GUEST POST // A Hymn Before Dying by Anglophiletoad

Dig down deep in the well of your soul
till you find that the well’s run dry
Stretch your wings, cut the strings,
and hope dead birds can fly
We’ve all tapped out of an empty ring
at the height of an ongoing battle
and we can’t even choke; the only sound in our throats
a hollow and meaningless rattle

Nobody’s right until everybody’s wrong
You can’t write these lyrics if you already know the song
When those who believe don’t really belong
It won’t be long till we’re gone.

They say they want our words, our voices,
these referees of our silence
In the name of peace they command that we cease
with threats of respectable violence
Lest we speak, lest we compromise all,
they offer up stairs to the top of the wall
only to pull out the rug from our feet,
handing out blame as we fall

Nobody’s right until everybody’s wrong
You can’t write these lyrics if you already know the song
When those who believe don’t really belong
It won’t be long till we’re gone.

Whatever ghosts we fear the most,
they pale next to the shadow
of freedom offered by those who have it
to those whose fields lie fallow

‘Cause nobody’s right until everybody’s wrong
You can’t write these lyrics if you already know the song
When those who believe don’t really belong
It won’t be long till we’re gone.

by ANGLOPHILETOAD 
© All rights reserved 2016

GUEST POST // Black Lake by Purple Creature

My heartbeat quickens, the skin on my body tingles,
Like the morning sunrise, my body is alive…
From my toes, upward to my chiseled legs
I feel electricity surge through my body…
When I close my eyes,
I can feel the blood surging through all parts of my body…
I steady my breath…
I slowly ascend into the dark still waters of the black lake.
I am alone, yet I feel all things around me, and it comforts me.
I am one with nature, and she with me…
As I swim to the deepest part, small ripples, become bigger ripples,
I am announcing myself to the majestic black lake.
The water, is cool on my naked body, it relaxes me.
My body is now one with the lake, we belong to each other…
Floating on my back, I feel all my blood pulsating through me…
My cock, my manhood, is erect and hard…
I am one with nature, and she with me.
I close my eyes, as I hear a faint noise approach, getting louder.
Now perched on my Manhood, is the Goliath Birdwing butterfly.
Beautiful and elegant is her body, our eyes are transfixed on each other…
She smiles, opens her mouth, bites off my manhood, and flies away into the darkness.
We have now become one… We are now Symbiotic with each other…
I exhale my last breath, and descend into the depths of the majestic black lake…
I am one with nature and she with me…
Forever more…

by PURPLE CREATURE
© All rights reserved 2016

GUEST POST // Sunshine On My Soul by Madam Marmoset

When the world is topsy turvy
And the wrong outweighs the right
When you’re sitting in a corner
Just too tired to fight

When there’s too much noise around you
When your voice just can’t be heard
When you can’t find quiet in your head
You don’t have to say a word

When life has lost its shine
When everything is dim
Close your eyes and open your heart
Be ready for light to shine in

When you can’t hold on anymore
When you don’t know what to do
When all feels lost and broken
Let your soul cry out for you

by MADAM MARMOSET
© All rights reserved 2016

GUEST POST // Writing To Heal Feature: Tony Single

DREM: How old are you, my friend?

TONY: I’m in my forties, a fact that still shocks me constantly. There are days when I feel so much older than that, and there are days when I feel like a boy pretending to be a man and nobody’s noticed yet. When will I grow up? And how is it I’m not dead yet?

DREM: Where do you live?

TONY: Put it this way… I wouldn’t mind living elsewhere. I live in a quiet neighbourhood close to the city. There’s a smattering of wild life here which is nice. It’s nice to hear the magpies warbling in the mornings. It’s not so nice to have big dogs barking at you from behind fences. Big dogs give me the willies, even when I know they can’t possibly get to me.

DREM: Do you have a profession besides blogging?

TONY: I’ve had a string of jobs in my life. When I was a Christian, I worked at a religious book store. I sold flowers door to door at one point. I was a glorified photocopier jockey at a university one year. The longest I’ve held down a job was as a cleaner at a milk processing factory. Thankfully, I wasn’t mopping up after cows. I was cleaning offices. Still, it wasn’t glamorous, and it was pretty thankless. The only time I heard from anyone was if they wanted to complain about the unseen speck of dust lurking behind a fridge or something. Presently, I help to run Unbolt and I concentrate on my webcomic too. I also do whatever I can to make my wife’s home life just that little bit nicer.

