A story (Or so I think)

There was this kid,
 a normal kid (or so he seems). He had a normal black coat that he always wore; He wore it at nights, he wore it at mornings, he wore it at summer time as well as winter times.. he wore it too frequently that the world thought it was abnormal (or so 'twas telling him). But the kid wouldn't give a damn about what the world saw as abnormal anyways. For the kid believed that the world itself was abnormal, he saw the world as a horrible black, dark, bad, bad, evil, evil, and EVIL abnormal place.
But what was more abnormal (or so the kid thought) is that he felt very alone at this.. he seemed to be living in a world that is different than this pinkish-full-of-unicorns world everybody around him lived in. He saw blood splashes on walls that other people saw as "beautiful colours", he smelled ashes and smoke that others smelled as perfumes.. he walked on ruins while every bloody other person walked on bloody rainbows.
The kid was angry, he was furious and his insides were melting by the heat of hatred he felt towards the unfairness of the world.. he cursed upon himself, he cursed upon his sight, he cursed upon the world that chose him, and only him, to see it as it really is.
As wrath took over him, the rest of the seven deadly sins swallowed his normality. He got proud, for he believed that he was special. He felt envious for he loathed the happiness he saw in the eyes of others. He was greedy, for he craved the power that allows him to kill that happiness. He is gluttony, for he never stopped eating darkness. He expresses sloth, for he became too lazy to try and leave an impact on his surroundings. And what a lustful soul he is, for he desired to have a bit of all.
This kid, instead of being a pure soul in a world that is dark, he became a dark soul, a soul even satan would think of as wicked and evil.. thus, as things are all relative, the world became a really shiny, glowy, good, good place compared to our little was- normal kid.
"Crunch, crunch, munch, munch, chomp chomp. Gulp!"  A monster (his sins that is) ate the kid from inside out, it ate his purity, his normality, his body AND mentality. And then, he was no more a human, but only a devil. No more a kid in a black coat, but a coat that's blackness suppressed a kid.
Instead of the kid thinking of the world as "a horrible, dark, wicked place", the world viewed him as what he used to view it as. (Irony, he calls that.)
Now, that you all know, a devil destroys not only itself, but what's around it too.. as the devil he became grew stronger, the quantities of people whom he splashed walls with their blood grew larger, the numbers of houses he burnt to create the smoke he always smelled and the ashes and ruins he always walked on a living truth for all of those who dared to show happiness around him.
..He was extraordinarily abnormal..
..And now, back to what's normal and what's abnormal, there was this catalyst (or so he called her, and hey! I'm not talking about how she became what she is, okay?) and she was abnormal too, because with her poor eye-sight, she could see through a hundred layer of "bad abnormal things" and find a normal kid that, not only is lonely, but also got harmed by his solitude, a kid that is not as evil as the world believed he is, and far from being what he thinks he is.
She was abnormal, because with all the dark layers that cover herself, with all the insecurities that ate her as much as darkness and sins ate the kid, she was able to reach him.. she could talk to him, not to devil, and he could hear her, not the insecure child. And her fingers could break through the layers, through the devil's chest, and reach for the broken-by-the-world heart of the kid.. then with a touch of kindness, and faith.. she could mend him.. a little.
Like one of those Samurai Masters in cheap old cartoons, she helped the kid grow into a thing stronger than the devil, she helped him find the preach inside, and...
" Crunch, crunch, munch, munch, chomp chomp. Gulp!" The preach ate the devil inside out.
A devil in the shape of the preach?
A preach that has a devil in its insides?
He knew not what he became, and she didn't know either, but they both didn't care.. for they both knew that he was a better person than what he's ever been.
As she, the catalyst, helped the devil grow a preach inside..
He, the devil, helped the catalyst find a bit of darkness inside..
And that, is the story of how balance was found in the abnormal world of the normal kid in the black coat.(Or so the story teller says.)

The Small, Abandoned, and Out of Their Minds

She bent her back a little to pick the small, abandoned, maniac, I from the ground.. 

