A Taste Of Oblivion : The Short Comings Chronicles VOL1

THE MOST : PT1

Colourless salt water drains from the two holes in his face, red is the canvas that's usually blank with only but two brown orbs and broken is the beating organ pumping blood to vessels called the heart. The little black boy boy thought stumping his toe at the corner of his study desk was the definition of true pain but nothing could compare to what he was feeling now as it hit harder. Physical pain is nothing but a fleeting boat blown by the harsh wind in a sea storm much like the storm in his head but emotional pain was like a beating tattooed heart you could never erase but you could try to cover up by layers and layers and layers of more ink but the tattoo remains at the bottom serving as a scar from the past and the future emerging to make the now.

Vikela Peters was such a crybaby. He thought him feeling any sort of emotion would be over by now and even though it's cliché to say but in this moment the sky was mimicking how he felt. It was a colour of his bruises and cuts, pain and an angry grey area that would be sliced in half by thunder which would roar and shake the ground where Vik would soon be six feet under when his time too had come. The sky was heavy, oozing and bleeding all over the tiny fragments of self love that were clinging dearly to Vik subconscious, slowly the pain he felt inside caressed his cheeks, moving down in an almost tantalising manner, soothing would be the word to describe the rain mixed with the salt running down his cheeks cause it was the only comfort he had and slowly his hands made no effort to move and wipe away the salt that melted away with the blood from the sky, slowly he made no effort to move at all as he felt dearly numb, he felt the tiny raindrops dance the soft swan song of ballet on top of his very dark skin, skin dark as the night where he only feels alive but still he felt nothing at all, he felt the tears move on their own accord slowly and slowly till they disappeared and were one with the rain but he felt nothing at all, nothing. His father always said crying was a wasted emotion and men don't cry, men never cry but what was he though cause he basked daily in the salt waters as they washed away his sorrow and left him numb, a feeling he loved too deep.

He thought he loved himself, he really did. He was dark, so dark he was the sky at night and his freckles the stars creating the big dipper, the litter dipper and every constellation known to man cause Vik liked his face, he liked himself and would spend hours looking at his reflection but he wasn't conceited no, Vik was appreciating himself because a lot of insecurities were thrown his way. He wrote down tiny pieces of paper that represented how he felt, he locked himself up in his tiny tower with nothing but four bare walls that would listen when he talked and a pillow that caressed his damp cheeks, he was told boys don't cry but he cried buckets of tears, he was told boys aren't weak, they don't show fear at all but Vik was afraid, more so than he could admit, lost in teenage angst, puberty and of trying to impress the one person who seemed to be here but never there at the same time, and Vik could lie, he could lie and say he was fine, he could lie and say he doesn't break apart when he's alone and his thoughts are more than one person could bare, he could lie and say he wasn't hurting at all, he could lie and say he knew who he was but he didn't and right now he brought fresh flowers to say Happy Anniversary to the boy he once was as kisses he showers in the mirror, maybe in another life where the perception of a perfect straight boy wasn't flawed he'd be considered straight, maybe in a world where people weren't so invested in prying others sexualities he'd come out as gay or non binary or pan, maybe in a world where he thought there wasn't something wrong with him he'd admit that infact he was asexual.

Vikela Peters felt the urge to slit his writs, an urge so strong it was like an annoying itch, an urge so strong he thought he'd do it but he was weak, sitting at the foot of his bed starring at his closed doors.

Round face, brown eyes, memories he can't escape, Vik felt like a prisoner in his own mind with rooms in his subconscious he couldn't even enter nor dare to open. He was roaming the here and there searching for the part of himself he thinks, he thought, constantly thinks and knows he has lost. He wonders why, why couldn't he be like the other boys outside now playing soccer and being wild, he wondered why he could never talk with his father, let alone be in the same room with him for more than 5 minutes and why he never felt more than emptiness. It was like he was looking outside steel bars and everything was a grey area, he was just there. He wished for nothing more than to speak with his father but he couldn't because disappointment sometimes pooled his eyes but he never understood, he didn't do anything wrong, he was just him the same boy he was before.

Fragile was a phrase only reserved for girls but Vik was fragile, did that mean he was a girl, cause he didn't even know how to apply make up but could easily conceal his broken heart "don't let them in" he always thought, broken from the lack of not knowing who he was and his fathers constant disapproval, he always felt frightened because he could never reach the man that was five feet away, he didn't know what to do right, he seemed to think that everything he did wasn't just it.

It's sickening how he was so afraid to talk about his feelings, It's sickening how he'd let these tears take control, it's not like he meant for them to happen but they fall as if they had a mind of their own, maybe it's because he craved so much for his fathers approval that he couldn't help but cry cause he got none, maybe it's because he craved affection, any kind of it that these tears were the only safe haven he had, circulating down and up his face, creating a stream but he in all honesty was tired. Tired of always crying, tired of always trying to seek validation from the one man who was never there, he was tired of even thinking but he couldn't turn of his thoughts, he tried but only to fail everytime cause saying you don't care sometimes turns to caring, saying you don't mind sometimes turns to a thoughts latching on and on and on and there's only so much you can lie to yourself about.