Archive for health

Am I really Normal?

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , on September 27, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Don’t you dare

Tell me

That I’m normal

And there’s nothing wrong

With

Me.

Because what kind of normal person

Tears their life apart

For no reason at all?

Lost Smile

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , on September 24, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Losing a smile

Is like losing a friend

Your heart

Your soul

Everything that you once poured

Your entire being into

Suddenly

Disappeared,

Lost forever.

And you begin to think

That you’ve got nothing

To

Lose.

The Cure

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 4, 2013 by Myra's Circle

This sickness, how could it be,
When vitamins don’t work on me?
When nothing helps but makes me worse,
This sickness, it is like a curse.

The cure so simple doesn’t help,
Nor any medicine on the shelf,
Nothing will appease this hunger,
A horror that can only linger.

Go away, foul deadly beast,
That eats my happiness like a feast,
Shoo, go on, please do not stay,
Please, oh please just keep away!

I no longer want this plague,
I do not want sadness so vague,
But it keeps coming back, you see,
It won’t get away from me.

I need it somehow, this sadness so dark,
I’m free as a bird, and sing as a lark,
But when I’m happy, it comes for me,
It will not simply leave me be.

Why do I insist on being so sad?
Why must I continue to feel this bad?
I don not quite understand this thing,
Such as makes me sadly sing.

A disease, a sickness, that’s what I believe,
But I don’t think I’ll ever find a key,
A cure for this, does not exist,
A cure for this, is one thing so missed.

In the Darkness of Your Soul

Posted in Fantasy Stories, Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 21, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Layla couldn’t run anymore.  She had surpassed her limits.  She needed to stop, or she was going to kill herself.  But she couldn’t stop.  She had to escape from her demons.  You see, Layla lived in a world full of demons, the things that are born from the darkness in one’s heart.  These demons prey on the heart that they were created by, and never leave it alone.  Someone save me from myself, she mouthed, ever so softly.  She closed her eyes and hoped that she was dreaming, but when she opened them again, she clearly saw that she was not.  Demons were such ugly creatures, with awful, distorted bodies and faces.  The longer you look at them, the uglier they appear.  Layla supposed that this is because they are the ugliness in everyone’s soul.  Layla began to wonder what would happen if someone were to kill their demons.  Would they forever be at peace with themselves, or would new demons just constantly form out of the collective darkness of their heart?  Layla tried to push those thoughts out of her head, though.  It would be less likely than a hamster growing wings and flying.  As far as she knew, no one had ever been able to kill their demons.  “Or maybe, they were just too afraid to,” whispers the shadows. Layla was terrified, but all she could do was blink back her tears and keep on running, in hopes that maybe someday she could outrun the demons of her heart.  “Keep on running little girl, but you can’t run from yourself.”  As hard as Layla tried to deny it, she couldn’t.  The demon was right.  She can’t run from herself.  That’s when she turned around and opened her arms, in a gesture of kindness and love.  The demons, startled, ran right into her outstretched arms, and disappeared in a column of light.  As all the darkness in her soul disappeared, she felt it replaced by a warm flood of love and happiness.  Her demons were gone.

Sickness

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , on March 13, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Sickness that consumes this soul,

Sickness of this heart so cold,

I’ve been sick for so very long,

I am sick, and I’m not wrong.

This sickness is unlike any,

It will always consume many,

It hurts one, then leaps to another,

Spreading from the mouths of each other.

Sickness that no one can heal,

Sickness to which there is no shield,

One more time the sickness strikes,

Yet another soul is wiped.

Run Away

Posted in Hopeful Stories, Sad Stories, Stories, True Stories with tags , on March 9, 2013 by Myra's Circle

Run away, run away.  Run away from yourself.  That’s what they all tell me.  But I don’t want to run.  I’m sick of running.  What’s the point?  You’re going to catch up to yourself anyway.  It is only a matter of time.  Running just exhausts me.  I can’t run anymore.  I’ll never be free.  I know that.  It won’t be any different just because I’m running away from the grave truth.  No, I won’t run anymore.  I can’t.  I have to face my past, my future, my present, my everything.  Just face it, and keep going.  That’s life’s lesson, right?  I suppose so, but I’ll never really know if I keep running.

How to Measure a Smile

Posted in Happy Poems, Poems with tags , , , , , , , , on February 8, 2013 by Myra's Circle

A smile is ill humour,

And memories to spare,

When head’s hot as a fever,

And close to despair.

