Moonlit Musings From An Everyday Hellhound

Sometimes I sit here at night and wonder what life would be like, if I had done things differently, if I had valued myself a little more. If I had valued myself a little more, then maybe I'd be happier. Then again, I wouldn't have my kids either.  Maybe I'd be more successful but maybe then I'd also be a little lonely. Maybe I could do more things, have more money, have more fun, be more responsible and smarter. But then I remember I'd be chasing another dream, someone else's dream, wishing the grass was still greener.

There were days where she longed to feel anything. Other days she longed to feel nothing. Always a monster, never a friend, never to be trusted  and never to trust. She howled to the moon, breaking the silence of her thoughts, the night, breaking the mockery hidden behind fake smiles and empty pleasantries.  Forever a moon child, with a stronghold of beliefs where she often stands alone. Was being alone truly a burden? Why no, it's just a matter of perspective.

She once thought  a change of scenery would be everything she needed  to survive and thrive... new locations,  new senses,  new instincts forged in a sense  of what used to be certainty.  She was just a pawn in so many versions of the same game, drowning and chained in empty promises  and meaningless vows where the only held weight when she was of any use then discarded. If only she could see  beyond the masks and stop believing  in happily-ever-after.  

When I go, I will wreck you and all those surrounding you, a black plague of unrequited love. Fevers of passion will seep deep down into the bones and blood, sweat and tears shall pour from my pores.  Shallow breaths from asthma attacks when words fail you, when actions aren't enough and there is no remedy in sight. No, the pulse quickening in your chest means nothing, because you're the only one that feels -- a ghost of what could've been haunts your mind and makes you wish and dream of things unknown.  

Her hearts lost down the rabbit hole, searching for something concrete. Love? What is love, but a figment of the imagination, a lie told to us as children, giving us a small sense of false hope. Perfection? It's like the lost city of Atlantis, buried deep underground where only a few explorers will ever find it, they know the beauty in which they seek. Chasing Alice has never been so much fun, darting this way ( and that way ) only to find the rabbit hole has become Home.