gothvermonroe

[gothvermonroe]

The Plague

I was walking down the pathway

that was paved so perfectly.

Obviously, out of complete sincerity

The path never had any rough patches.

It was perfect to travel.

I kept moving forward out of naïveté,

pre-innocence-being-stolen,

and carefreeness.

The most peculiar occurrence came before me:

An apple tree in the middle of the path.

Its leaves were as evergreen as could be and the fruit it beared was blood-red and as rich as color could be.

I thought, oh, aren’t these the most perfect apples I’ve ever seen?

The urge to pluck one off and take a bite was irresistible.

And before I knew it, my hand was reaching out to snap the one exactly in my line of vision off of its limb.

I was a child, after all.

I inspected it to make sure it was clean and the skin shined of pristine; therefore, my wide-eyed optimism was lit alight as I bit into it.

My tongue was plagued with complete bitterness.

It tasted of rotting flesh and wickedness.

I looked down to see that the inside of the apple

Was pitch black like the sky when it’s drowned out by the darkness. Maggots were crawling out of the core and onto my hand. Of course I spit out the bite I had taken and chunked the apple far into the distance.

The tree withered and turned black right before me

And the air became as cold and dry as the air in winter.

All signs of life turned brown then black out of death.

I heard the sound of footsteps crunching leaves, so I turned around and there it was.

Evil.

Piercing into my soul by glaring into my eyes.

Its figure was made up of black feathers.

A demon was standing before me.

The beast reached its hand out to me,

Offering one single rose.

The wind whispered, “take it.”

And I did.

A thorn on the stem pricked my finger and one singular drop of blood fell to the ground.

The entity vanished and dispersed into the air.

I thought, how am I supposed to continue?

No one is going to believe you.

I couldn’t keep going,

So I ran until I got back home.

I never brought it up to anyone.

Never told a single soul.

I never asked for help.

The puncture point of the rose thorn ached with pain.

Little, but effective.

The wound appeared to be infected as it turned black and spread like roots all over my body.

Infected with darkness.

While I never confessed how I had been pricked,

I did bring up my concern for the issue.

I saw the doctors and specialists, all of which came to the same conclusion: you cannot be cured.

The conditions are livable, but sometimes they are too overwhelming to function.

I am trying to persevere, but one day my symptoms will become too much.

They will become too heavy to carry and they will crush me without a second thought.

I will deal with it for the remainder of my life.

It’s a medium of murder, killing everyone it can gets its hands on.

It’s going to kill me.

[gothvermonroe]

Melancholia

​ Melancholia, for some, is a birthright. Those who are affected by it did not hand-pick such a trait; instead, they were plucked from a garden of innocence and sent away to spend the rest of their days in a vase of misery without a say in their fate. For others, it is an acquired trait. They have experienced a form of transcendentalism, a belief that society corrupts individuals. Rather than being born with melancholy, these people gain it from the life they live, regardless of if they were born into tough circumstances or made their own bed. I advise that you tread carefully, as melancholia, once a part of you, will always linger throughout your life.

Melancholy is a phantom. You cannot see it although it is there. It may follow you from home, to work, to school, or to nights out with friends. It could remain at home, waiting for your return like a loyal pet. Nonetheless, melancholia haunts you. Wherever melancholy is haunting you, it is watching your every move. Maybe it wants to conduct the paranormal when you are out with other people, or maybe it is waiting until night when you are in your room…all by your lonesome. Melancholy is a spirit that latches onto its host, which happens to be any human it has a magnetic pull to. Perhaps it is a curse. This phantom might not be able to leave the property. Some spirits are held back from leaving Earth due to some gravitational pull much more complex than a regular human can understand. There are ways to contain the phantom. One could communicate with it to reach a mutual understanding, or light some sage, or hire a priest to exorcise it away, or maybe the house can be sold so you can run away.

​Melancholia is like a candle. One may be able to smell its scent but are incapable of finding the source. Others may discover where the aroma is coming from and quickly blow the flame out. Even if the flame is put to rest, the scent will linger for a few hours at least. For a moment, the smoke will overpower the scent, cancelling out the stench. For a moment, you feel peace but try your best not to get comfortable, as it is only temporary. Sometimes, due to certain circumstances, the candle will be lit again. This may go on until there is nothing left. At that point, the wick has been burned through, and the wax has seemingly disappeared, but that is not the case. Candles are toxic. And the wax does not just evaporate. The wax is on the walls all over your house and hardened inside your lungs, where it will turn, like one turns in their grave, onto your diaphragm. It will be difficult to catch your breath. If the wick was not trimmed routinely, as it should be to maintain the flame, there will be soot on your walls or on the wood of your bookshelf. Good luck getting that off! Melancholia is like a candle in regard to how it leaves traces of its existence.

​ Melancholy has fangs and teeth. It comes in your home at night to feed. One may surround the entrance with garlic, but that is just a myth. A wooden stake to the chest would do the job, but you would have to hunt him just like he hunts you. Melancholy is pale and does not go out much as it would kill him, after all. Sunlight is one of his many weaknesses. Melancholy is very tall and thin. He wears all-black like he has a funeral to go to everyday. Melancholy might be one of your friends. Maybe he passes as someone else at school so he can get closer to you. For those who have melancholy in their life, he will suck all the life out of you if you let him.

​ Melancholia, for me, is something I have become familiar with. I’ve met melancholy every time a loved one died, every time I made the decision to leave someone, and every time someone has left me. It is a grim state of mind, but it is part of life. Anyone can run away, lock it up, or try to get rid of it once and for all, but it will still exist. It leaves too many traces to completely be erased. Ultimately, melancholia will always be part of life. The thing is, is that it will only hurt you if you let it. You may have to stand up to it, like you would a bully, and it will learn to no longer mess with you. Now that does not mean the two of you won’t cross paths again, but it does mean melancholia will not become part of your daily life – you can coexist. It will become someone you used to know. Someone you will have small talk with every time you see one another. Melancholia, inevitably, will cross your mind every now and then.