She put me in a small box, a one which she used to keep a ring in, it seems, then hid it in her bag..

I shouted at her to take me out, I was suffocating and I craved air, but she didn't hear me.. I lost sight.. I died!

She got into her room, took out the small box out, opened it.. and I was laying there.. 

Small, abandoned, Maniac, and.. dead! 

She let out a small giggle slip through her mouth then said:

" -Dear..  you little fool, it's not time for you to die yet."

- Oh, okay, so I shouldn't die?

- Of course not! are you cold?

- Freezing.

- Okay.. 

- What? are you not giving me a blanket or a coat?

- You're too small.

- Hmm.. right. *smiles*"

.. 

She took me to the window.. she thinks I'd enjoy the scene from there. 

I sat on the window.. cold, small, taken-care-of, maniac and.. more alive than I've ever been. 

She fell asleep.. but I didn't.. it's cold.. and the glass is fogging up.. 

"-Mewants t'draw. 

-what do I draw?

-a hangman's noose!

-Good idea, but why? 

-it's fun to draw. 

-okay.

-okay?

-yes.. okay... 

-*draws a hangman's noose*

-Now now, who do I hang?

-you!.. 

-why? 

-because.. you're a maniac. 

-I'm not, I'm just sleepy.. 

-okay.. let's sleep. "

I slept, shaking, cold, no covers for me from the cold and no protection from the exposure to the open freezing air.. I slept, no blanket for me except for my maniac little warm dreams. 

In the dream I was large.. I was warm.. I was holding a bag that has a small box inside that has a small, cold, maniac, abandoned her inside.

....

....

....

I slept until the winter was gone.. 

"-Good morning. 

- Good morning..

- Did you sleep well?

- I slept alot.. The winter is gone, am I a bear?

- I don't think so.. bears can't be so small.. 

- damn.. 

- What?

- I always wanted to be a bear.

- You can be my teddy. 

- Really?

- Of course."

And now here I am.. a small, taken-care-of, maniac, talking-to-itself, warm fuzzy bear. 

"She must be a maniac too; nobody would make a scum ,like I, their bear." 

Shouts of An Underdog

Why can't I..
..cry?
Be joyous at a moment,
then weep at another..?
why can't I shout,
why c-c-can't I stutter?
why can't I think out loud,
then let madness fill my gutter,
why can't I..
paint my own corpse on the walls of my room?
or build my own city, then bring it to its doom..
why can't I..
have a little chat with a voice in my head,
then play hide and seek,
with a non-existing friend?
..

why can't I,
Express my madness on paper,
then set it on fire..
hang a man on paper,
then set him on fire,
execute his wife on paper,
and a forty family member..
then set the pen,
the stack of paper,
and the whole dead family,
on a burning hell-fire..

 why can't I be anger,
why is wrath a sin?
why do I have so much hunger
for a stupid happy "fin"

 why can't I be madness,
be happiness and love,
why can't I be a raindrop,
that only stays above..

why should I kill the self in "my"?
and then ignore the calls of a ninty nine "I"?
why do we never accept?
why must we all deny?
why does the world insist..
that we all must..
 die.

I Solemnly Swear

-"Her eyes are so pretty..
She's the sweetest girl on earth..
We were meant to be together..
Since the days of our births.."
He knocks her door holding flowers..
Then he takes out her for a walk..
They talk on phone, endless hours..
He and the girl, he used to stalk..
He promises not to hurt her,
he says he'll never be rude..
While I?..I solemnly swear.. I'm up to no good..
I solemnly swear I'm up to no good,
If by good, we mean, I leave you behind..
And if good, nowadays, is to go like "THAT"^
Then let us stay on the dreadful side..
I'm up to no good, but I won't do bad..
not to the craziest lady, I ever had..
They call her a Mania, they call me mad..
they say we're nutties.. that we're insane..
maybe because (they're) "falling".. for words spent in vain..
while we fell for each other.. discussing j.k Rowling..

