5.20 free write

It’s on my mind and in my mind from the first thought when I awaken to the last moment before the sedatives kick in to draw me to a fitful sleep. Most of the time the gnawing is there too, as some dark entity bent on not my destruction- as it very well knows I crave- but my torment. They say I should not be overtaken by this constant suffocation, and I am not by the account of mechanical compliance and routine. Company in this midst is a futile endeavor.  But I still hear it and feel it every second in between. Nothing can drown out the screaming fact in my head that it’s been another few years since I set out on another vain quest to find a new bandaid for my gunshot wound, or something to serve as a replacement for coping mechanisms cruelly rendered useless by the penetrating eyes of time. By which every safe place, every drug, and every blood sacrifice expires in its use and I stand where I started years ago, but with extra burdens that all add up in a manner I cannot- nor care to articulate to anyone at all. 

Everyone says there’s no such thing as a problem without answers- even if the answer lies in the serenity of acceptance and a kind of denial. Yet for a struggle I’ve heard not another having dealt with, I have tried and done to such extreme lengths what no other I have ever heard has done. But it fails and fails again, and laden in so much shame I could never tell anyone the true depths to which this problem lies as a slow death sentence to me only metaphorically and spiritually, for I was not granted the favor of death- though against all odds, few can explain how I still stand having foolishly put myself through such rigorous abuse in my pursuit of relief for solely the present day. I have become what I never could have imagined, compromised in the ways I thought was only of the weakest, most ignoble souls, and have accumulated the ever increasing debt of my decisions I thought were best at the time.

They say I am had by a devil, but I don’t know how much it really concerns me in the given circumstances. I neither believe the lies of shadows that death is the end of this suffering; even I know better. That would be far too easy. Angels and demons, but I know only one and of which is no light felt. Thousands of swift years and they’ve all plenty knowledge of feeling trapped as well- this we share in common perhaps. For it most often has appeared that the laws of nature have bent themselves to oppose against all reason. 

Thusly, In the time between reconciling all of these; I leave my marks, never in knowledge of if I will return.

5.14


They throw these words around so goddamn easily

I don’t think they know about what it even means

Are you standing on a street corner now

Not remembering at all

How it came about

Or where you are

After driving in the dark

You can’t take a breath

And holding on so tight

Just to draw one more in your chest

But then you lose your eyesight

How can you fight

How will you ever get home now

But nowhere’s home, you’re by yourself

Just wanting to stay on the ground

But you’re floating up and looking down now

Just wanting to be touched

Just wanting to be saved

But you can’t let yourself

Need anyone or thing

When you’ve gotten so far away

And can’t find reality

Someone’s lips are moving

But you can’t hear anything

Longing just to feel

But floating too surreal

The terror and pain inescapable at your heels

Just wanting to be touched

Just wanting to be loved

But no one can make you whole

Because you’ve lost your fucking soul

We throw these words around

And I know we’re lonely now

But how can one get out

When no one can pull you back down?

33 The Lesser Darkness, free write


This all, not even to mention the cumulative regrets that Time had brought- not regrets in the sense of things done or not done- but in the sense of the great many things failed. I had lived enough lives to be able to somehow miserably fuck up each one, despite no lack in my willingness to grow in longsuffering and steadfastness. The conditions that each lifetime had brought with it had often seemed to far outweigh the fleeting glimmers of hope that would appear and disappear just as quickly on my path to the next painful lesson.

I had once perhaps caught passing sight of “love”, but she was ever taken- both literally and metaphorically- by the plague. Another couple lifetimes later and I would find her again in a seemingly familiar face; only to again lose what little ever seemed to even temporarily illuminate my irrevocably dark, weary soul. I wondered if she had ever felt that I could have done the same, had Time and cruelty not separated us and had not otherwise agony held my heart and soul hostage- from even myself.

Living was injuriously cruel but I had seen enough to know that it was so to most everyone- though a mystery how the most wicked so frequently seemed to get theirs only upon their dying breath.

I knew I was no exception in the department of continual suffering in the lesser darkness of hell. Hell was real I knew- I had been there far too many times to forget- but never knew precisely if at all or how intimately other humans were truly acquainted with its lingering taste here. I could only marvel at their ability to appear or carry on as though they did not carry hell within themselves as I did- an ever present unwelcomed preview of the place I feared to next be trapped when I finally passed on from mortal chain.

But it’s promises had bred a wordless terror in my mind that ever stared back at me. I lived running from what had begun to dwell in my own skull. It grew by the lifetime and by the year, the burden of a pain and panic so great That I was inconsolable and occasionally driven to insanity. Yet I had found that there was no escape by blood, bullet, nor arsenic.

