In a Sense, Starving

I lie here, shriveled and dying

I’m hungry, still crying

My will disappeared moments ago

Now I drag through the dust

 Only the bits of me that I must

Before I slip into the cocoon of forever

I’m wasting away here

And it is worse than I have ever feared

For I’m hollow, I’m out here alone

The trees hover over me

I writhe on the ground waiting for their branches to open up so at last I’ll be free

But it seems I cannot leave you just yet

I stoop my head and I pray

As I wish to look up into the day

To see the sun poking her long golden tendrils through the green

But the hope that existed is ticking itself away

As from the edge of my vision my world begins to fray

And I’m slipping from consciousness into the great beyond

I was supposed to live long and well

With a lifespan of stories to tell

But here instead I lie broken and beaten

My body can no longer take all this pain

Only the hunger remains

I’ve starved myself to the end of the world

I had hoped I would fail

That someday this would merely be a tale

But it seems that is not what is meant to be

As for me, I will die

And no one will cry

Not a soul here on this Earth

Will have tears to shed

For the girl who disappeared

I ran, I up and left

I took off, tried to escape

My eyes could not see

My ears could not hear

But my heart hungered for love and my stomach for food

I was lost

I had run away from all I had known

With the hopes of finding something better

But instead all I found was pain

I am starving.

For the girl who lost everything, for the girl who took everything, for the girl who couldn’t take it, so her life-she had to break it, and no, she won’t make it past dawn.

Into the Ashes

Flames flicker and leap

Shadows dance upon skin

The fire-it molds me

Its touch my payment for my sin

Searing heat burns the flesh from my bones, I am melting away

Choking on smoke as my lungs fill with cinders

Screaming and piercing the air with my words through all this unbearable pain

Losing consciousness until merely the ashes remain

Skin crawling with fire

Flashing through red hot veins

It glints in my eyes

The heat driving me insane

My eyes flutter open, ‘a glimmer of hope

But engulfed by a new flame

I am burnt out

Out the door flies my soul

My body collapses,

But now I am free

Once and for all,

Forever and always,

Gone from memory.

Upward I spiral

My flesh left behind

Through the skies and the clouds flies my soul

And now for myself

A new purpose I set out to find

Freezing the Shadows

Sick and twisted

Dark and deep

In corridors and locked drawers

A secret she must keep

For hidden in the shadows

Of her swathed dark room

Blood bleeds from the corner

Where a man met his doom

This horror film stars a princess

This romance is one for a murderess

The lies that are hidden here under all of this mess

We’ve left for you to sort out and guess

Under the smile, the favored pink lacy dress

Secrets are teaming

For it’s always the quiet ones

You’d better start screaming

Four days ago

On a dark stormy night

She ran up to him

And started quite the fight

Knife to the stomach

Fist to the heart

She murdered the man

Then turned to depart

But bodies can’t be left lying

Just sprawled on the street

So she dragged him back to the apartment

The feeling of success so sweet

Just now did she realize

What she had done

Blood on her hands and murder in her heart

All she wanted now, was to up, away, and run

But as she could not, she just stood there and stared

Into the cold dark eyes of the man she had killed

As her heart she now realized

Of hatred was filled

He lay upon her floor

Eyes looking like glass

Frozen in time

The look on his face was his last.

The Soul Current

Out the back

Door of the old wooden shack

Flows a river

Secrets in the air above quiver and shiver

-and with time

For the river cuts deeper

‘Tis a storybook keeper

Each year it learns more but never tells

Of each person, heartbeat, tale, and secret that into its depths has fell

-lessons learned,

Some people would say

The river carries the rocks of broken dreams each day

But I find that is not true

Instead I believe that it carries the hope of all things anew

-adventures taken,

For my story is long

It takes turns, climbs mountains, falls down crevices like each heartbreaking song

And I’m happy to know

That my long winded tale, will always be found in the river come rain or snow

-are added to

I’ve lived long, I’ve lived well

Oh, the stories I could tell

But I’d rather that you write your own

So for now I’ll put my words away so that your own skills you can hone

-the storybook

I was born on a bright sunny day 95 years ago

Then as a young one I played and I ran to and fro

As I grew up I learned more and more of what it truly is to be me

And now as my story comes to a close, I know that my soul will run free

-so, when I die

Age does not scare me

So in death let me be

I’m ready to find my peace of mind

Sweet serenity lulled to forever in time

-the water will always know

My story is long, I find the ending sweet

To die after a life as wondrous as my is really quite a feat

I am happy and at peace, I am ready to rest

This old woman’s body can take no more stress

-who I was.

-and with time, lessons learned, adventures taken, are added to the story book. So, when I die the water will always know who I was.

The river-it carries my soul.

