Sunday, December 12, 2010
I sit at my royal desk, prepared to write you a letter that I can only hope you'll read. I pray you allow your sight to caress this thick, heavy, creamy parchment as only your eyes can. The words I scrawl mean nothing to the innocent passerbyer, but to you and I, words once meant everything. They pulled the silver orbs from the sky, roped and ripped from orbit. They made things flow, made them beautiful in a grotesque sort of way. They also caused great silence at times, words having been drained from our throats. Everything having been said, sometimes too soon.
I scribble and scramble to make this letter meaningful. To make it count. This is my one shot at connecting to you again. Yet, somehow, I feel that I already am connected to you.
Like Christmas lights strung together, we too, are strung together in life and beyond. The tips of your fingers, like the tip of your tongue, has left a blatant imprint upon my soul and body, both scarred and weary. You too were scarred and weary. Worn from too much. Too many nights of innocent rendevouz. Too many glasses of whiskey followed innocently by a smooth, white cigarette that burned down too quickly. Too many nights of scorching hot passion that ensued after our wagging tongues sparked and became roaring fires of red-hot anger that we spat at one another in the dark.
Yes we both have lived through far too much, and when the great blackness of eternal sleep creeps stealthily upon us and woo's us just a little too well, and we give into it, we both wake the next morning to find it just like a lover that's slipped out of our grasp in the night. Gone. Thus, we pick up and move on, waiting for the next calloused moment that drips with the delight of freedom from this life to come along and woo us yet again. We spend hours, minutes, months, days, weeks writing about it. Obsessing about it. Daydreaming about it. We fill our days with wicked poetry and dark music, thick and rich with suicide. Yes, we are the muses of death and destruction. We are infected and infect others with our sweet disease. We bring the masses to the edge of our favorite abyss that leads into nothingness. Pure, golden nothingness.
I swallow the last of my creamy coffee and mail the letter, knowing now that you will read it, and call me because this is what we do. We wrap around one another like fancy, heavy ribbon wraps around colored packages at Christmastime. We are all alike and as I said before, strung together somehow. I return to the mess of my library and wait for your call.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The thick, lead-heavy bones in my legs are
shaking. I am running at breakneck speed
to the end of this maze. Ivory flesh melts
into the background of twisted black trees
and the pale glittery diamonds that have
fallen upon them.
I seek a knowledge that sits at the back of my throat like vomit.
I am dreaming, yes, that must be it. I am
simply dreaming. This white cotton dress
belongs on the frail body of one who is at home,
long gone into the world of dreams and subconscious
realities. My skin, stretched taut from the cold, is
not really turning blue. These boots, these black
little boots are really snug in the foyer of my home.
I am home...right?
I am running, pacing, manic with energy and need. It
is feral and wild like a hungry wolf, that threatens to eat
my soul like a tepid-tempered little doe.
I stop, breathing heavily, breath white like smoke
off of the lake to which I am headed. My lake.
They promised. Promised me. Promised me
that this treatment would work, that I would
be a whole person again. No longer a shattered
empty-headed, vacant-eyed vagabond who
had no place to call their own. They promised
the demons that come to call would never call again.
Yet here they are.
Their red-eyed hatred of me pours like blood
from a fresh wound upon the wrist of life. I am
desperate for salvation. So I seek my God, my
suicide God to save me yet again. I have prayed to
him many times, yet he never came to my rescue.
This time, I shall seek and find.
The crystal lake spreads out before me. A testament
to God's own handiwork, creating the Earth. Its beauty
captivates and stills my hurt and beating heart for a
moment in time. The cold is beginning to numb my body.
I find a branch. It's time. Time to end this madness that
noone can seem to cure. This disease of the mind, body and
soul. I break open a piece of the frozen lake and watch
the tiny swirls of water circle down below me.
