free of fear I feel now in myself.
Beyond opinion and judgment,
undistracted by guilt,
I am walking strong and steadily home,
not timid or uncertain,
with my eyes splendidly clear,
all one pearl of gratefulness,
I'm writing you a note
because I'm feeling like
I have to
feeling like I'm
and without your rough
I'm angry and aching
craving my bittersweet
wickedness creeping up
from the black hole
that hides behind
my human skin
pathetic and weak
though I likely seem
I'm willing to beg
down on my knees
scraping against my flesh
scratched and bloodied
and I'm pleading
make your palms, your
fingertips, piercing stings
hold me down
rape me and take any
notions of my possessing
power far away
make me see how
I'm nothing, just
worthless and infuriating
and you, so much like a god
why yes, you're the god
god of everything
so break me down
and rip me
limb from limb
and seam by seam
for I am merely a
and you've the part
of the cruel king
come to me now
come and punish me
I am nothing, lost
without you to bring me
for I only become truly alive
in moments of raw abuse
so won't you come now
you strong, glorious man
and help me live awhile
inside the blood and bruises
that'll be left by
your pounding, fisted
you're exactly the one
I want to deliver
deserved consequences for
my countless sins
a beating into submission
for a little while, at least
alert and cleansed
pleasure me by flooding me
in an ocean of hurt
every wave some new sort
your lessons are the single
part of my existence
I long for so desperately
most passionately crave
I'm begging, come
remember me, helpless here
and share the beauty
only your own source
your inner darkness can so
It's cold and it's empty, this
hollowed out feeling of pleasure...
I focus on the rush of desire -
desire for the sensations alone...
The sweet friction in my center,
the pounding force of what is
you, merely a tool for my cravings'
fulfillment; an object for nothing
but my physical satisfaction;
a satiating of my burning lust...
You're worthless to me outside
this externally needful task...
Not my heart, neither my soul,
have even the smallest holding
pocket, cradling some sort
of love or care for you...
Tell me, please, why we do
this to ourselves, over and
over, again and again...?
Are we honestly contented by
the passionless movements of
our graceless pieces and parts?
Is this animalistic ritual
the solution for what we so
desperately search for; that for
which we agonizingly struggle,
crawling down confused, tangled
paths, looking without knowing
exactly what we seek,
despairing, sickly, exhausted, and
so pathetic; so pitifully weak??
Are we satisfied with fucking?
Just fucking: could that be
the answer to the question
that, from existence becoming,
the human being has been,
from the depths of the soul,
constantly, repetitively screaming?
I cannot bring myself to
believe such a notion could hold
a sand grain's worth of truth, but
you seem to have accepted
this joyless, hope-crushing idea,
and as for myself, I know
I'll only continue ignoring that
which my heart keeps urgently
speaking with a driving,
whispering voice, from my
inner-most recesses, and
continue on with the oblivious
dance of this pretending; this
charades game all the world
eagerly strives to play...
I will bottle the juices of
my self-deceiving, self-depriving
fruits, borne of my guilt, my
denial birthed shame...
Yes, of course! I'm absolutely
satisfied with the act of
mere fucking! Feelings of
wholeness sweep and flutter,
butterflying the insides
of my body's unseen puzzle pieces,
and I'm simply overflowing
with this ever so peaceful calm...
Lies, fiction, deception, robed
by willfully grasped ignorance,
keeps us marching, two-by-two,
silently miserable husks, just
living until it's time to lay
in another void-like place, this
one our grave, lonely and cold...
And now it doesn't seem like
there's anything left, for
any one of us, to say...
I'm so cold without you possessing that piece of myself
I was perfectly warm before you though; there weren't self requirements
So there must be a way I might rediscover freedom now that you're gone
And reawaken my inner freedoms, that've always lived, all on my own
Hope so often feels foolish
A belief of reasons, purpose
Such a dismaying risk to trust
But in doubting, what if we sin?
If indifference is potentially easier
And our desires are left without expectation
Are we merely protected from possible disappointment
Or are we trashing our faith in God's abilities to keep us free?
a wicked, deafening drum
synced with the brutal,
monotonously thudding rhythm
of my own jaded,
bitter heart's sickly beat
each throb of my
pulse rips savagely
at my seams
the wretched sobbing
of a crumbling soul
trickles and weeps out from me
and darkly cloaked
within the furthest reaches
of my disassembling being
secrets spun into silky
spider web strands
ensnare any shreds of light
holding truth and hopes
captive until they can be
drained to lifeless husks
damned to infinite suffocation
struggling with an unconquerable battle
a war, the likes of which
no human has ever,
even just once,
managed to have won
there's no cure,
no remedy to mend
what's broken, breaking,
shattering all around
I'M CRYING and begging at
an unseen God to come
come to my rescue
pleading for an intangible,
omniescent being to
destroy the tower built by
my own sinful nature
my own deceit
praying to a Creator
whose very existence I
still can't help but to
question and sink in doubts
but for that miniscule chance
He's real and might
maybe help me...
because the very reality
of such mercy and grace
could bring this
curse crashing down,
down, down, down...
banging out its mad rhythm
changing, changing now
changing its infuriating tune...
with the final
dying grains of
I'll shove aside my
terror; my unholy fear
of the relentless
force of disappointment
I'll indubitably feel when
I reach my finishing line
clutching onto a
such an asinine act,
this allowing of a bitsy
fragment of hope
to creep and crawl
inside the walls
of my mind
but I've nothing more
left beyond this
bleak black floor
sagging beneath my feet
and a hope,
regardless how quiet,
no matter how
could quite easily be
the absolute final
spark of light that
my eyes shall ever see...