Then you became my shelter, and I became your world..
you became "my mistress" and I became "your lord.."
And I fell your taste, but not for your look..
Perhaps, because harry potter was your favorite book..
I fell for your madness, your endless nonsense..
your "inner sacred sadness", your incredible thoughts..
for the times you were depressed, and for your favorite quotes..
your addiction for chocolate, coffee and fiction,
And how you would read, in what-so-ever-section..
I didn't fall for your beauty, or because you were nice..
and I never was lost in your "incredibly beautiful eyes"
I fell cause you're different.. Cause you made me understand..
That one can fall in love, without holding hands..
cause you made me trust a woman - through the screen..
a woman who loves Roth, and reads John Green..
who likes British accent, and appreciates Shakespeare..
..A woman.. a maniac.. not coherent.. unclear!



Maybe cause you're divergent, and you're also a raven..
Cause you go buy books & chocolate with the money you were savin'..
Cause maybe, you never made me say, you fell from heaven..
Cause you're social, but also insecure..
Cause you're always worried.. and you're never sure..
Cause you're not perfect.. you got a hundred flaws..
Cause you're Moody, sometimes a needle, but sometimes a rose..
Cause you're so far! but also TOO close..
Cause you're just you.. and you don't expect lots..
Cause you're insane, and you help me go on... on being nuts..

2013's drawings pack.

Ordered according to date of drawing.
The first one is the first and the last one is the last drawing of the year.

Aaron's Journals: Confession.

July 7th. 2012

Dear friend,
I've been feeling alone ever since we left seven years ago. This place is terrible, I know my Father was telling the truth about us having a larger home and a better school, but it most certainly was a lie about the better friends. Everybody here seems so tired, they all are busy, too busy to appreciate anything, all are too busy following their futures without  bothering to stop a second to enjoy the present, all are greedy.

I've been living solo until last year. Some guy moved into our school and he later became my second friend ever, right after you. I liked him because he seemed to care less about troubles, he seemed to enjoy life as it is, and he used to always criticize my depression, telling me that compared to him, I have no rights to frown. He also liked reading, said it kept him distracted of the pain (He always felt pain). And although he gave me hope, he always helped in me losing some hope (makes sense? no?) for He was always sick, always tired, and sometimes he couldn't even leave bed. So I used to go read to him the same way I read our favorite book to you (Remember? It was a queer book, wasn't it?) Only this time I can read perfectly, without having to spell the long words the way I used to do. I really liked him, and I always wished you'd be here so you too can meet him..
 ...too bad.. I just watched him slowly falling below the ground, into his grave.
Although I haven't exactly felt joyous ever since we reached this hell-hole, I haven't ever felt this horrible neither, except for the day we left seven years ago.That day, I couldn't say goodbye to bye to you, so instead, I wrote a good-bye letter and hid it in your school bag. it was the last time I ever wrote anything, and I guess I'm writing you again because I now can relate to that day's pain.. only you won't get to read it this time.

You know what, Rose? It's funny, how losing a friend gives you the same satanic feels, even though the ways you lose them varies; death, distance, a fight, or even a win.. does it matter? I believe not. Because, DAMN IT! it'll always kill a little part of you anyways.

That day -the day we left- I told my father that I don't want to leave because we -You and I- made a vow that we'll forever be friends. And he said something I found very queer about friendship not being something that ends, that it becomes a part of you and that distance or death doesn't kill it, that it only makes it grow stronger. I think I now do understand what means my father had when he said that, because despite the fact that my friend is now coating himself with sand, buried.. dead... I still think of him as my friend.
...
...
...I'm sorry Rose, but I think I shall stop writing about my friend.. It's painful.