The Drugged Denial Exchanges

Nobody warned me, nobody told me how to fill this empty hole here in my chest. They left me, forgotten, lying alone on the cold linoleum floor. I picked myself up and made myself stand. I wanted to pretend that I was not broken. So I treaded through this existence in a daze, wandering through my own personal maze of misery, alone. Mistaken for a bird but I cannot fly.

I smiled and talked, absentmindedly I worked. People thought I was stressed, so I ran. And every drop of perspiration they mistook for inspiration when reality screamed it was tears.

My wall-it held strong-it blocked out the world, kept them from seeing my truth. I lied and I hid, molded my face into the perfect mask of uncontrolled happiness. I exchanged my empty eyes for sparkling ones on the black market, it only cost me my soul.

So while everyone thought I was doing so well and excelling at life’s little trials, I was really jumping at the slightest promise of noise in hopes that not one person would put me in the metal cage called a car to drive me to some big whitewashed building. ‘Cause all that building could be is false hope for false pretenses, fantasy truths told to make us miserable just a little bit longer. It thrives on blood and tears and every single being fears to be called into the depths of its winding and blinding corridors with big terms on signs and arrows that never point in the right direction. They come with there clipboards and claim they have healed you with their pills, bottles, and tubes, when really all they have done is put tape on what’s been broken for a weak temporary fix. Then they pump drugs into your veins so you can live a life where your survival is based on little white and blue spheres in plastic bottles of man made denial.

To them you are dying or crying, sad or suicidal. All they want is for you to move on with your life and leave them alone.

I just want to weep; I’ve got secrets to keep. Don’t give me an x-ray to tell me what I already know; my insides are empty save for old dusty sadness that’s collected in its corners.

So what if there’s a void I cannot seem to fill? I’m not planning on spilling every little detail to you so you can pretend you have fixed me and go home happy thinking you’ve save another life.

Why try? I already know that I am dying, each day my body decays and my mind, well that’s gone for good.

So why make me live an empty life where the only thing flowing through my shell of a body is fake magic? I’m done for, I’m gone, emotions up and left me long long ago. Not even the sad empty hopelessness that lingered for years graces me with its presence anymore. So if my feelings have evaporated into our thin carbon dioxide filled air, why make me wait around for my body to spoil? Let me fade away while my shell of flesh still pretends it is perfect.

All I’ve ever asked for,

All I’ve ever wanted,

I beg of you,

Forget me,

Let the empty disappear

Go ahead and drink your drug denial, but I’ve picked my poison.

Love Sick Asylum

Glass covered eyes shatter to pieces

As lips dark as night bleed red.

Secrets start falling from the storm clouds above

And bullets rain down on our heads.

How did I let you convince me that all was okay?

That I was safe standing here

Next to you?

God only knows why I just watched, did not scream,

As you took your knife to my skin so I bled.

What on earth was I thinking?

That our problems would solve themselves when my blood stopped flowing?

That somehow we’d end all this horror with bliss?

So foolishly I waited for you

-to open those lying blue eyes

And as you opened your eyes to your shock you would find

you were causing me deadly pain.

Bleeding and broken

Cornered and crying

Desperate for your love but I was dying

I love you

You scar me

You burning with matches and scratch with words

The lies that you fed me

The agony that you served me

A daily reminder of how much I hate you

If I were stronger, not weak

I’d be the one out to kill you

Then how come I still love you?

But I was still there-bleeding and broken

as you hurt me so badly I shrieked

You poked me and prodded me

pinched me and pulled me

KiLl Me ThIsTiMe

My body cannot take any more pain

My emotions-you have killed them

My tears had run dry

KiLl Me ThIsTiMe

My heart had been bleeding

My lips-them too

My bones were broken

As I had lain on the floor battered and bruised

Snapping in half under back breaking pain

The blood pooled underneath me

I criedand I screamed

I writhed and I flailed

My limbs went weak

My heart stuttered-then failed

YoU KilLeD Me ThIsTiMe

The Way the World Turns

Help me please, I just don’t understand

Why did you take her?

She was loving and kind,

But best of all, she was mine.

Why did you take her?

A mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter. Why whisk her away prematurely? Her life wasn’t ready to just up and be done; she had not even made it halfway. We need her now more than ever. For who will hold me when I cry, who will teach my dreams to fly?

Why did you take her?

Did you know that she promised to help me grow up? She had helped me take my first steps, but her job was not done just yet, for I need her here to help me curl my hair and pick out my dress for my very first steps, but in heels this time. I need her here when my heart breaks to pieces and to help push me to succeed. She should be standing by to tell me how to fix what I’ve broken, when to run, when to stand tall, and how to be the best me of all.

Why did you take her?

She promised she’d be better by Christmas, and then we’d make cookies and get so covered in flour we’d look like cookie monsters.  We never even made it to the Fourth of July.

