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[jacobquin-blog]

An Apology

My eyes burn to yearn for that emotional attachment to saddened sorrows. I'm sorry, even though my greatest apologies cannot reprehend your brokenness. You had already felt cracked, and I had ripped you apart without even realizing it. I shouldn't have done what I did, but it's done it's course. Now I am here trying to pick up all the little mistakes to make a better outcome, like broken glass coming together to form a masterpiece. Although, my situation will not form something so magnificent, it'll be a kind of repair that's better for mending hearts. I do want to mends the hate, guilt, and disgust but that takes time, and time is not of my favor. Passed time loves me; it loves to unfold to bring out the truth, which lies the hate, guilt, and disgust. How can I reprieve my sins to hope for a brighter day. Time only waits for those who desire it, which I do so desire. Shall I wait for multiple nights and days that are long dreadful? Oh, how I wish this never arose, because the consequences are too over bearing to hold. The people I care for are my consequences, they hold a blackness that I created, so my name is of that blackness that I can't retrieve. How do I scrape such a disgrace? My forgiveness is out of the question, so what's left? Time? Such an irritable feeling having to wait for Time, yet ill wait for an eternity just to have a clean slate. How I hurt is the pain that begins from the core of the earth and stretches far from the galaxy into different universes. Pain shouldn't be that harsh, but I do deserve such pain, for doing such things that shouldn't have been suggested. I stand with a stern, only to be knocked down onto my knees holding my mournful ugliness. The thought of getting up strikes it's way into my brain like lightening. As I'm trying to reach for a hook, or something to grasp for help I find that there's nothing, and I know why. I've erased all my help for what I've done, but I know in my heart there is an entity that is willing to forgive. Although, it's not of flesh and bones it's enough to get me by so I can live another day. I suppose you can call it spirituality. I'm not a spiritual person, but I have hope that this entity hears me and Is willing help ease time. I need to live another day to scrape the blackness, and fill it with the hope I feel. I know when they feel this entity they will be on the right path to heal from this disastrous hate. I'll say I'm sorry even thought I know you won't take it, but time heals all, and I hope sorry mixes with that time to help for your mending heart. We will wait for a brighter future filled with love, compassion, and hope. Time is of the essence, so take it from the Ugly, and hold on for that passing of the ugliness.

[jacobquin-blog]

Sunny

Her name was sunny, although she never felt as bright as day. She was more night, far from light. At night she could hold the number of times she felt happiness in one hand, and on the other she couldn’t grasp the number of times she felt sorrow. It’s almost as if the stars held her grief, and in the sunny day they would magically disappear. Yet, she always knew the night would appear and reveal her maddened heart. Maybe her time was up, because time doesn’t last forever. Sunny, needed to burst into oblivion to create a new world, a new foundation for a loving day. The world she knew was raggedly old, filled with distress and heart ache. She knew once she exploded all the disastrous ugliness would vanish, and all that would be left was a sunny. Sunny would warm people’s hearts, instead of filling it with despair to counteract all the issues. This made them stay below the surface to sprout beautiful sunflowers, with the help of Sunny’s new embodiment. As for the night, she soon came to realize that the stars weren’t her misfortunes, they were beaming with love. Her stars were her passed that couldn’t be erased, they had to be embraced. She needed to face the night with a opening eye to help heal her wounds. Those bright beams soon became her caressing pacifist, rather than a haunting war.

[jacobquin-blog]

