felt like it. I don't really see much reasoning at all in what I wrote...just a little burble to clear the mind and whatnot :) Although, I must say for the last stanza I was definitely envisioning a military scene, if that helps clear up the cobwebs. Anyways, inspiring music for this piece was Jonathan Harvey's "Tranquil Abiding" (now there's some unique orchestral material for you). Enjoy!

P.S. Oh yeah, and when I was writing about the "forbidden depths" I totally had that Smeagol-by-the-pool scene where Bilbo comes in and observes the poor soul :P entirely random haha!!


Conglomerate I

Render me incapable, tie the knot and throw the ship to sea,
Puddles of gloom, despair, suggestion.
Stoke the fire and let it flame across the forest,
Take down the trees, smoulder across the sky,
One pause, one look into forbidden depths,
Forgotten emptiness that bodes danger,
The last out-ridge before the drop-off.
The eclipse of stone with air,
Tumbling down, spiralling, swirling, swirling, spinning,
Out of control, swinging as a pendulum, swinging and hovering.

A crystal burns away the mid-morning fog,
Glistening in the sallow candle-light, frothing against the glow of the moon,
Rippling amongst the air, shimmering between my fingers.
Throw it away, out across the lake, skipping skipping
Down the fountain’s peacock plumes to the penny-drenched depths,
Let it blend in silently, morosely with the glassy-eyed victims.
Another drop of amber pulls passionately against the rim of the glass,
Reaching for the floor, reaching reaching, crashing,
Successfully leaping and splattering into a hundred pieces.

Fold the blanket, fold and re-fold and unfold and fold again,
Smooth the crinkles and wrinkled lines,
Turn about, pressing black against linoleum, pressing skin against skin,
Salute, then spiral, soul spilling, senses searching and reaching,
Across the galaxies. Time has no essence.


Signed with green leaves and tinsel,


October 1, 2012

The Hasty || Stop -- (a poem)

I needed a little break from studying and doing I wrote a poem. It might not make sense...but that's ok :) Poems don't always make sense. They are strange creatures after all, as we know from Lewis Carroll (who was, indeed, somewhat of an inspiration for this piece...although with some other Victorian novel of which I cannot remember the title for at the current time). 



The Hasty || Stop

Inhale the water, let it fill your tepid, dried up lungs,
Let it moisten your skin, ever so softly brush it.
Drain the poison from the sink, watch it swirl and swirl away,
Do not touch.
Vibrant colours, sensory organs, splayed across the mind,
Watch the waves pull and pull again, toward their deepness.
Another whirlpool swishes and tries so hhardh to pull you deeper,
Restrain. Metal chains clink. I shot my radiator. Stop.

The steam rises upward – dragon’s breath by man – filling the air,
Heaven rains down abundantly upon my rusted limbs,
Down, torrent, russshhh.
Not a splatter elsewhere but my skin, soaking in, breathing out – steam.
The sun grimaces at the earth and tugs, tugs away at its cape,
Dragging it slowly across the solemn land. Now, ooze of darkness.
Now silence. Now. Stop.

Cold, cold dank hands pat the wall, the cement wall,
Slap slapping their way through the musty, humid air.
Find an apple, now fingers curl confidently around its orbit,
Smooth its gloss with a thumb, feel resistance and grin.
What does it taste like? Is it poisoned? Adam? Eve?
Snow White? Oh my land. To bite or not to bite.
Pearls from an oyster’s nemesis gleam joyously, hidden between the red tide,
Swallowed up by a sea of breath unique, breathe two and twice. Stop.

There was once a laughing seal, it was hideously wonderful.
It laughed so very hard and erratic with its asthma.
Once it tore down a curtain, knocking over the genie,
The genie escaped. Tell that to the ringmaster with his white wig.
Wot: pallid face, lips crushed by cranberries, and chicken stock air.
Mind you (and your mind is beautiful) he’s never sober enough to care,
Always drunk on tirades of cruel jests and ill humour.
No one else will listen though. The seal doesn’t speak English. Stop.

Bend your ear to the wind; it whispers your name,
In the dead of night, hear it calling, calling and beseeching you to turn.
Turn once, turn twice, three times and now you’re there,
Dead silent, dead air.
Not a realism in sight, not a heart beating, just the landscape
Muttering brushes and stutter out a stump now and then,
Pass through the wall, this way, tarry not,
Bind what cannot be bound and break what never is broken.
Mind where you step, you might fall out. Stop.


Note: If anyone has any idea for a title, I would love it if you made note of one to me :P the current standing title was chosen without much I cannot seem to put my finger on the pulse of this piece and name it. Perhaps you may have better insight.