I am going to be free.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
My knees are sewn together carelessly,
My heart is threaded together inside but just barely,
On my stuffed face are little button eyes,
They should have embroidered on the million tears I cannot cry,
But don't think they are not there,
Behind my happy, fake stare,
My throat has stitching upon it and I fear,
If I had been real it would be a tattoo that says "Cut here,"
Just because I smile all of the time,
Doesn't mean I don't scream perpetually inside my mind,
At night when everyone is asleep in bed,
I take the scissors to the first tiny thread,
That holds my satin heart inside my chest,
Clip, snip, rip...and I play with it, it's the part of me I like best,
Sometimes I pretend that it really beats,
Pretend it's really warm with heat,
But I know in my head that it's always been cold,
From the moment I was made to the moment I was sold,
*This poem is not finished
Monday, November 22, 2010
I am dumbed down to your preferred level of stupidity
and controllability, until there is so little left of me that I
am amazed at how I am even functioning.
Next! the head nurse calls out, I step forward slowly, swallow
my pills and drink the water, sticking out my tongue to show
her what a good girl I am, she lets me leave while the pills drop
into the bile in my stomach to dissolve. Dissolve like my hopes and dreams.
Madness: it creeps into the brain like a slow-working posion,
drips through your veins like morphine in an IV. It wraps itself
around your brain and hooks itself behind your bones. Suffocating
you from the inside out. It slowly discintegrates your self-confidence
and your sanity while telling you that you need it because it's "all
you've ever really known." Which is a crock of shit.
Nevertheless, there you are, swallowing pills from a bottle,
buying razors to slit your wrist with, pulling the trigger, and
then there you are, in the fucking psych ward of some
delapidated hospital from hell. People telling you to
do your ADL's and circles from schema therapy. You are
nothing more than a zombie at that point, because your
suicide attempt failed. You failed at life and now you're failing
at off-ing yourself. Can you do nothing right?
So, with yet another hit to your self-confidence, you stand in the
sedative line, swallow your pills, and lay on the cold, starchy matress,
and try your best to get back to a normal sort of life, hoping and
dreaming and, God forbid, working a job. All the while wondering about
the next time you'll swallow the pills or slit the veins of your wrist.
Because that's the destiny of the insane. Once you've given up on
life the first time, you find it easier to give up than to go on. It
just seems too easy to swallow the pills, hoping that this time, it'll be the
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
My liquid dreams surround me,
Swallowing my conscience whole in this tub of cimson water,
That stings the yellowed bruises that you have left upon my flesh once more,
The memory of a sterling glitter bashes the backs of my eyes,
Reminding me that you cant hurt me anymore darling,
I am drifting softly away from you upon the wings of eternity,
& in the other room,
You, so enveloped in your technicolor world,
Overdosing on the sheer expanse of time spent there,
So perfectly unaware of my impending departure,
Thanks to your self-injected brain rot,
& I, smiling weakly to myself,
Recall my reasons for leaving this hellish place once more,
For it was that lovely golden afternoon,
With pages of hope for the future,
& you, coming home, to press your angry prints upon my skin,
Smudging your memory so blatantly upon the slate of my life,
As a perfect reminder,
A reminder as to why you will always have domination over me,
Why you will always crumple my plans for hope,
Before I have even scribbled them down on the napkin yet,
So I have taken this ripe opportunity to escape you,
You and your filthy imprints that never stop ruining my life,
& I've placed the tip of the blade on my wrist, love,
Upon those ugly, yellowed bruises you left for me there,
& have smeared prints of my own upon myself,
As a reminder,
A perfect reminder,
Of how I got away from you, dear,
Here in this steamy, dreamy, crimson bathwater...
Dearest friend of mine for so long,
Monday, October 25, 2010
who breathed deeply that same sterile air as I
in that long and empty corridor where the white coated man
slipped us our slow working, nightly dose of rat poison
and the mouth of she, the utterly insane, babbled incoherently of Jesus
and his mother Mary all night long.