A part of me wished to know that I was not alone in the things I saw and felt of a sadistic evil. A part of me had once selfishly longed that someone should see through my eyes and feel through my skin; yet the undying- albeit thinned- cord of a scarlet compassion would wish such terrors on no one; much less for the foolish pleasure of company. I had borne this burden alone and I knew I would until I could carry it to the gates of a one who could explain such suffering. Though I had never yet heard of such a man.

Yet day and night I accused myself in my best efforts. I must surely be doing something wrong-so unforgivably wrong- to be and to feel so very much; so very cursed and alone in a world invariably full of people suffering in their own ways as I. Yet there was a divide I could not cross. There must surely be a lesson that I have continually failed to learn with every effort of increasing longevity- and thusly I have ever remained on the chess board over which a god must be laughing. Foremost through all these times I had learned that my sentence- or fate as some would foolishly call it- was escapable neither by natural death nor suicide. All it did was change the cards- nearly the same characters in slightly different contexts and faces. I had still always wondered how many lives others had lived before- or if I was one of the few cursed by a merciless god. I never broached the topic again after enough failures, judgement, persecution, and institutionalizations. Bleak and miserable a world I saw and felt it to be- I never wanted to have to see it through bars again. If I had to be trapped, it would be only by the confines of my mind- as I ever painfully labored to chisel each piece away.

But it was never enough Time to get the lesson done and my pursuers never tired that I should begin all over again each time; with a new puzzle before figuring out the one I had so toiled to understand.

31- The Lesser Darkness, Free write


I suddenly felt tears threatening at my eyes, for no one particular reason that I could specify. Perhaps I was simply over tired, feeling lost in general, or finally tired of being alone throughout the lifetimes. Like the old man-who never did make mention of his name-there had always been someone around who had managed to take a liking to me; even if I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why, or would rather that they leave me to myself. These seemingly characteristic individuals never ceased to come about by any extraordinary means, nor failed to carry a sign or convey a message far too undeniably engineered by a force outside their unbeknowst selves. 

Despite seemingly divine intervention and words that ought to be encouraging to my weary heart through the grey decades- I never had seen one of these unnamed prophets’ words come to pass. Yet how a stranger could tell me such other things about myself, I could never reasonably conclude as to how they acquired such knowledge. I could neither ignore the old man’s words, written and unwritten. The various company never lessened the perpetual ache of an intimate loss of which I could not remember, only suffer. Everyone always passes right through, which veritably makes the years feel all the more irreparably lonely. If the frequent loss, tearing, and rebirth of relational beings was supposed to bring love and fulfillment to each step of the useless journey- I could never conclude how it managed to make me feel even more alone. There was perhaps one who once had been some part of me- only a shaded and shifting feeling- but no others could I ever manage to feign life for. I thought of the girl in that vast, empty field; how she stared right through me with such familiar but haunting Iris. I could already barely even bring to mind the color of her hair glinting in the dim light. Was it black or red? I wanted to see it again, because just for that moment- I felt the tiniest little bit less alone. 
“If you’ve the impossible to do, you’d best be going!”

I heard the man again call from behind.
I had been lost again , swimming in my mind’s eyes. I was snapped back to the rain tapping on my face and I turned about to look back at the man, mindlessly falling off of the tree stump I only then recalled. I just barely caught myself to keep from face planting down into the still rising torrents about me. Looking up, I saw nothing. There was nothing before me but the same thick trees stretching beyond and a brooding, weeping sky. There was no clearing, no circle of cut trees, and definitely no camp or people at All. I trudged forward through the waters, now almost at my knees. Looking around for any higher ground, I saw only more of the same in every direction. 
I had always possessed a keen sense of direction, without any guiding Polaris. I decided to go west, but didn’t know how to ensure I wasn’t slowly circling. Everything looked the goddamn same.

4.17 Free Write

Everybody’s okay

I don’t know if we just drank the kool aid

Or if they found other ways

These words are made of paper mache 
I thought this was supposed to be fun

But I don’t want to invite anyone

Round and round, up then down

In a lesser hell

I don’t wanna live my life 

on a carousel 

The one that we all know so well…
Everybody’s okay

At a certain age of expiry

Are you supposed to just hide in it your bones?

One thing used to mean something

Now nothing is anything

And the ending is everything
But everybody’s okay

How are you, I’m fine today

So let’s pass the time and waste

some

So dizzyingly numb
I thought this was supposed to work some day

But before any flame, it all goes away

Round and round, up a little then down

In a lesser hell

I guess we’re passing life

On a carousel.

3. 22 Free Write

Little girl with the weight and Darkness of this world whole

You don’t fool me, for I too 

Know so well

Who can hold this for a moment aware?

Only a moment I wish I could share

And everyone’s trying to give away pain

As though it were not theirs to bear

That’s not what I’m asking for

Because I’m not a child anymore

Little boy with the weight and Darkness of this world whole

I don’t fool you do I? For surely you too know

Who can hold this for just a moment, aware?