A smile is a medicine,

One to heal the heart,

It takes care of all the sins,

Of the souls that depart.

A smile is for the people that care,

A family or,

The best friend who is there.

A smile is a disguise,

For sadness to wear,

When you’re not feeling wise,

And fate’s hard to bear.

A smile is the sunrise,

For those who have none,

What would not be seen otherwise,

When all else is done.

When all else is through,

And naught’s worth your while,

Then this, is what you do,

To measure a smile.

The Slice that Keeps me Alive

Posted in Poems, Sad Poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 8, 2013 by Myra's Circle

They hear my pleas

But no one listens,

And no one sees,

The tears that glisten.

They see my pain,

But no one cares,

I think I’m insane,

Too hard to bear.

They hear my whispers,

Quiet but still,

My only whimpers,

Are daggers that kill.

They hear my heart beat,

Steady and slow,

Sweat forms a thin sheet,

Just above my brow.

They see the knife,

How it skims over my skin,

Takes only a slice,

It’s the pain that wins.

They see the blood,

But none care to bandage,

My tears are a flood,

My heart a cage.

I lay down the blade,

No tears dare come now,

The farewell I bade,

More to later endow.

I am but Dead

Posted in Fantasy Stories, Stories with tags , , , , , on February 2, 2013 by Myra's Circle

The sound of loud gunshot ricochets off the walls, making your head spin and ears ring.  You have never felt such ripping pain before, never believed it was possible for such shocking waves of pain to rack your body.  You are almost unconscious now, but not quite.  You can still feel the painful ripping sensation in your chest.  Why?  Why me?  You think.  Surely you didn’t deserve this?  How did you even get yourself into this mess?  You can’t remember, the pain is too intense.   You don’t even have enough energy to cry out, and when you try to, the pain rips the sound back into your body.  A figure, a boy maybe, walks up to you.  You lie on the floor, as still as you possibly can, hoping to look like you are dead, but youry convulses with shock.  “How does it feel, to have everything taken from you?”  Growls a voice.  What was he talking about?  youn’t seem to remember anything.  The pain is too much.  You just want to die now.  Maybe it would be easier.  Death’s sweet voice sings out to you, and you strain your ears to hear more.  You wants to listen to the sweet singing, the sweet sound that is sure to mean glorious release.  The pain is almost gone now, and you can hear the singing louder than ever.  Please, Death.  Please take me, you think, hoping, wishing, dreaming of dying.  It would be better than this.  This sad, pain filled existence.  Maybe, when you are dead, you will remember your story.  Or maybe you might just forget forever.  Which will be easier?  Better?  To be able to forget.  You sigh with the ecstasy of the thought.  To be able to forget all pain, all suffering.  To be able to just exist.  Or not exist.  Whichever is more possible when you’re dead.  You can’t help but remember that you aren’t dead yet.  You have a feeling that you’d have to wait a long time for that.  Or at least it would feel like a long time.  The pain makes ten seconds seem like ten years and you ache for reprieve.  You are only semi conscious when the boy kicks you in the side, worsening the pain.  Bright lights dance in front of your half-closed eyelids.  You are so close, incredibly close, to the end.  You are ready for Death.  Let it come.  

You open your eyes.  Beep.  Beep.  What is that strange sound?  Your eyes only open a slit, you don’t think it is possible to open your eyes any more than that.  You are afraid that if you do, you will rip yourr eyelid away from your eye.  Beep.  Beep.  Through the crack of your partly opened eyes, you can see the room, as best as you can through the fuzz.  Your breathing is slow, slower than is normal.  Beep.  Beep.  The white of the room is whiter than any you have ever seen.  It is so white, that light seems to emanate from the walls, hurting your eyes and making them watery.  It is easier for you to open your eyes now.  Machines.  That is the first thing you notice when you fully open your eyes.  Machines that beep and make all kinds of strange, alien noises.  None of the machines seemed to have any particular purpose, except to make these noises.  Where am I?  How did I end up here?  Questions flood your mind, and for once, there is nothing you can do to escape them.  All you can do, is sit there and desperately hope for someone to relieve you of these thoughts.  Your wish is granted, as the door opens, and someone in a crisp, white uniform, as white as the clean, bright walls walks in.  You moan.  “No more white,” you try to mumble, but your throat closes over your voice box, and all that comes out is an inaudible groaning sound.  The person moves towards you, but you can not tell if it is female or male.  Confusion takes root, and you are trying to frown at the figure, but find that you can’t.  You don’t have any command over any of your muscles.  Then, the person speaks.  “I see that you are awake.  That is good.”  The voice could be either male or female, which makes the confusion worse.  “I am Dono, and I have been assigned to your case.”  The machines’ constant bleeping blocks out the sound of their beautiful silence.  “How are you feeling?”  asks Dono, and then, the world seems to collapse around you, except for Dono, who is standing there, staring and smiling at you as you once again loses consciousness.