DREM: When did you start writing?

TONY: It would’ve been when I was in high school. I didn’t have many friends during those years so I’d hide in the school library every lunch time to read, draw and, of course, write. Looking back on it now, it strikes me how desperately lonely and disengaged I was. Everything I wrote was about life not being worth living and how I needed to not be here any more. I filled entire diaries with these thoughts and it astonishes me that I never acted on them. Perhaps writing it all down helped me in some small way to still feel anchored to people. To this planet. Hell, just to the fact of my breathing in and out.

DREM: How often do you write?

TONY: I write every day, even if just a few lines. My thoughts are scattered at the best of times so it’s always a good idea to corral them whenever I can. I have a note book and pen on me whenever I’m out and about, and there’s always stuff to write with and on within arm’s reach when I’m at home.

DREM: When do you write and how? Like, in a journal, on a computer, and what time of day?

TONY: I write in the aforementioned note books. I hardly ever try to compose something on the computer. For some reason that never feels right. I don’t know why. Perhaps there’s an immediacy to jotting your thoughts down as fast as they’ll come that typing lacks. I don’t know. However, when it comes time to work up a second, third or umpteenth draft of something that’s when you’ll find me perched at the computer. It’s a lot easier to make changes in a Word document than on a page with mostly everything scribbled out. And as for when I write, there’s no rhyme or reason to that I’m afraid. I write whenever stuff hits me, and that can be late at night when I should be in bed or in the middle of the day when I’m taking a piss (or having the piss taken out of me).

DREM: Why do you also Write To Heal?

TONY: I have to. That’s the simplest answer. I have depression, severe body image issues, and I can’t grow a manly beard to save my life. I’ve spent decades of my life pretending I have it all together. I clearly don’t. This is not something you can just talk about at the local pub with any passing stranger, or even your closest friends for that matter. People get scared when they see that you’re scared so I write it all down instead. It’s my outlet. It helps me to let the doubt and grief and self hatred flow into something productive, something creative and potentially beautiful. Does this process heal me? Sometimes. Do the results heal others when they read it? I can hope.

DREM: Why do you continue and has it changed?

TONY: I continue to write precisely because not much has changed. Certainly, I’ve lived longer than I expected to. I fully expected life to have broken my heart to the point of laying down and dying by the time I was twenty. Zip a few decades later and I’m still here. Yup. No one is more surprised than I am. What isn’t surprising is how difficult I still find it to connect with other people. And I still want to bash my face in whenever I see it. Oh, and the black dog? She continues to use my leg as a chew toy every other day. So, what do I do? I continue to write. It’s the only thing I know to do. It’s the only thing that makes sense of all the other things.

DREM: What dreams do you have for your writing?

TONY: I didn’t really have any until recently. Two women in my life have spurred me to believe that anything’s possible again. My wife got the ball rolling with her belief in me, and Tetiana has kept the ball rolling with the projects we’re currently working on together. Before all of that, I’d resigned myself to obscurity and disappointment, but now I find I’m actually confident that we will achieve something! I don’t know what exactly, but at least it doesn’t feel impossible!

DREM: Where do you find your most inspiration while healing?

TONY: I find inspiration mostly in music and stories. There are a handful of bands that I adore like My Silent Wake, Wovenhand, Amorphis, Dead Can Dance, and The Cure. Their lyrics never fail to transport me to some other place where emotions can be reconciled in some way and circumstances can play out differently. As long as I can hear another story then I can entertain hope for my own. I’m also hugely into comics and anime, and the idiosyncracies of those mediums are what drive me in my own creativity, to improve my craft in any way I can. And last but not least, there are the handful of people in my life who inspire me too. I wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for them. My wife. My parents. My sister. Tati. I hope I’ve sufficiently conveyed my love for them because, quite simply, without them I’m nothing.

Interview by DREM
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // The Wooden King by Obsidian Visionary

Crown of moss upon an oaken head,
Streaks of starlight woven in a thread.
Darkness engulfs his city of thieves,
Soon he too shall sprout blood red leaves.
Like an age old elm tree, roots he shall sprout,
Turned into a mighty tree preserved even from drought.
The Wooden King shall pay for his ghastly sins,
For in the end Karma always wins.

by OBSIDIAN VISIONARY
© All rights reserved 2015