Slapping gum like a tired old cow
mouthing fodder in between her razor teeth.
Your wild-eyed, barely there stare
enchanted me, as I had seen your version of madness
quite well before,
looking back at me in my looking glass at home,
when my face melted into a bloody pool while
trying desperately to apply my mascara.
While walking the halls of the madhouse,
this asylum bursting at the seams with the cracked,
crushed, shattered and hollow folk that came and left,
still bleeding to death on the white linoleum floors.
"Off to another asylum," some said. "Off to my home," said others.
And they released them back into the world as they slit their
wrists, while walking out the deadbolted door.
In and out in two days and it was enough time to meld our
souls together forever as sisters.
O twilight child, starry eyed wonderer of light and life,
sometimes, you are, my saving grace.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Kept locked with pad and key,
I look at you, you smile back,
You seem so happy to see me,
You welcome me to this awful place,
Rotting deep within the bowels of hell,
But to be honest dear, I know the truth,
This hospital is the Bates motel,
You'll stab me with your shiny needles,
Suck the blood from inside of my veins,
Force pill after pill on down my throat,
While my soul is soaked with pain,
You'll suck me dry and medicate me up,
So I don't make a sound,
And if I do you'll take me to,
The room where straps and chains abound,
The sun it never shines in here,
At least not in the mind of the insane,
Not unless you're manic that is,
Then you'll get a Haldol shot to the brain,
The other patients stare empty-eyed at me,
As you walk me to my room,
Some are drooling upon themselves,
Others are babbling on about impending doom,
Clean white sheets on a sterile, empty bed,
Are the only welcoming sight to me,
At least I can sleep until the meds wear off,
Such a ragged existence it seems,
Groups are at 12, 2, 4 and 6,
Dinner is at 8pm on the dot,
When you leave I place my few things,
Upon the empty, overbleached cot,
I pad on down the hallway,
Hoping this is my last hurrah here,
But the thought of my madness disturbs me until,
I realize I'll be back next year,
For this is the fate for the mentally ill,
This spare bed here at the Bates motel,
Time to get into the medication line,
& as they call my name out I whisper "Oh well..."
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
I would dip my finger into you and rub you along my gums,
Smoke you, if I could,
You're like snorting cocaine through a rolled up fifty dollar bill,
And I know I should,
Just give you up, but I cant,
I wish I could liquify your essence,
Put it in a bong,
And get higher and higher on you until I cant see straight,
While playing those stupid songs,
From the 70's, but I cant,
The withdrawl from you is hell,
Pure, red-eyed hell,
Like a stupefying recreational drug baby,
You've caught me up in your spell,
Get away from you, I cant,
So I lay here, on this cold and dark floor,
Sweating from withdrawls so badly,
That I'm steaming tonight,
And I know, sadly,
To be without you...I just cant....
Saturday, September 11, 2010
I hate how much I miss you.
I hate how I dream of you.
I hate how I can't stop thinking of you.
I hate how it seems like I've fucked up another good thing in my life.
I hate how much of a failure I am.
I hate how I can't help but glance at every single red car that goes by, because, in my mind it could be you coming back to me.
I hate how I still hope with the last bit of me that you will come back to me, someday.
I hate how my hope just wont die and leave me be with this pain.
I hate that your Mother hates me.
I hate how you listen to your Mother.
I hate how attached to you I am.
I hate how I can never just let you go.
I hate how you always end up going away just when I thought you were coming back for good this time....
I hate how every minute that passes, you are not in it....
I hate how I've loved you since 2006 and still can't seem to hold onto you.
I hate how much I miss you.
I hate how much I love you.
I hate how you didn't fight for me.
I hate how it seems as though you lied to me.
I hate how far away you always were.
I hate how this little, tiny, microscopic piece of me still hopes beyond reason, that one day, I'm going to come home and there you'll be, waiting for me, to say you still love me.
I hate how weak I am.
I hate how weak you are.