My Devil's Soul

I’ve hit the floor once with agonizing pain, but stood up stronger in the end. My end has diminished, and once again I’m below the depths with agonizing pain. I’ve never seen the ground look this dark. A ground that is shaped in an oddly rectangular shape for the better comfort of my laying, a kind of relaxing picture. Yet, it’s far from relaxing. This rectangular shape is a gate to The Fiery Pits normally known as Hell, and my name is written all over it. My innocence has ridden itself from me, tied with anger and discretion to the very disgraced deed. A deed that I, myself, has decided to belong with the devil. And I see Hell as a place of misery, which I do deserve. A child of innocence long forgotten, because of my selfish desires. Not knowing the guilt of regret and pain that would come with it. I sit with discontent at this very moment wishing time was a very gift from God to take back what I’ve done. Although, God owes me nothing, I have let him down. More importantly I have let my sister down. The beautiful infant of my very blood who I owe everything to, yet I can’t give her anything. My everything is only blackness filled with unmistakable tar. It has engraved it self inside me. If only God knew how disgraced I feel at this very unforgiving eternity. I am utterly devoted to him, but I feel he has rid himself from my longing innocence. I am not innocent. I miss my innocence. I miss his love. Now I blinded with grief, and I have found another gateway that has possibly led me closer to burning in hell. I drown myself In a warm sensation, better known as a kite that’s high in the sky. It’s a high that’s comforting to me, because i feel closer to heaven, which became a horrid frenzy. I am a different person that’s unworthy to walk on this earth. Is it my Demon? Demons cause harm and my life is harmed, maybe I’m a demon who belongs to go back in a steel wired cage, filled with burning water that’s better known as holy sacrament. It burns my skin, because I’m not entitled to a holy angelic world. This world deserves much beauty that I can’t give. I am cut into disgraced ugliness. I am discouraged. I am dishonest. I am downed with drowned sorrows. Show me sight to sense some showers to rid me of this sickness. I am not physically sickened it’s only in my tar filled labyrinth. My skull has created a labyrinth that has an unsolved root to my problem. The only way to solve my insanity is to sign an unforgiving deed to my new God, the devil. I can’t make him angry, he wants me with him. Not to help, but to feed off of my disgraced misery. I am so sorry. I would say I love you, but love like mine is not a loving intake. It is a horrid discontent, so I say goodbye to rid you of my injustice that I have served here for only a mere lifetime. I have precisely walked on this beautiful land for 6,176 days, and of those day I have felt utter misery. I need alleviate myself from this misery. I leave here nothing, but an oblivious mess that I soon hope to rid. I am sorry, and I wish you all the beauty, and the good that I never deserved. Goodbye my loved ones.

[jacobquin-blog]

FAITH

My path is long and awaited, but I believe I can win in the end. Such optimism, yet I’m not an optimistic person, but I have hope. A faith even. A light that engulfs the lengthy path of enlightenment. As I walk in between the brightly bulbs of immense light, with a white cast covered cloth over my sickly pale figure, all i can comprehend is the lightly bright strip. Everything else is pure darkness. I can feel the end of the path, yet my eyes perceive me nothing. Faith is greater perceived with hope not sight. Creeping closely to the crevices of the pitch black makes me feel hopelessly devoted to this path. I can’t just jump off the path, because it offers everything, even though I can’t comprehend what I see. The edges have no light, and I feel so entwined with that darkness. It’s almost as if my faith belongs to that darkness. Am I on the wrong path? This path shows security, the darkness shows a questionable death. Death doesn’t have to be dark. Darkness can mean light, and the light can be dark. I have grown an urge to to jump, instead I run straight forward across this strip hoping I’ll get closer to my destination. Have my eyes deceived me, or has the end always been farther than I had perceived? It’s almost as if my faith has punished me into walking farther, because my hunger was too strong to control. I’m sorry, but my begging can’t take back what has already been done. I have gone too far for this to happen. I run in the opposite direction hoping it’ll take back what I’ve done. My faith has punished, yet again, because as soon as I turn back I am faced with the same opposition only to realize the end is even farther. I don’t bother to look back to the original position, because I’ve learned my lesson. I have to face this on without any short cuts. I turn my head to the side, and see the beautiful darkness caressing me making me understand that I have a second option. How belligerent of myself. Crazed with content of this darkness, when I know I have to continue the path. My faith knows me, and this darkness only sees the surface of the inner workings of my being. I am convinced that the darkness is jealous of my faith. Darkness wants to see the light, but my faith won’t let it. I am convinced that my faith has enlightened the truth to this path of the bright beams of immense light. I continue to walk until I have stammered into my words; I a a am s s s sorry, and jump into the dark abyss forgetting my faith.