Let's talk about something else, a bit more cheerful now.
-You might be wondering if I sticked to that oath, if what I wrote on that letter that day is true, that I still do think of you as my best friend. I'll tell you something first, then you decide, okay?
Many years ago, I started noticing that many people are talking about this "adults matter" called love.. at first I tried not to think about it. But as I grew older, more people my age started talking about it, and I didn't know what it meant, thinking that I'd look childish if I ask about it.. so I remained naive up until one day when a girl I knew asked me if I ever "fell in love". I do hear many people talk about it, but I always try to avoid conversations that concerns it. Thus it was my first time hearing the expression "falling in it." and to be honest here.. I started laughing hysterically, because (Due to a child's logic) you can't fall on anything but the ground. Meaning that love is just a synonym for ground, and that all of my thoughts about it being an adults matter were naught but mere delusions. I guess I scared the girl by the hysterical laugh because she just walked away. (No seriously, I was such a creepy child, maybe a bit "TOO" stupid too.)
I hurried back home to tell my mother that I learned a new word: "LOVE".
mom let out a nervous laugh then told my father later that day.
My father paid me a late night visit, saying he wants to have a "very special father/son conversation" then literally started talking nonsense, making sure to make me doubt whatever slight bit of logic I built in my few years I lived. He kept talking about birds and bees and many other queer stuff that mostly bored, confused and depressed me.. So I decided to fall asleep as he talks. Well, he then finally started talking about what I was mostly interested about; love.
what my father told me about love that day is that it's some sort of a "grown-ups friendship". except for that it's "warmer" and has more caring to it than ordinary friendships.. an hour later, he finally noticed that I couldn't make sense out of what he was saying, so he ended his preach with: "You'll understand when you feel it."

Years passed since that day, and I kept trying to understand what "love" meant, But all of my tries were in deep vain. I gave up at last.. Well, until something changed in me one day. At some random day, and when least expected, I woke up with this tiny tingly sweet feeling in my chest.. I knew it had something to do with the dream I just woke up from, because I simply refused to leave my bed, a voice in my held told me to stick to that dream, even though I couldn't exactly remember a single detail of it. Then the feeling started repeating itself constantly but each time the dream what clearer. And even though the dreams always seemed to be alien and un-understandable to me, there was always this one common thing I could make between them: You.



-Dear Rose,
 I know it's insane to love a person whom you can't remember their face, I know that love is a huge word, that one shouldn't use it carelessly, just as much as I know that my friend can't be brought back, and I know that the love that people feel towards each other.. is something I can only feel towards you..

Now, do I still think of you as my best friend? I think you mean a little more to me..

Yours,
Aaron D.Semion.

Strings I Hold On To

I slowly take a sip of my coffee mug then put it aside, letting the caffeine I just consumed reach my blood, then give it some time to get to my heart, begging it to quickly pump the heavenly caffeine into the rest of my body parts. Feeling reliefed, I lift my hand of the table to reach the tense side of my head as the migraine's devilish pain slowly fades away.. I take more sips, forgetting my coffee inbetween each sip and the other.. because that's how coffee is taken.. Slowly.. Because coffee isn't only about caffeine, or its taste, coffee is a ritual.. 
I finish that coffee in a 30 minutes matter or so.. making sure that the last sip I take is cold.. it has to be.. because if not, my caffeine consuming process fails, and I get to have my ever-lasting friend, migraine, back.

 -I stare blankly across the window, dreamy, as if nothing awaits me, forgetting about all of the things that has to be done, all of the wrong things that were already done, and drift away... But instead of flying out of the window, having long travels and going on imaginary voyages the way a teenage girl does.. I do it in reverse, zooming into the crowded city in my head, passing through its gate, reaching the insides of my skull.. then start walking slowly across its streets while scanning the buildings around me..
 Nostalgia.. 
negativity.. 
disappointments.. 
hatred.. 
and fear.. 
that's what bulids this city.. 
 I get a feeling of amusement as I wander around this mess.. I pass by a group of (Me)s gathering around a little version of me, kicking him onto the ground.. 
And the scene satisfies my psychopathic needs.. 
I start thinking about what a wonderful place this world is.. it's my own utopia, my secret place.. only I is here, and all that's here is I.
 I light up a cigarette since smoking here aint gon' kill me.. and the only atmosphere I'll hurt is my skull, and I don't really mind.  "I am free" I think "Just like this imaginary black smoke I'm exhaling.."