You took her too soon.

I needed her hand to hold

To see her smile just one last time

To look into her eyes and just know that I’d make it through all of this with her as my guide

I wasn’t ready for you to take her.

I promised her that we would get through these moments together

That I could be there by her bedside in an instant

And I tried

I really did

But the traffic was stuck so I got out to run

I just wasn’t fast enough

When I finally burst through the glass double doors to the sterile germ house

I was too late

I knew I was too late

Her eyes were closed

Her breathe had stopped

Her hands had gone cold

All I wanted was to see her one last time

Hug her

Tell her how much she meant to me

To be held in her arms

To be told I was loved

But I was too late.

You took her too soon.

I should have run faster.

The Adventure of Lying in Red Ink

Bone can’t bleed but skin sure can. So I pierce my skin and watch as red flows from my broken veins and my pink flesh fights metal knife to sew itself back together.

What’s one more scar?

No one will notice, there are hundreds of others

Each with a different story

Each time I lie they laugh, I’m the daredevil to them, always looking for my next adventure. But if they ever really asked they’d see that the only devil in me is the self loathing I feel with every breath that I take in each second of what they call time. I want to jump and dive, crash through these waves of sadness that drag me through my half life.

When can I breathe? How do I break away from these chains that pierce me?

I wish happiness could run through my veins because my blood is running out, I’m not sure this body can last much longer anyways.

I’m sick of emotions, I wish they would disappear. They don’t help me at all, merely kill me.

I wish I had the strong willed faith to say that someday I’d get over this fear of myself, but I don’t think I can. I don’t see a way out of this endless maze of my dead end bound life. But all I can find are the twists and turns that wrap poisonous vines around my heart. My mind is shot with words that consume my every waking thought so I can never be true to the self I had…once upon a time.

I don’t have the patience , my blood doesn’t have the time to wait for my promised to come happily ever after.

My scars tell the story,

My smile told the lie.

But if you could look into my eyes all the prose was written there from the beginning, I wish someone would just take the time to care to find the truth in my web of words.

I wish someone could have helped me and saved me from it all but everyone here is too scared of reality. So they close their eyes to mine and pretend we live in a fairy tale.

But in the back of my heart, the bit buried down at the bottom tied to a brick, I’m sure I could find some solution to my problem. But I have poked and prodded it into the corners in the hopes that by ignoring my glassy hardened eyes crying out for some help, I’d find enough rope to pull myself out.

But my hole is too deep and I just can’t reach the ground and I can’t see the sunlight. I’ve dug myself down too far to get out alone and I just need your hand. Just one little glimpse into my world, just one little boost, and I’ll start crawling back into normality and the reality of living.

I’m still too scared to scream out for help and at this point I don’t even know what to say. I’m not sure I remember how to function.

I wish I could stop masking my pain so maybe, just maybe someone will reach down their hand to help me.

But I see that everyone’s head has turned too far towards the sunrise to notice that I can’t escape the midnight gloom of lonely existence. Everybody else has traveled on to happier times and left me behind. So now I’ll drown in this hole of bitter weeping sorrow, or better yet I’ll empty my veins once and for all so that maybe next time around something better than despair poisoned blood will fill them up.

Forever Sinking Through Murk

Forever slips through my fingers like

The seaweed they’ve closed on as

Death takes over the whites of my eyes

Breath chokes from my throat and

In its place crawls in

The water from these murky depths

I am falling, I am slipping away

From this world

Down instead to the Seamonstress hidden

In the din

Tears melt into water

Weeping turns to choking, gripping my throat in terror

In these breathless moments

I pray as I cry

I struggle to grip reality

My legs, they kick

Yet still down I am sinking

Scared, I am falling

Pushed by this godforsaken current

Down to the stillsilent sand

Eyes flutter shut

Oxygen escapes me

My last moments are here at the bottom

Gone

Now I am rising

A body stays behind

I am free

I have flown

No more crying, no more tears, no more desperation

Something better is ahead

Fear left alone

No longer do I feel so afraid

For now I lay here on the sand

Reaching out for freedom

One souls breath away

Wordless Confession of a Gravestone

Sometimes I want to scream at the world so that I have someone to blame for the pain, no one else listens.  And later as I walk down the wasteland of an alleyway I’ll see the fears and regrets people thought that they threw away, but really just put a mask on and sent running into the hidden corners of the broken city. Then the alley cat will rub against my leg and a memory will rush by, grazing my cheek. Normal people found in a dark alley in the dead of night all alone would stop walking and start running, but normality is like asking the sun to never set, it’s not possible, ‘cause life doesn’t work that way. So that little memory that most would ignore I listen too. It has strengthened with age and screams of the people it’s visited:  the old man’s coffee table, the little girls backpack, the sewer rat’s home, and the babies last day. And you know what? I love every single one of those stories because those creatures and people are doing what they know best. That man has been drinking coffee since 1962, the year he started working a job that took more back breaking pain than giving birth; and the little girl will skip through her life for now because she’s only three, and that’s what three year olds do; and the sewer rat doesn’t know his home disgusts humans, and honestly he probably doesn’t care, so he’ll keep living and breathing and his soul won’t be bleeding, because he’s happy as ever with the life that he leads. That last story of the girl down the street who gave birth to her baby three weeks too early and had it die in her arms. The day it opened its eyes for the first time and took in its first breath was the same day it was placed in a grave.