Signed with white and petals amidst blurred thoughts, 


September 23, 2012

Frustration -- (Emotion Capture)

I felt like I should write a scene in an attempt to capture an emotion (which I've kinda failed at in the past, so yay, here goes another attempt). Today I try to collect the essence of frustration in a short scene. It doesn't sound that awesome...but I guess it's ok. So yeah, read on and if you have suggestions/comments, positive criticism is welcome. 

[Note: concerning image, see Character Notes at bottom for more details]

[yay; music by one of my favourite young artists (who's now all grown up, but I just love the stuff he recorded when he was younger :P)]


The door slammed shut with thunderous force and a trembling form collapsed onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow. His hair splayed about, tangling itself momentarily with the blankets that he drew up over his shoulders.

The atmosphere was all at once warm and humid. His breath cascaded through his lips, soaked up by the flannel, until it returned through his nostrils. His cheeks were moist with the tears that, for no real reason, continued to seep from his eyes. His tongue traced itself over his lips, curving around the rounded scar from childhood. His eyelashes brushed against the blankets like feathers attempting to escape the clouds; and then he threw them back and allowed fresh air to race into his lungs. He felt the coolness expand within him, filling him up from the inside like a refreshing compliment.

His eyes immediately flicked upwards to that one sketch he should have gotten rid of; the familiar orange autumn leaves soothed the back of his mind. The smiles, the warm fleece overcoats, the hugs, the laughter…it all reminded him of the better days. The days where he inhaled the words of the people he loved. The days when he traced and retraced the backbone of sentences uttered…the times when he simply reclined in a chair and counted freckles on the faces of others. He tasted those moments in his mouth, as vividly as a daydream.

A choked sigh escaped his lips and he slumped down on the pillow, its warm white cover creased over his eyes and blocked out the sights he loved and hated.


The word was so bitter sweet: an emotion like none other he’d felt so deeply. He hated it intensely, yet he loved it…because it was a word. A feeling. Another blessing. Another curse.  

He sat back up abruptly and shook his head, forcing out the cotton-like thoughts that sought to overtake his rational mind. Reaching up, he wiped away fresh tears. His heart was going to burst; and if it burst, it wouldn’t just burst, it would explode. It would explode into a million colours and shades and splatter all over the room. And his blood would pick itself up off the floor and dance over his carpet and out the door and onto the street and down to the town center where it would put on a show for the whole universe. Then it would slink back during the wee hours of morning and slip through his ribcage, stimulating his thoughts once more until he arose in the morning, weary with the heavy feeling of life.

Already his heart thundered violently, like a racing beast threatening to take over the shooting stars and shatter every wish and dream anyone had ever made. He pressed his hand against his chest and took a deep breath. His eyes combed the room until they spotted a sketch book. He never opened that anymore. All of his emotions sketched on several pages…it was too much; too much to ask of anyone, too much to ask of himself. He had burned the pictures; their ashes were placed in jars, but even those ashes scorched his fingertips as though they still carried the heat of fire from when they struggled to retain their complex form.

It’s all fine, he didn’t need them anyways. Let the autumn leaves fall. He didn’t rely on reality or the people it carved into his life; the seasons would offer him the things he desired. Summer’s lazy love and relaxed pleasures, autumn’s warm embrace and caresses, winter’s silence and joint-mourning, and spring’s rejuvenation of deadened limbs.  

“I know you’re fine, but what do I do?” he whispered to the silence, pausing to wait for a response, and when none came, he bit his lip and frowned.


[[Character Notes]]

The image at the top of this page suggests perhaps a bit of this character's background. Yes he's a fighter, but he's also quite emotional. He might have a dark past, but he has a bright future. 

We often find ourselves imagining the heroes or antagonists of a story to be stone-hearted and rather fixed in their ways (yes, even heroes, although readers often give them more lee-way when it comes to expressing emotion); however, in this case I think my character is rather soft hearted despite the cold and brutal image his persona portrays to those who see him.

I almost want to give him a name...but I'll refrain for now. 

Honestly, the story that's forming in my mind is breaking my heart (in a good kind of author-falls-in-love-with-character sort of way). I won't divulge it now. I want to let it tumble about a bit more before I consider writing it down and giving him life. Muse all you like -- yay or nay for writing more on this man? 