Well fuck you, Mr. High and Mighty Bastard Man
Don't give me that ugly face, squashed into a most vile shape, a pitying look
I'm not your concern, and I'd never wish to be for one so emptied
I haven't forgotten how to stand guardian over my space or grounds
I'm liquid in movement, effortlessly able to snatch from the air every stone my enemies throw
Breaking down their walls, their homes with their own weapons, dancing and singing while they run and weep
I can find laughter in their crushed despairs and mangled hopes
So how is it that ignorance gave you the courage to dare allow me to see that face?
Your disgusted pity bright as day and glaring in the sweltering heat
I can clearly tell how you play, imagining me as someone you could victimize; someone weak...
I won't deliver a verbal warning, but regardless still, if you haven't removed yourself promptly from my sight -
I'll show you just how mistaken your judgments passed in blind idiocy have been
You'll fall face first in the mud with all of the rest of these, my victims
For now time is out, and mercy is all but extinct
And anyway, what's one more self-righteous douche going to change?
As so many pigs are now to be lead to their slaughter house curtain close
I'm too bitter, a irreversibly jaded executioner, lacking the patience to mind God or grace...
Well fuck you again, lingering unaware of my rage, you've earned my vengeance as your fate
Who is this? This melancholy, lusterless, sad-eyed girl?
Sitting there, in an anguished silence, only hollowly responsive
Perplexed and dismayed by the qualms this life has rapidly unfurled
A heartbroken, lonely ghost of a woman, stripped of all treasures she wished to give
Who is to blame? Who forced her to board that otherwise lifeless train?
When it reaches its final stop (the end of the line...) fault shall be hung on what sorry name?
As this girl steps out on to the platform, destination-less, cold and soggy in the rain
To whom might she raise her finger, pointing out the wretched being who first began this goddam game?
What if an ugly truth, her answer, is a monster, too hideous to stand and face?
Might she recognize the feet that carried her, each of the steps past, leading to present grounds?
Or perhaps she'll cling to denials, fearing her sins too heavy to be lifted through grace
And regardless, what of hopes, acceptance and loves still hiding? For this girl, could they yet be found?
I watch while she sits, waiting vainly for some resolution; her guiding light to come take her away
Of my presence she seems unaware, and I've seen her eyes fill up behind a quiet blink, then spill
In those moments, I cry as well, and beg of God to take the chains from her soul, let her lovely spirit again play
Left to hold her own reigns of mercy and faith, her hands will create the misery-rope she'll eventually be hanged with and killed...
We are the same, but divided ourselves; split into two fractured pieces of one broken whole
I've held on, held out for her, yet she's all but forgotten me
And I'll never let go, because that tormented, splintered heart inside of her is a piece of me that she stole
So I'll pray, plead, console, call out to her, for without her acknowledgement of herself, we'll never be one again; we will never be free
Standing, soaked, out in a storm, gusts of wind whipping my hair around wildly
Unruly strands sway with the song of chaos, pulling at my scalp, snapping, lashing at my face
My existence is all reality as this whirlwind tempest frantically thrashes about my flesh
In the complex puzzles and foolish games, a simple madness lives, and therein lies my freedom
My tongue and lips sometimes flap boisterously from their spot on my face
And the noises risen up from my throat, and passed through my mouth are meaningless blubberings
Involuntarily, I grin, tasting the nonsense's unique sweetness, and I swallow
My laughter rings out, a vociferous and untameable sound; humor, the voice of a crazy woman
And I spin! Oh, I spin and spin and spin, savagely, in ellipses, ovals, and circle shapes
I've no shame, and this dance is all mine, so I maniacally fling my arms through the air
And as my body makes its revolutions, a fierce smile curves the shape of my lips, wrinkles the corners of my eyes
Inside my mind, wandering - wondering if there's any real difference between elated insanity and that which I crave...
Most people use words such as eccentric, strange, whimsical, and peculiar for what they cannot understand
So very often I hear these such words being used from those who speak of me
But it is them whom I perceive as being rather off, so habitual and boring, living like routine enslaved, joyless zombies
So unfathomable to me, why most everyone seems to desire nothing beyond a passionless, hollow schedule to, every day, just repeat
Me... I'll race barefoot down a gravel path, through lightning, thunder, and rain, only to feel my hair being twisted and tangled up in the wind
I'll jabber absurdities, laugh like a loon, all while I spin contentedly around and around, until, stupidly dizzy, I crash and fall
Madness pays little mind, stands without worries or concerns, because it believes - it knows, most nothing matters
This is my freedom, freedom that cannot be shared, for what it is, is something that's only freeing for me...