It’s only a moment you wish you could share

And everyone’s trying to get something

But I don’t blame them for it

I can handle

I am aware

That it’s only for a moment we wish we could share. 

****

I shouldn’t be sleeping because they are too

I shouldn’t be escaping because they try too

think we can get away

But we live inside with them 

Inundated with voices that start to sound like our own

I can’t tell the difference
But I raise my cry to God on High above me

Against the vile acts that I hear the whispers promise 

Mankind has not Seen. 

But I think he mistook me for one of them

Maybe I was all along

Because my words are garbled and my voice fading away 

My body trembles and disintegrates

To just a single cord of red

And I am alone 

In the oppressive depths 

of hell again
A shrill cry pierces the sweltering darkness 

with a single red light in the distrance

Reach for it but it will never save you

There’s nothing else because god doesn’t hear you

The heat is too heavy

The burden on your chest

The weight about my neck

It never goes away 

Not for a second

But Take for it again

Does your god sympathize with you now?
I should be trying because they do too

It’s like they know

That their time is growing thin

They can’t tear it away

We can’t escape this time
I raise my cry to God on High above me

Against the vile acts that I hear the whispers promise 

Mankind has not Heard. 

But I think he mistook me for one of them

Maybe I was all along

Because my words are distorted and my voice fades 

My body trembles and disintegrates away

To just a single cord of red

And then we are alone

But each to our own death
You should know of all people 

That this is a war 

With a leaden price to pay for your soul

Have you forgotten how to wage

When you were denied control

But the controls are now all too dulled

It never goes away

Once I lost my hold

Amidst it’s torments
I raised my cry to God on High above again

But I think He’s condemned me

As one of them. 

You think you’ve tasted torment and sorrow-

But Mankind has not Known. 

Not yet.  

It’s burning my skin
I try to cover my eyes again. 

3. 16 free write- A Thousand Apologies

I’m staring at this blank screen, out of habit, feeling a surprising  amount of guilt about no longer desiring to say another word. But the repetitious words seem to then only rot and make me feel even more sick in the very marrow of my porous bones. I feel that everything has already been said- at least in a type of symbolic semblance- and I’m left unreasonably ashamed with my ability to find what is maddeningly begging to be said, without evoking violent condemnation from myself and projectedly everyone else.
Like this white screen, I recognize that in some ways a blank slate is given to each of us everyday; that life could potentially become something of meaning or feeling if I could only learn to abandon cognizance of my chaotic thoughts and emotions to somewhere else far away. I know that they’re correct in the suggested notion of acceptance and/or detachment in order to move on- but from my vantage, only in the sense of being helpfully applicable advice on sterile paper. I really don’t know how people do it. Yet It honestly disgusts me in my seeming inability to make the advice that has supposedly helped so many others, help me too. Either I’m doing it wrong or it’s just a bunch of bullshit that goes right along with the hope were supposed to cling to in order to stay emotionally afloat another day while waiting for its endless lack of fruition; so the natural progression is then reportedly to change the definition of hope to settling in order to make the disappointment more palatable and explainable. I ask them and they tell me it truly helps, but only makes me feel even more apathetic and farther away from the truth that I know I need to reconcile before I can take a single step anywhere but backwards.

I always wonder if the gnawing never goes away for them either, and they’re just lying because the inescapable truth is intolerable. It’s hard not to look at when it’s so continually tireless in its all-consuming presence. Maybe I’m just stubborn as fuck or I’m a small person who can’t properly digest the burdens that I hate the most. God knows I’m terrified of the people who can see that within me. But if questioned, would have to confess it all with no defense.

But ultimately at this point, if I were to summarize everything I could ever have to say, every silent prayer, or all that I now feel, it would be with the simple words:

I’m sorry.

I truly am, with a thousand apologies and no one is more disappointed than I am every time.
I’m sorry that 1+1 keeps adding up to zero.

I’m sorry that nothing is simple anymore and the things that could be, were too late.

I’m sorry that I didn’t want their company                                              Or that the things that are so easy and instinctual to most everyone seem insurmountable to me nearly every time.

I’m sorry that my actions say one thing and my heart another.

I’m sorry that they believed it.

I’m sorry that I can only acknowledge but not know your pain, I wanted to.                                   I know how it feels, But only see when I’m too busy with my own.

I’m sorry for the times I was selfish; it wasn’t for desire, it was fear.

I’m sorry for destroying my life and myself, but still believing it was written in stone, and the only way. Or that it still is.

I could write a thousand apologies after more than a decade of decomposition, but know that they all offer still no change.

I’m losing my voice and have long lost my will, but I would never warn anyone about the ending because I don’t need saving. I think all I need, want, and am not sorry for is the one last thing I’ll do to try and feel better – or at least differently- for even just a moment.