We all know these people, we have met and even befriended them numerous times in our lives, perhaps we are even one of these people. The rotten ones that take their friends, family, and lives for granted as they paint on a fake smile and nod, saying “they have changed”, which in reality is hardly possible. We can change our habits and our behaviours and even our core beliefs, but not without significant effort and time. Time to get over ourselves and our bad habits. But this leaves us with the question, with those dressed up and pretty, but rotten to the core, do they ever really change? Is it even possible?

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I sit in my car parked on a rather desolate beach, almost no other people are around. The waves are crashing in just a few dozen feet from my car and straight in front of me the sun is slowly going down. It is peeking through long strips of clouds as it drifts ever closer to darkness, orange and yellow rays piercing through, shining onto the ocean waves as they curl into themselves. I find myself looking at the beauty of the sunset in front of me, but I also sense within myself impatience, that the sun should move quicker because I want it to, which in and of itself is ridiculous. I am no Half God born of Zeus, I am a mere mortal and I am wishing the heavens would move to my preference.

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What are you Worth?

What are you Worth? – Audio Version

“What are you worth?” This is an odd question because worth is subjective, however our society in the west, measures it objectively with numbers, those numbers being dollars. When someone asks you how much you are worth in a capitalist country they are often referring to the amount of money in your bank account or assets. This obviously is fantastic for people that are wealthy, they can measure their self worth easily, in the millions or even billions, but that high only lasts so long. What about the middle class or even the ones considered “under the poverty line”, how do they measure their self worth? Many, like me, have to find a different way to measure themselves, often in more eastern ways of thinking, such as kindness, compassion, and family.

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The Devil is Doubt

The Devil is Doubt – Audio Version

Doubt is quiet and subtle as it worms its way into your consciousness, into your soul, and it is deadly. Deadly not to your physical being, but to your emotional and psychological being. It makes you second guess your work, your art, your relationships, with those sinister words, “Is this good enough?”. Which in western society usually correlates with “am I good enough?”. The answer to that question is always yes, in this moment you are everything you are suppose to be, but tomorrow might be a different story. Doubt is insidious in its constant whispers into our minds, wearing us down, until we can’t even think clearly.

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Siren’s Song

Siren’s Song – Audio Version

We all have one that plays for us, that we listen to out of habit or wanting. Often it is from a desperation to escape some mental or physical circumstances, or something to give us a temporary high or to clear our head. That is what the Siren’s Song of addiction is, it lures you in with a sweet melody and then once it has you it never lets you go. You may go a month, a year, 10 years, the song still plays and a part of you always wants to go towards the song, for relief from life or simply the burden of your abstinence.

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It Swells It Consumes

It Swells It Consumes – Audio Version

The pain swells up unexpectedly as you sit quietly alone, your mind wanders too close to the abyss, to the depths of your psyche. In that moment you are consumed by pain, throbbing from past mistakes and failures. The pain is so real, so tangible, yet only you can see it, experience it. That is the downfall of psychological pain, it consumes us and cripples us, yet everyone else, the ephemeral “them”, see nothing but a weak individual not following the steps they are suppose to. To them you are just another broken toy, easily discarded and forgotten. Yet you are a person. You matter. Your struggles and pain matters. You overcoming those, matters.

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Turalyon stood firmly at the front of the Vindicaar, looking down upon Azeroth, the Azeroth he and its champions had saved. He watched as the shifting clouds above the Broken Isles dissipated leaving that once battleground seem serene from his view up in the heavens. He glanced at some other clouds forming a storm at what would be the plains of the Barrens, home to his new enemy, the Horde. The same Horde he had hosted on this ship to wage war on the surface of Argus, to finally once and for all put an end to the Burning Legion and its master, Sargeras.

He shut his eyes for a moment thinking, a thousand years in the Nether fighting, only to come home and have to fight again. His brow furrowed, always another war to fight, he thought. Opening his eyes again to see Azeroth, his eyes resting on Sargeras’ final act, the giant sword looming over the surface, its hilt muddled with clouds in the sky…

“Turalyon…” Alleria’s voice echoed slightly in the Vindicaar’s open deck, breaking his concentration. “Come down to the forge, I have something I wish to speak about,” she told him as she turned to walk down the stairs, her cape swaying with her hips, her voice was soft and inviting. Turalyon took one last look upon Azeroth before turning to head down the other side of stairs that led to the Netherlight Crucible.

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Depression is the Serpent that Binds

Depression is the Serpent that Binds – Audio Version

You sit in the corner of a small room with the door closed. You are chained to the corner, both wrists and ankles bound, holding you to the ground in that corner. There is no light, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face if you could move it, there are no windows, just blackness that surrounds you. The only way you realize you are in a corner of a room is because of the two cold cement walls converging behind you. There, chained in the blackness, you hear scales grind on cement, something is slithering out there and you don’t know what. The sound of scraping grows closer…closer, until it is nearly on top of you. You, of course, are terrified but have nowhere to go, no way to run, chained in the blackness you struggle, but nothing gives. That is when you hear it, inches from your face, “Shhhh sweet thing, it will be over soon,” it says in a serpentine voice. Then you feel it start to wrap around your legs, your torso, your arms, finally your neck. You can feel the snake’s tongue shooting out next to your ear as it begins to whisper. It whispers all the things you are not, that you are worse than a bad person, you are a terrible and worthless human being. In the blackness it whispers all of this as you sit powerless in its coil.

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A Day in the Life of Janitor Edwards

“Ah, m-more dirt. It’s a m-mirror into my soul,” Edwards mumbled to himself as he shuffled to the next spot to clean. Do I even have a s-soul after how m-many times I have been r-reconstructed? The thought twisted in his mind, clouding much of what was going on around him, so much so that he nearly singed his long chops on Corvus’ blazing furnace.

“Watch yourself, janitor!” Corvus sneered as he continued to hammer away at a rune blade. The blacksmith was always in a foul mood, and if you asked him why he would ramble on about anything and everything that could possibly give him discomfort, including the various weather.

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What Lurks Beneath

What Lurks Beneath – Audio Version

I am better. At least so far, I still worry that I will go into the perilous depths again, a fear I am sure will manifest given enough time. These past few weeks, dare I say months, have been my own personal hell on earth. All the insecurities, the fears, the dreads descended down upon me like a plague that I could not shake.

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