Signed with crunchy leaves, 


p.s. originally this piece was written from a modern-day perspective and the character was female... I changed it around quite drastically but I fear some of those feminine undertones may have been carried over; forgive the emotional nature of my man :P

September 16, 2012

Consciousness ReAwakened -- A Poem

I've had this poem on my mind for a long time but I could never find it...however, a few days back I was looking through my emails and I stumbled across it! I wrote this two years ago...essentially it was a bit of rage writing. I filled up 13 pages furiously. Quite furiously. Anyways. I thought I would share this...I don't think I've published it here before so yay, new/old material :P Oh yes, and inspiration came about (to some degree) from Dante's Inferno (of his Divine Comedy) and Angel Fall by Coleman Luck.

An image from Dante's Inferno (not certain who gets credit for this)
[[Warning: For those of you faint of heart, I must make it clear that this poem is a bit graphic; if you're not comfortable with blood and such, you may want to proceed with caution]]


Consciousness ReAwakened
By Squeaks
November 24th, 2010

To the core of my being.
By flying demons.
They swirl; a mist around my brain.
Cutting off life. Burning, crushing.
Like a nail driven deeply;
Slammed into a wall of ice.

There is a fountain
Of tears and blood.
Salty – metallic. Awful.
It trembles, rushing through my veins.
Scabbing in my heart.

A wall soars up,
High above my life,
Keeping them out – out.
It’s strong and sturdy. Like twin swords.
Enter? Impossible.
Every brick that goes up, goes up.
Cemented in place by willpower.

A gouge crests across the heart.
Beating – pulsations of blood
Spout out. Agony?
It’s numbing; I sit back and feel

Not a speck of light enters.
I cannot let it in; it would
Melt the wall.
Why not? light is good!
Sometimes – sometimes.
Not now, it’s too early, too cold.

With every creak, the drawbridge raises.
Higher, higher – nose to the sky,
Sniffing for hope.
Aching for love.
Has it found its desire?

No, only death is present.
Bloody, rotting corpses,
Covered in pus, oozing with slime.
Mold creeps off the bodies in
Rivulets, sliding to the
Blackened ground. – Sliding

What? Phantoms alive?
Raised up with the dawn?
My nightmare! O shut the gates!
With a clang, I’m locked in.
Away from death – destruction – despair.
Holding on to a shred of hope – love – life.

This body – this mind:
Eons of horror – apparent
Observed with moist eyes.
Mucus running down face,
Swallowed up in shadows.
Forever alone. Despair. Woe.

What gloom! How horrid – awful!
Where is the light? outside.
Where is the love? lost.
When? in battle.
Give up. Throw away golden ball and chain.
Disperse into nothing. Nothing.

Dawn is coming.
The hillsides glisten with
Blood and bones.
Rivers of red run,
Underground. Away!
The land is cursed.
The slopes, once cool
As peppermint, now hellishly fevered.
Cut open with a scalpel.
Left to rot. rot.

My soul is stained with despair.
When will it end? Go away?
Will the universe stop spinning?
Swipe air from our lungs?
Steal what is not ours?
God forbid! forbid!

Like moonlight, my tears seep
Down, streaming, hopeless.
Cry all you want.
It shall never end.
Hope was banished. outside.

Voice, now gone. A croak remains.
Bids sleep – weary wanderer, rest.
No. Lay not down your head.
You have no mind, no control.
All is ruled by others, by hell.
By weapon-wielding terrorists
Who crash your soul to pieces.

Dark is this night. No tears, no cries.
No love, no hope. No fear, nothing.
Quiet? No, screams from the pit,
Echo soundlessly upwards,
Tearing crystal masquerades to
Reveal the lies.

What have I done?
Have I died? No.
This is true life.
I hate it. Death – disease – destruction.
Why hope at all?
Judgment – you kill me.
Tear me down, with silver claws,
Across my face, disfigure me.

Now silent. No torture, no screams.
Rushing pools of blood, twisting
Round and round.
Endless circles of death.
First one, then the other.
Slowly streaming by, caressing.
Good? No, evil. Brutal hate.
Drenched in folly, sweating.

These garments? Shreds.
This city? Ruined.
The bane of man – my epic.

Reality, how you curse me.
You live like love and say sweetness
Yet you lie. lie. lie.
You twist your photo backwards.
You’re all opposites.
Good, perfect, beautiful. Ha!

How do I escape this mire?
It sucks me down,
Squelching hope. Eating honesty.
No one can help me out.
I’m not even alive anymore.
Dreaming? O how I wish! wish.

A fa├žade over death.
Life is a mask we paint on.
Only God knows what lies inside.
I see and smell the lies.
I feel the death of pictures.
You walk and hug and kiss
To no avail!
Perfect? I swear foully.
Such a word should not exist –
So quickly abused and tarnished.
Like a child, all innocence stolen.

