Letters

Thick white smoke coils atop my coffee cup, like whisps of hot breath against snowfall, curling from lips and tongues in graceful disarray. It sits on the foam a while, then evanesces into the warmth of my room, never to be seen again. Such a quick life it lives. Short and meaningful, just like our love. I sit, perched high upon my throne in the library, emptying my brain of thoughts that seem to ramble on into the great abyss of forever and nothing. I think of you sometimes, in this, my quiet reverie. You were destined to cross my mind I think. Destined to slip into the cracks of my soul, flow into me somehow, like a babbling brook, forever singing in the back of my mind.





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.

Winter Suicide Part 1

Dawn -
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?



No.




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.

Winterland Reflections

Freshly fallen snow lies in blankets before me,

warmed but only slightly by the sun that clings

to my jacket in glimmering waves.

The mixture of breath and cigarette smoke coils

around my eyes like fire from a dragons tongue.

I breathe for you.

The morning sun is rising in this, our winter wonderland,

and you, still and napping beside me, are starting to

wake.

The previous night's activities flow through

my mind, like the frozen brook over yonder flows

when Spring rolls around, finally. A balmy breath of

warmth for this frozen land.

My hands, furry, spiky objects of white and blue,

spread before me beneath the honey-lemon sunlight,

that soaks them through and through.

On one hand, a ring, a testament of your eternal

love for me, and the other, a scar, a testament of

my eternal damnation within the nightmare of my mind.

The golden orb fades from sight as the thick, black, twist

of branches overtakes the sky from my point of view.

I look upward to see three cardinals nesting,

silent and happy in their humble abode between two angles

of the black licorice tree.

I toss my cigarette into the snow.

Somewhere in the distance I hear your voice calling me back,

back to happiness and home where we sometimes pretend,

albeit poorly, that we are perfectly fine and happy,

just like the cherry red cardinals in the tree.

I turn about face and crunch through the glittering

snow back to our home. I see you standing there,

warmly smiling with your morning cup of coffee in hand,

waiting for me. I smile back. Perhaps this time, I

have finally gotten it right.

Ragdoll

I am a ragdoll.




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

Madness

I stand patient and silent in the sedative line,
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
last time.

There's Blood

There's blood on the bedsheets,

There's blood on my hands and feet,

I wipe them carefully down my white dress,

& I must confess,

I am beautiful...

There's blood down the sink,

I think,

I may have cut to deeply this time,

Time....is beginning to rewind,

I am so cold...

There's blood on the floor,

I turn my wrist and spill a bit more,

Now it's in my hair,

But what do I care?

I am drenched...

There's blood on the walls,

Down through the halls,

I rip at my flesh, down to the bone,

Nobody's home,

I am repentant for my sins...

What comes after this?

Is it bliss?

Or an affair of pergutory?

Perhaps just blackness for the likes of me,

I am setting myself free...

There's blood in the water in the tub,

So much for forgiveness and love,

They were both just a crock,

I never had a shot,

I am a failure it seems...

There's blood everywhere,

When they find me in here,

Cold and white from the loss,

I showed them who's boss,

I am gone and finally...

I am happy.

Glitterized Sterling

*This was written after a very bad breakup*

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...