I hate everything.
But most of all...
I hate how you are gone.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Weaving in and out of my lips,
Keeping me locked away from sound,
Tightening me in its grips,
Stitching up my mouth so I,
Am not able to speak anymore,
Yet I can still dance the night away,
Out on this blood-soaked dance floor,
Information plugged into me,
As though I am an empty socket,
Download the information given,
Kept secret as though in a locket,
Wrists bound with duct tape,
Can't move, can't speak, can't breathe,
Every motion poised to perfection,
While deep inside I seethe,
Watched by cameras all around,
I know you're watching me,
Waiting for the moment to come,
Where I am not what I appear to be,
But that moment will never come you see,
For I am the ragdoll held together well,
By stitching that winds around me,
So bitch, you can go to hell
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The trance that has kept her captive, like a madman in a straight jacket for hours on end has temporarily been broken, and beneath the black velvet night she remembers where she is and why she is there.
Another crack house, another pipe and rock, another wasted night in Alice's Wonderland...
Turning in slow motion, her glassy eyes meet the canary diamond smile of the Cheshire cat. His white-powdered nose matched the jagged-nailed finger that had been dipped daintily into the cocaine that was then run across his gums.
To the immediate left of her tiny thigh, caressed softly by varicose veins, lay the Mad Hatter who had gone entirely mad years ago from the vast array of glittering bottles of Vodka he had consumed. The thick syrupy liquid that sloshed around in the half empty bottle in his hand, matched perfectly, the clear dreamy liquid in the tiny little syringe that protruded from his arm.
Moving slowly with the thick, grey smoke clouds that hung in the air, she made her way to the balcony to sit for a breath of fresh air. The cold, bashing her senses at first, grew tolerable after a moment. Tiny tendrils of white breath escaped willfully from her red-stained lips that parted ever so slightly. No one would ever know that just behind the doors of the motel room from which she had just emerged, would be creatures of the dark, of the violent, of the addicted - having just one more night of empty fun.
Years ago, many long years ago, she had been a queen in this world she now hated. They had all been such different people. Not so tainted, so hard, so brash....so miserable. They had been young and beautiful and summer burst through the spring in hot, thick, sticky breaths. Long days and even longer nights spent driving across the sizzling hot blacktop that ran through every town within 100 miles. The bottles of cheap beer, the weed, the laying on cars at 1am talking about life, about having a life at all...it was just dust now. Dust that blew away with the first exhale of a crack rock.
Of course it hadn't always been crack - It all started with the cocaine. The beautiful, white powder that had caused her eyes to grow wide with wonder. Snorting the first line was like electrifying one's blood. The jolt of lightning that seared like a hot skillet through her mind, that had kept her up for days - was the beginning of the love affair gone wrong. The economy had gone bad, therefore the cocaine sold less and less. When the money ran out, the cocaine ran out. Leaving her with a hungry wolf that lived in her brain and beneath her veins. Something had to stop the madness...so there was crack. $20 a rock was better than $50 a gram. She could make a rock last hours and hours but after time she realized, that first rock had ended up lasting years and years. She had slipped beneath the surface of society one night and never come up for another breath since then.
They had all been sober for the first time in 5 minute, 10 years, 15 lifetimes - not too long ago. Sitting around before heading back out to buy more narcotics and alcohol they spoke of how life had become such an ugly thing, about how they had become such ugly things. How their souls had become hard and gummy like tar that hadn't quite set up yet. They all mused at how the cocaine and Brandy days had given way to this ugly crack, heroine, acid, vodka nightmare that drug them across life in such an ugly way. What had they become....?
They had all agreed to go to rehab when the sun came up, this last night being their big hurrah. However, as she stared through the grimy, yellowed window of the hotel room, she saw what was left of them and herself. On the other side of the reflection laid her friends, withered and worn, skin ragged and cratered from too many drugs, and yellowed from the jaundice of a bad liver. The Mad Hatter would never regain his sanity, Cheshire cat would never regain his smile, and the March Hare wouldn't live long enough to see next March even if he tried...there was no escape.