My eyes sting. So bad they feel like fire.
They are on fire.
It races through my decaying body,
Absorbing water, wielding terror.
Happy? The heat extracts my spirit
Till I’m gone. Food for phantoms.
Stringy tendons in jaws, pulled apart
Torn, slurped, swashed in blood.
Sickening crunches. Gone.

I flee upwards. Away from hell,
From demons – despair.
I’m free of the dead land.
So free it almost feels like a dream.
I prance the skies, nothing. Feel nothing.
The very thought of nothing sends my heart
Wildly racing. Am I in love? Ha!

But nothing does not last. Like life
It crumbles to something.
A portrait, revealed by night,
Glimmering behind star-dust.
Beckons me closer, home? No.

The portrait is so beautiful, I
Think it is real.
Lava and oranges mix together,
Catapulting up to splay their
Groping hands across a darkened sky.
So much like the sun…always
Touching that which is secret.

Pasture greens lope over small plains,
Kissing the parchment like a child.
They spin through yellow and blue brooks
Twisting their way up stalwart sentinels.
Reality? I wish!

A string of starlight entangles in my hair,
Pulling me closer until I step into the frame.
If this is heaven, I don’t deserve it.
Soft grass, caressing my wounded limbs.
Flowers, cleaning my blood-clogged nose.
Silver streams and golden brooks, washing away decay.

I lean back. Pleased.
Is this real? I shall pray so.
Birds of unfathomable colours
Minister with sweet warbles.
Chills up my spine.
Moaning wind, brushing trees with

“Arise, sleeper.”
What? I just arrived! No!
Don’t leave!
The world crumbles and
I float into nothingness.
Spinning over and over in confusion.

“Awake!” What voice!
It is as though a trumpet blasted.
I crack open an eye and scream.

I did not leave?
Here I live in hell!
Never! No! No!!

A careful glance – no demons.
My body – battered but not consumed.
Look up.
The gates are hanging open on rusted hinges.
The drawbridge suspends itself
Partway down.

The ground? Bloody as ever.

The trumpets blast, sending me reeling
Backwards into muck.
Who goes? What now?
Has the horde returned to
Finish their eternal slaughter?

Trembling limbs – I set myself upright,
Weak – weak – sobbing with fear.
I smell death. It’s everywhere.
What caused this hell?

Peals of thunder.
The stampeding crash of a million cymbals.
My ears ring, blood trickles out, racing to the ground.

“Who goes?”
My voice, so hopeless, helpless. Hurting.

“I AM who I AM.”

No! You? You put me here!
I cry, trying to run.
My legs are stuck in place.
They burn with pain and I collapse.

I cannot. I lie
Face down in dung.
My nose and mouth are clogged.
If only I could suffocate!
The horror of meeting he
Who sent me to be tortured.
Surely this is the worst hell of all.

I feel a tug, and am set on
My feet.

The voice. Soft as down and sweet
As pearls. Right before me.
I feel my nose and mouth free. No
Longer gagged with my creation.

And I look. Behold indeed!
He looks like me.
Covered in grime and blood.
The pus of others on his arms and legs.
His body – half naked.

Surely he has suffered!
The blood on his back streams down.
His flesh, filleted like fish, hanging
Off in strips.
His hair and beard, shorn off gruesomely.

“As you have suffered, so I have.”
Hope? I see it glimmer in his eyes.
I want to reach out and snatch.
He’s one of us. Why should he have hope?

As if my thoughts were not secret,
He replies,
“Hope I give you, for
The Father gave it to me.”

And he breathes into my mouth.
My lungs fill with pure air.
Now I see. I realize.
I had never breathed before.
I had been dead.
The noxious smells assault me
With more power now. I turn
He breathes again.

Life surges through my flesh.
I feel the wounds close up.
My eyes stop burning.
My ears stop ringing.
I’m alive.

When I step back, my world has gone.
In its place is a new city,
Straddling cherubic hills.
Walls? Not a single one.
The land is fresh – virgin.
The people? untainted by hell.

In the midst of this garden
Lies a white temple.
It pulses steadily, glowing brighter
With each moment.
My spirit. My body. It’s glorious.

When I turn back to my Saviour,
He’s gone.
My eyes water and my knees wobble.
Gone? It will fade like a dream!
But before a sound can
Leak from my lips,
I look down at my chest.
Above my heart is a knot of light.
It pulses with the temple.
It’s Him.

He’s in me! How much better than
Being outside? Now I can go
Everywhere with and never go without.
My Saviour and I laugh.
It’s the most cheerful sound
I’ve ever heard.

My wounds and His are one.
My scars match His.
My breath is His.
We are one.


Signed with broken flower petals, 

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