[jacobquin-blog]

Sensitive Subject

A distinct smell. One that's part of you, coursing through the everlasting bodily figure that sustains you with life. A color so visible, it's almost as though there's nothing similar to it, but yourself. As the thick liquid feels so sweet, yet so bitter; you almost wonder why you feel, lost and uncontrolled. As you slowly feel it running down your arms, you quickly emerge to life. The realization of what you've done has emerged to an inevitable course of action. You can't stop yourself from continuing. Even though you took a long pause, thinking you were better, only to realize you got worse. It was time that stopped, not the feelings. By suppressing those feelings, they only grew worse, while time had stopped for you. You almost hoped someone would walk in; continuing to leave distinct clues all over the everlasting body that your parents created. What a selfish thing to do. Destroying the beautiful person they created. Piercing the psychotic behavior, that is called your mind. Are you afraid to hear the truth, because I am? Am I using the wrong pronoun to describe an event so dear to me? It's easier to pin someone else down, by using them to describe this irrational behavior... Irrational, that's what my mother would say. In some ways I'm very similar to my mother, but in other ways, we can be very distinct. It's as though, I'm a robotic figure that sometimes has glitches. As she tries to fix the glitch, she continues to get frustrated, and in the end she leaves the broken, untamed metal to slowly wither away into nothing. A nothing that's neither disturbed, or interrupting the constant movement of life. Nothing has stopped to look back.

[jacobquin-blog]

Hurtful Emotion

What is hurt? Invincibility, numbness, sensitivity... its a question that I have no logical answer to. I guess that's how emotions work. Emotions can never be explained, just felt. Doesn't mean it "hurts" any less, just shows that I'm human. A memory of a person I felt something for, something I didn't know existed. In such a little bit of time I thought I figured out what I wanted, until you took it away from me. Now, I'm left with confusion, devastating confusion. You can tell me I'm over exaggerating, but I can't help it. I feel like my comforting bubble has been popped, by you. It's not necessarily a bad thing, it just feels like I'm naked. If you knew how I felt naked, then you would know why I'm always covered. Thus, my comforting bubble is a bad thing. I shouldn't blame you for it, I put myself in that position. I showed you what I had to offer, without knowing it wasn't good enough for you. I guess that's why society tells you to love yourself before putting yourself out into the open. Pretty ironic, because society also tells you to attempt to hide all your imperfections to seem like you're sane. Normal even; sane comes from normal. That's where I went wrong, I showed my imperfections too soon. I thought I had witty humor, by being myself, but you took it for granted. I don't know whether I should hate you for that, or hate myself. I'm just... I'm feeling... very conflicted. I want to blame you for making me feel like shit, but I don't want to hurt you to make myself feel better. I wasn't good enough for you, my appearance, attitude, and personality wasn't enough. I was holding you back. I just wish you could've told me sooner, instead I kept pushing it away from my mind, because I was blinded by your offers. You offered so much, beauty, charisma, excitement, and a variety of other adjectives that I don't feel like remembering. It'll hurt too much. I don't want to say I felt love for you, because it was too soon. I'm forcibly quieting myself, maybe I shouldn't. Maybe that's the problem to why I can't heal properly. I changed my appearance, thinking it would jumpstart the healing process. Sadly, it isn't working. Honestly, I think it only made the pain worsen. I also think that I started making others sick. Everyone around me is feeling pain. My pain has made others sick. It all started with me feeling for you. I'm not allowed to blame you, no matter how much I want to. I need to find myself, I just don't know who I am, or want to become. I guess that's where you helped, when you popped my bubble. It gave me a little insight to myself. It's also where I fell deeply in a blind sight for you. What a beautiful sight. I'm trying to find some conclusion to this, but I've run out of remembrance, and headed straight into reality.

[jacobquin-blog]

My first topic.

Is it hard to love or to be happy? I ask because I'm having a fucking hard time feeling either. It's not like it's rocket science. They're only emotions, yet my emotional capacity takes up everything, making it harder to breathe. Let me explain it this way, so you can understand. I am scorched not heated. If I was heated I could cool off and continue with life. Instead, I am scored. Scorched from the trials and errors that come with life. Yeah, I know I'm young; you would think I haven't lived to my full potential before getting knocked down by life. But here I am, knocked a few inches too deep. Every time I feel that blow, from life, I know it's getting harder to escape. Escaping from insanity is like trying to run away in your dreams. Impossible. The thing with insanity is that it fills itself in every little crevice, and you don't acknowledge it, because it deceives itself. It tells you it's only part of humanity, so you start to let it more and more inside. As it continues to grow, which is unbelievably painful, it starts getting comfortably stuck. Not stuck, more like permanently glued. When the glue dries, you won't be able to return, so what happens? Do you slowly go crazy, or is it an instant reaction once the glue has settled?