- I think I should be happy now, but infact,  I'm depressed, but I'm only depressed because I want to, because it helps me think clear, think coherently, it amuses me, it's like a morphling's drug, a smoker's nicotine, a human's bread, a plant's soil and a sailor ships. We're inseparable.. I treat it very carefully.. not letting it paralyze me, but not letting go of it.. I'm not saying I'm a drama queen, Nor am I an emo. I'm just like everybody; I'm nobody; I live normally, I laugh, tell jokes, and dream.. But to me, depression is a life style; a group of little things that makes me happy -if that makes any sligh bit of sense : the hoodies I wear, the books I read, the cheesy poetry I write, and the things I draw.. the short walks I take at sunsets, plus  the moments of solitude I give myself dawn.. I call those depression because I find depression in these little details, and I think depression gets to find me through them.. 
Depression gave me this city right here, the city made of, for ,and from me. My own little secret place; the place I run to when the outer world is boring, when it's lonely, scary, and unfair. 

 -Having walked an exact hundred  miles, I reach my destination.. the museum, I walk in, cross the main hall until I reach a small door with the word "nostalgia" written on it.. I slowly open the door, making sure no other me sees me. I walk in then close the door behind.
small windows are every where, each window shows a scene.. that's my grandmother's backyard, there's a mall.. a classroom.. some people.. familiar faces.. old friends.. family.. many places, many words.. I have ti look through twenty windows before I finally find what I came for: I see myself looking confused, and there's a person next to me, a girl, she looks confused too. we both are sitting on a bench but not next to each other.. Instead, we seem as if we're trying to keep as much distance as possible.. 
I smile "it's her..." and I feel something growing inside me. Something like..
 ..longing,
 despair, 
Anger, 
love.. 
..madness..? I know not.. But it's something between being miserable and having your lifetime wish being granted.. And whether it's good or not.. it hurts..  it's causing so much pain.

 "Dude, da hell you doing." my brother's voice brings me back to my senses..
 -Ah? Umm.. I..I..am studying, what else would I be doing? 
-You ask me? you're the one looking all nuts with tear-filled eyes.
 -That's Spring allergy, ya know. 
-But it's winter.. 
-uhm, yeah.

...

The Scum Below my Hat

I'm as mad as a hatter

Or so I've been told,

For a hundred blabber,

In my head I hold..

"You're too passionate,

and you love too hard.."

Only 'cause a hundred mate,

Shares my heart..

...

A hundred scum in my head,

A hundred scum that drives me mad,

A hundred soul almost dead,

They make my skull a wonderland..

They chose depression for a bond,

They chose madness for a bulit,

and the evil thoughts that they hold,

would make satan feel some guilt.

A hundred scum with a hundred voice,

a hundred bastard making noise,

a hundred soul I understand,

All are living below my hat,

a hundred rebel, full of wrath,

a bloody hundred psychopath,

a hundred lie, and hundred proof,

a hundred scum that helps me move,

A hundred fool, they guide my way,

A hundred friend, they help me stay,

We're a hundred buddy, in solitude,

A hundred person, thus a hundred mood,

That's why I can't be.. understood..

In Spite Of The Distance.

I noticed that I haven't exactly wrote anything proper here, only some silly fanboyish stuff, well, here's something a bit personal, a poem I wrote:

A Curse, A prayer.. Distance

There he stood on a cliff where he felt all alone,

he cursed upon himself, at the skies at the stone,

He cursed at the hatred that he felt deep inside

, He cursed the insecurities that he couldn't override,

He cursed all the words that he said but couldn't write,

He cursed that she's far, he cursed that he's lost

he cursed at the distance which he hated all the most.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There she sat on the edge,where she stared at the nile,

She imagined a bridge,  to help her walk a thousand miles,

She slowly closed her eyes and she prayed for a while,

She prayed for a boy whom she now can't reach,

she prayed for the boy who's both a devil and a preach,

She prayed for her home then she prayed for herself,

She prayed all alone, For the boy at the cliff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

and thou he cursed and she prayed,

even though he left and she stayed

Even on two different worlds,

With distance cutting with it swords,

and obstacles in between

they'll be in love, always are, forever been..