The Raw Calm

Always Missing the Important Parts

What I thought up using "The Most Dangerous Writing App". Here are my results, uendited and as raw as they were when I typed it out. Try it out if you want to challenge yourself. https://www.themostdangerouswritingapp.com/write.html

☘️ i. when i see him

sometimes, when i see him, i wonder why he doesn't see me. i'm right in front of him, but he always looks past me. His gaze clouded. His judgement clouded. But why? Through that one eye of his, what does he see? It's like he can see ghosts, as if he stares at nothing. as if there isn't actually anything there. But his charcoal eyes are always burning, however distant; burning with rage. I have thought to ask him why, but have never mustered up the courage to confront him completely.

There's something about him. He is wild, like an animal. He is mysterious, like the bottom of the ocean, yet is as violent as the waves in a storm. A twister, a hurricane, leaving nothing but destruction and everything negative in his wake. Just what happened to him? Just where is he? I ask this, but he's right in front of me.

We've all lost something; something in this world. I wonder if his loss is greater than mine. I had thought of asking about family, but he never seems to acknowledge the topic, and instead opts to ignore me. Once, I listed family members; mother, father, uncle, aunt, brother, sister. Sister garnered a reaction, but he failed to elaborate. For once, with the mention of 'sister', his eyes were focused.

His eyes were no longer burning. They were clouded yet still, but clouded by sadness and regret. A feeling I knew well, a feeling I could relate to, a feeling I could recognise. And now, as he lay dying, sputtering blood with every violent cough, I wonder if this is the death he deserved. Always swinging his sword, it seemed wrong for him to die without honour. To die because of his lungs, and not because of some mortal injury.

I wish he could have been saved.

☘️ ii. the guilt of you

Raw. Mince. Like meat mince, cold, will stain your hands, will smell like iron if not properly drained. This mince held an inappropriate amount of blood. It wriggled in my fingers, it crawled up my arms and swam in my eyes. The deep blood, the lighter, thinner blood seemed to like the weather at my elbows more than the climate of my eyeballs. Although I would rather have it not touching any part of me.

Raw. Mince. Raw like it shouldn't even be here. Raw like it should be covered, concealed, raw like no one should ever see it. It's cold. It squishes underneath my toes, it falls through my fingers when I grab at the walls. It smells. It reeks. I can't see anything. It's all I can taste.

Raw. Mince. It slithers under my nails, the unnatural pressure and presence popping them off. It slides into my veins and mingles in my own blood, squeezing my heart and making it pound. It struggles, like an animal tied up above a roaring fire. But an animal cannot escape that heat, and my heart cannot escape the agonising squeeze.

It hurts. In my lungs, it writhes, in my brain it shines. In my brain it is mince, it is goo, it is grainy, it is paste. Paste. Chewed by the mouth. Regurgitated like a mother bird, only it is regurgitated and swallowed by the same person. Only it doesn't make sence. Only it's raw, only it's mince,

only its your heart choking me,

the guilt of killing,

the gui

☘️ iii. the best

It's purple. it's gold. it's everything that it shouldn't be, much like how the grass is supposed to be green and the sky supposed to be blue. Except this time it's not. My world has been turned upside down. Nothing is what it should be- what happened? But why is it like this? A shallow breath, a raspy 'help', but it flows, and it flows like an ocean in air. Like a river current in the earth. It flows,and flowy is nice, but it doesn't flow like it should or where it should. What made it like this? What mad eme see this? Those words, those words, those words,