Calm, TOTALLY INSANE, but calm still.

Posts tagged “pain


The smell of blood begets fear in the soul of the faint hearted
Surgeons and butchers are immune souls to it’s stench.
Once, when I had drank my fill from the breast of dementia.
I flung wide the legs of fear and I raped her.
Now, if you know anything about Memories,
It is that, the glossy finish gets glossier every time.

Back to this hour of blood and fear in the air.
Whose blood is it? You ask.
Ask the butcher when he slits the throat of a bull
Or the surgeon as he clamps down vessels in your gut.
The gory details don’t matter at this hour.
Only the muddy red blood and the bile taste of fear
That is all that matters.

How dare you think about death?
Death will forever remain a mystery to you
Until you stare it down and live to tell a tale
The tale I assure you will get glossier
-each time you tell it.
For such is the curse of memories
But I assure you this,
There’s no insurance against death
For death is equal to nothingness
And life has a strong affinity to nothingness
So, fear not death though it means your end
You’ll only become a memory that gets glossier.

Ps: Memories fade away into nothingness.

by Blaqknyght

Note: Apologies are in order, I admit I have not at all been faithful to this blog, though I’ve been writing, if you could call it that. Been getting some funny messages, on twitter especially in the last couple of weeks, people saying I don’t write, that I sacrificed my writing for twitter, tbh fam (I still don’t know what this means by the way) and all. You know what? I think Its hilarious, Iike that could ever happen.

Now the reason for my absence is quite simple, I’m working on something special with a few other people, when it all comes together I’ll let you know. I promise I’m not slacking, aswearrugad. Have a wonderful week ahead. shalom


Day 6 – Carbon

Symbol – C

Atomic weight – 12.0107

Ionization energy – 11.2603eV

Solution – Beneath The Smile.

Chemist – @deaduramilade




I was inspired to write this story after reading Beneath the Smile on @Obafuntay’s blog

Hi everyone, my name is Funke.

I want to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, in a time not so long ago, a little girl was born. She would be her mother’s second child and her father’s fourth. The first girl for both of them.

The little girl didn’t remember so many things about her years as a child when it came to her family.

She remembers when she was 8, she was sexually abused by her home tutor – not raped. Sexually abused. She remembers how she was always felt like an outsider amongst the people who were supposed to be family. She remembers how her mother would insult her, humiliate her and beat her.

She remembers how her mother used to make her feel like everything was her fault. She could never do anything right. She was clumsy and stupid. She was unimportant, fat, irrelevant, useless, worthless and disgusting. The boys in school didn’t like her. Nobody liked her. Nobody wanted her.

She remembers how she would write little notes to her mum. Her mum would call her into the room and explain how everything was her fault. She would apologize even though she didn’t understand what she did wrong. She would apologize so her mum won’t get angry and beat her or insult her. The next day, she would make a mistake and her mother would start again.

She remembers how everything she did to make her mum happy only to have her efforts thrown back at her. She remembers when she made a birthday card for her mum and found it in the dustbin about a week later. She remembers when her mum called her a witch and said she was possessed. She remembers that she cried and got snot all over her face and her mother said: ‘you are disgusting. Go and wash your face’. She remembers the many nights in tears. She remembers the ache and the pain. She remembers how her mother would accuse her of many things from threatening to poison the family to sleeping around.

She remembers when she almost had sex when she was 13 because she wanted to get back at her mother. She remembers how she felt like a showpiece. Something to be shown to friends and family. ‘She came first in her class’. ‘She was the best in math’.

She remembers when she threatened to commit suicide and her mother told her to go ahead. She remembers wanting to take a bus somewhere and never return home. She remembers the feeling of being alone. She remembers the hate, the hurt and the thoughts of suicide. She remembers burning her skin  just so her pain could be physical. She remembers that all she ever wanted was approval from her mother. She wanted to be loved.

She remembers all these things. She tries to forget about all of it. She tries to smile through the pain and the hurt. She tries to go on as if there’s nothing going on. She tries to move on but the feelings won’t let her. She feels alone. She feels like everyone is out to hurt her. She’s afraid to trust anyone. She’s afraid to let go.

She hides beneath a mask of indifference. She hides beneath a mask of smiles. She hides beneath a mask.

That girl is me.

Day 4 – Berryllium

Symbol – Be

Atomic weight – 9.0122

Ionization energy – 9.3227eV

Solution – Induced asperity

Chemist – @dontushe_




You confuse me, always.
Stoicism has helped me cover my secrets and dreams, my aspirations and wishes. I’ve become an advocate to the lonely. You cower beneath the resplendency of my wisdom. I know you feel inadequate, sometimes. We all do, even for you I feel inadequate. Even for Jesus, I feel inadequate. If only you can toss my salad.

I’m angry with you, even as my heart is angered against my soul. There’s a lot of pain. There’s a lot of hatred. Beat me black and blue. Let my tears reach out to you. Beat your love into me, so I know it’s true. I know you don’t understand me. To you, I’m like an unsolved conundrum. The versatile disgrace. The puzzle with 5 chips missing. Help me, then I can help you. Help me. Then I’ll help you.

I remember my first tears for you. I remember my first love for you. We misunderstood one another. that period of misconstruction. I won’t say I’m sorry, I do realize it was a door to greater things. I realize now that it is a door to better things. Help me still, for in thoughts and actions, I lack a lot. Help me still, for in bits and fractions, I stutter still. My synapses have weakened considerably. My heart sleeps. My heart weeps.

The demons we might have had to conquer. I see you and pain sears through my soul. Ripping, heart wrenching pain. My spirit rolls. My spirit wails. Louder than the sounds of purgatory. I question my demons. I question my decisions. I must have been wrong. I’m hardly right. This is the problem I have, you don’t see it though. You’ve never seen through my cold facade. Maybe once when I open up, like petals in bloom, maybe once, when I cast aside all my thoughts, and maybe. I’ve forgotten.
Miracles? I don’t believe in miracles. Except the one of sleeping and waking. I choose that, just the same way I chose greatness. Just the same way I chose you, albeit blindly. I chose. Now I’ve seen the light, what do I want? I haven’t just figured out that bit yet. Help me, that I might see…. Maybe a tryst would help. I believe in that too… Like I believe in war. The traipse. The school of thoughts have borne these thoughts. I attended all schools. I obeyed all rules.
Oh, you plebeians, leave me and let my head spin. Your cacophony seals the door. The door that I peep through to view the greatness of the ones before me. I won’t speak about others for only those with stilted minds indulge in such Fuckery. I’ll let you all discuss me instead. I’ll let you all dissect me.. What really is the point of living? What is your reason for existence? The school of existentialism has a theory. I don’t believe in that theory though. My madness is the only school of thought that I appreciate. The only school of thought I solely believe in. Believe with me. Believe in me..
I only hope that you would forgive me for these words that I’ve spoken. I hope you would see reason as you don’t always see…. Open your eyes while I elucidate. I’ll crown you my ‘promulgator’. Our hearts are in propinquity. The marginal propensity to consume. The marginal propensity to pursue. I’m not used to the chase. There’s no trail so I can’t pursue. You are meant to be my comfort. You were christened just for that. My solace. My hiding place. All the above words in quotes. I should be out of jail now, I should have broken Out… now the words elude me.. I beg your pardon but I think my ink is finished.