You wake again, and instantly know that you’re not alone.  There is a piercing pain burning through your side and whenever you breath, it feels like it starts an inferno inside of you.  You know that someone is there, and you knows that they can help you remember everything that has happened.  “I can give you something for all that losing consciousness, you know,” says a voice.  You frown and looks at the person, to see that it is a man, or maybe just a boy, about your age.  He has light brown hair that is cropped short and close to his head, and sharp blue eyes that let you know that he has seen things that no ordinary person should have.  He has witnessed horrors that you could never, possibly imagine, horrors that you would never wish to see yourself.  “Where… where am I?”  you murmur as he presses a glass to your mouth.  The cool liquid is sweet and soothing on your tongue.  “You’re in a hospital and a research facility, part of a program designed to help people like you,” he replies.  “What do you mean, ‘people like me’?”  you ask, your voice gaining confidence and losing some of its wobble.  “People who, are different,”  says the boy, “people who possess extraordinary powers.”  You are only getting more confused.  What the boy is saying doesn’t make any sense.  You don’t even remember what you look like, let alone what you are.  “By the way, if you were wondering, my name is Corinth.  I scout out Talents.”  “Talents?”  You ask.  Corinth sighs.  “You don’t remember anything, do you?”  You shake your head.  “Okay, you are a Talent.  Talents are what we call your species,”  clarifies Corinth.  You aren’t sure that you like the way he said, ‘your species’.  The way he said it made you feel like a freak of nature, something that is not meant to be.  “By any chance, is there anything that you can give me to find the memories that I’ve lost?”  You ask weakly.  Corinth nods.  “I’ll go fetch it for you,” he says, closing the door behind him almost before he finished talking, and leaving you alone for some more blissful silence.  He comes back into the white room ten minutes later, holding a vial with a clear liquid inside.  There is a bit of tape on it, marked simply, ‘remember’.  You sit up eagerly, almost forgetting the pain streaking up your side, but not quite.  “Lets not get too eager.  Remember, this is a hospital, not a training institute.”  He reminds you as he hands you the vial.  “Here you go.  You have to drink all of this.  Every last drop.”  You nod earnestly and take the vial from his hands and uncork it.  You sniff it suspiciously, then down it all in one gulp.  And then you lose consciousness again, to relive your own memories.

I awaken in a dream, for I know it is not real anymore, but memories of the past.  I am in a place I recognise as uniquely my own.  It smells, looks, and feels like home.  It is familiar, and I feel like I belong here, if not anywhere else.  I am not aware of anything but a faint pounding in my head, and, the familiar feeling of confusion sets in.  What do I do now, I think, What can I do now?  The only trace of anything supernatural or extraordinary in me at the moment is the supernatural headache that is coming on now.  I don’t feel special, or different, only lonely and despised.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

I Live in the Dream of Reality

Posted in Stories, True Stories with tags , , , , , on November 5, 2012 by Myra's Circle

Can reality be a dream, and dreams a reality?  I think so.  The way I see it, my whole life has been a realistic dream, filled with crazy ups and downs.  I know that my life’s a story, and that one day, when I’m re-reading it, I want it to be good enough to read again.  What I don’t get, is that why do we choose only the things that will destroy us the most?  Always choosing the thing we’ll never get, befriending someone who we know will stab us in the back (Perhaps we’re trying to see the good in them?).  It seems to be some strange habit that everyone picks up along the way, and when we think about it, we regret our decision for the rest of our lives.  Maybe, it’s just God’s way of making us stronger.  Maybe, there’s no reason for it at all.  Either way, it’s an annoying habit I’d really like to quit.  In a way, it kind of reminds me of smoking.  Once your hooked, you can’t stop.  And that’s what makes our lives so hard.