Hopefully someday that slimy son of a drug dealer who will find this memory next can make enough money to put his kids through school, ‘cause they never did anything wrong, just put one foot in front of the other to keep moving and living and breathing.

So here’s to hoping that the thieves of the world get a good find and the police catch the right murderer.  I’m raising my glass to those who died innocent with their heads held high and those who died guilty but found happiness.

But all this nonsense, it boils down to my fury provoked speeches and thought filled rants of right and wrong, each word on the page, and every sentence I never could get my pen to write, are because of the moment I saw you through different eyes. I got scared and ran from the fear of my own mind and thought that by having a cause, a rally, a protest, or speaking out for other people’s problems I could cover up all this madness inside me. And I sure hope to the genderless god that eyes aren’t windows to the soul and looks can’t kill, cause if they can you’ll die knowing I love you, and I’ll hate you forever because of it.

And other people’s issues always seem better than your own even when you know that they’re not. I wish I could tell you how every time I glance over my heart plummets into a deep abyss of panic and agony because I know I could never tell you what I’m thinking. Cause all I am is a girl with secrets and lies and bronze colored eyes and a broken vocal cord.

And my vocal cord-yeah it’s dying, and my eyes-they’re used to crying, and lying just comes naturally now. So maybe someday, my funeral some would say, you’ll look back and you’ll see the girl you once knew.

 And a long time from now, you’ll be looked in the eyes by an old friend of mine and you’ll learn the story of the girl with the heart, and you’ll listen as you’re told it was broken a while back and the pain of it killed her on impact. So when you visit the cold stone that they say is her grave, just remember: heartbreak-it kills, since your lungs of hopelessness fill and the oxygen can’t find enough room.

Wordless Confession from Painful Conclusion

Sometimes I want to scream "fuck the world" and have everyone know it's a compliment to its beauty. And later as I walk down the wasteland of an alleyway I’ll see the fears and regrets people thought that they threw away, but really just put a mask on and sent running. Then the alley cat will rub against my leg and a paper will rush by, grazing my cheek. Normal people would keep walking, start running, but normality is like asking the sun to never set, it’s not possible, ‘cause life doesn’t work that way. So that little paper that that I really should ignore I pick up. It screams of the places it’s been, the old man’s coffee table, the little girls backpack, the sewer rats home, and the prostitutes last job. And you know what? I love every single one of those stories because those creatures and people are doing what they know best. That man has been drinking coffee since 1962, the year he started working a job that took more back breaking pain than giving birth; and the little girl will skip through her life for now, because she’s only three, and that’s what three year olds do; and the sewer rat doesn’t know his home disgusts humans, and honestly he probably doesn’t give a fuck. That last story is of the girl down the street, the prostitute, breaking the law to stay alive. And good for her for doing what she loves even if she doesn’t love who she do’s. And hopefully someday that slimy half-assed drug dealer who finds this paper next makes enough money to put his kids through school, ‘cause they never did anything wrong, just put one foot in front of the other to keep moving and living and breathing. Here’s to hoping that the thieves of the world get a good find and the police catch the right murderer.  I’m raising my glass to those who died innocent with their heads held high and those who died guilty but found happiness. All this nonsense, it all boils down to my fury provoked speeches and thought filled rants of right and wrong, each word on the page, and every sentence I never could get my pen to write, are because of the moment I saw you through different eyes. I got scared and ran from the fear of my own mind and thought that by having a cause, a rally, a protest, or speaking out for other people’s problems I could cover up all this damn fucked up shit I feel. And I sure as hell hope to the genderless god that eyes aren’t windows to the soul and looks can’t kill, cause if they are you’ll die knowing I love you, and I’ll hate you forever because of it. Other people’s issues always seem better than your own even when you know that they’re not. I’m not ready for this one. I’ll never be ready for this one.

                                                                           

I think I’ll climb a tree and draw a picture of a bird falling into a deep abyss of fear and panic. Maybe the bird can find its’ way out. It has wings, I sure as hell don’t. I just have secrets and lies and bronze colored eyes, and a broken vocal cord.