But in the reflection of the mirrored glass, she saw herself, too. Dry, brittle hair that hung limp and twisted over her face. Teeth gone from too much meth when the crack wasn't available. Her eyebrows were burned almost entirely off from the crack pipe & her skin was ashen and grey from never sleeping and smoking too much. She once was beautiful. She once had a glow about her. Was told she would go far in life. Was told she would marry and have children. Oh and she had children from selling herself to too many people. But CPS had taken them away years ago and she didn't even know where they went.
The last breath she exhaled from her crack pipe twisted from her like the last bits of her soul trying to escape from the shell that abused it so. So she decided to set it free once and for all. In the other room she bummed the Mad Hatter's syringe out of his arm. He likely wouldn't need it since he had passed out with it in his skin, still. It stuck out like an ugly extension of himself. Twisted and ugly and not where it belonged. But then, did any of them belong here? No. They never had. They belonged in homes with their families that they never had bothered to have.
She emptied the needle and went into the bedroom to lay down. The room was black and silent, shadows dancing on the ceiling and walls from the night life out beyond the window. The needle glimmered so beautifully in the dark. "Just a little shot of air," she thought to herself while spurting out the rest of the heroine and pulling on the needle's handle. When it was halfway filled with oxygen, she rammed it into her Antecubital vein and sat for a moment. She never knew how her life ended up like this. How everything had become so grimy and filthy. How she had become so jagged inside...& she then pushed the air into her veins.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I watched you muddle through your life,
The day-to-day was growing old,
Complacency had filled your bones,
That slowly clinked and clanged together,
Beneath the skin you loved to sever,
The bluish-grey of that rainy morning,
Had come too fast with too little warning,
When they told me you had gone away,
To another place to permanently stay,
Your pale face now cold as winter's ice,
Your empty eyes no longer showing life,
What's it like where you have gone?
Does the sun like to shine all day long?
Or is it a velveteen soft black sleep?
How does it feel to never need to weep?
Do you think of me at any point in your day?
Or have you forgotten us all from this place?
I miss your voice softly laced with sorrow,
Or how I could say "I'll see you tomorrow,"
Instead I say "Goodbye" to you,
As I stand over this casket of indigo blue,
That cradles your body in darkness and sleep,
I, being the one, who stands here to weep,
Stay low my dear, tread soft and light,
I'll love you forever, goodnight, goodnight
Monday, July 5, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Over milky warm tea late one night,
Staring into my eyes as though you could ever truly see my soul,
"I don't know..." I lie,
Staring back into your hazel eyes and glimmering halo,
Bitter and vexed,
Figuring, hoping, pleading - that you would be the one to understand,
The one to grasp the heady glass of wine,
That is my madness and partake with me,
Yet again, I find, that you are cut from a different cloth,
Like the rest,
You always question, question, question,
Lie to yourself and beg from me answers to questions,
Which you already are fully aware of,
I replace the tea with a whiskey and watch you grimace,
Wondering how I could ever tolerate a burn that intense,
Forgetting, I believe,
That not too long ago - you partook of my infection in a likewise manner,
Perching myself upon my cherry colored throne,
The whiskey burning its way through my veins,
Coursing through, numbing the other, more deadly infection,
That threatens to consume me entirely and swallow me whole,
I listen as you ramble on and on and on and on and.....
"Do you know what I mean?" you say,
Loud voice shattering my blissful booze-infiltrated fantasy,
I nod, "Yes, yes I do...."
A smile - I'm safe,
You kiss my cheek, teeter off to bed again,
I head for my dungeon of self-inflicted torture,
Pull out the blade and slice until the blood oozes redemption,
The sweetest redemption that one could ever truly know,
& smile ...
"This is why..." I whisper, knowing you will never hear ...