~A. D. Smithson MARCH 2013
Freedom from our selfishness
Past behaviors, dead
Butterflies shed of cocoons
There's blood on my hand
That same "damn spot"
It won't go away
I will get caught
There's blood on my face
Shame to wash it away
But I mustn't lose my composure
The spot, though lovely, cannot stay
There's blood on my chest
I can't seem to find how to remove it
I do so like it, just where it is
But there'd be many of those who'd pitch a fit
There's blood upon my feet
I must find the way to make them clean
Not at all because I mind
Because blood ought not be something casually seen
The blood, it's stretched itself to be everywhere
With that savory, metallic scent
Sweet and salty, this crimson, tacky blood
And I'm the keeper of the secret; what this has all meant
O these slashes of blood, the drying puddles, brimmed with love
The power that is the grip of life
Shed now in a glorious display of our purest contempt
Flesh weeping after the stabbing, mangling by a bladed knife
The blood has painted me
Always shall it be there
No amount of scrubbing could wash these marks away
Scent eternal, lingering in the air
This bloods borne a stain on my soul
Death a companion who'll never be far
I'll hold hands and walk with it
To hell's blackest star
My mind is circling
my brain aches
all I crave is love
but at a touch I break
there can be no love
when emotions are impossible
outside of your own control
so I let chances slip on by
weakening, saddened through to my soul
as a child I bore composure
but now I have none
it was stripped away from me
leaving my heart cold; cold as a black sun
my life, my world so foggy and dark
hurting silently deep, deep inside
all I wish, someone to love, to caress
though I can't stop myself
from running, every time, to hide
there is one I could blame;
make my misery belong to him
he broke me;
wronged and defiled me
but what of myself,
my own inner faith and strength?
buried too well to exist,
or just too covered to see?
there's a high chance that I
do possess it within myself somewhere
but to seek it, my lack of courage
begs me not to even try
it may hurt but its easier
to keep it bottled up
yet I must persevere, or I'll never
I'd miss my chance to fly...
I think that you loathe me; wish curses upon my head
I can hear you now as you scream your obscenities to my name
Just because you know I can see you twitch and squirm
I'm waiting to witness the end of your doomed survival game
I may quite likely live on awhile longer
Still kicking and running while you sink and die
This brings me a power I can't help but to hold over you
There's not a thing I could do though, and my words are without lies
It was the divine creator who made you exist as my underlying bitch
And I've no responsibility for my superior advantage
Never though, would you be capable of maintaining the tiniest semblance of control over me
Perhaps it's due to my choice made some days ago, and because I have been digging my ditch...?
I see no reason I shouldn't insist on finding enjoyment in all of this
For once I'm not the weaker being, and it's a long-standing dream coming true
Nor have I forgotten your fleeting moment of success, and feel peace knowing you'll never have another chance to hurt me ever again
Now a toast to my victory, and a toast to your demise, for we're arrived at the precise time for the ending of stage blue...
...I win by my perseverance's sweat, for I did as I was instructed to, and spent the necessary years required digging my own ditch...
We write the most beautiful things
and then, so abrupt is time, we end; pass on
after our deaths, we're dead and forgotten
unacknowledged, unmissed; just simply gone
every one of us lives this life with the need to be loved
each of us goes through life craving to feel as though we're needed
so we can write our lovely sentences
but it's worthless, for we can't escape our fate, and in the end we'll still die
the beings we were to become, no more than mere ashes in the wind
not worth even whispers to carry on our memories
so hurt thus fell these, our flowing words
our hearts consumed with bitterness; grey
years will continue to pass, none will visit our graves
our pages, our legacies shall sink; take solace with us in the ground
so we mourn now, thou still alive; oh how we sit, sit and cry
we don't really make sense
for why wouldn't we be loved by another when we for another can ourselves love?
perhaps unconscious self-contempt leaves us craving to feel neglect for our return
or perhaps we're just so terrified of being broken
we use our fears, rejections, anger and abandonments to write our most magnificent verses
why punish ourselves so, when time will still in the end overbear, and we'll all eventually perish?
oh, the merest of acknowledgments to such notions may as well rip our hearts from our chests
we may have fled truth, begging, pleading as we birth rivers of our blood, sweat and miserable tears
all alone then, without another soul in sight to wander with us while we roam deaths rocky beaches
So it's all of us who are broken, after all...
I fear it from an inside
My lips ~ refusal to move
Seeking fervently, shadows to conceal
my existence; to hide
Drowning; morbid dying in the
sorrowed soul's tears
Scavenging for my god
Digging for redemption, for salvation
Questioning my faith
I'm told, once again, to believe
That, only then, there will be a
hope in which to receive
He calls out to me
Audible to my ears
His beckoning reaches to even my
recesses darkest and deep
I'm washed away in a flood
Self-inflicted, torturous death
Then the whisper
'Go back to sleep'
Still, my weary mind rambles onward
Shattering into puzzle pieces
The artistic portrayal of who I
Though, I find no one who could
reconnect those pieces to again
build ~ again create, a whole
So, I am broken, shattered, crumbling
on a downward spiral
Yet again, He beckons
Calling out my very own name
"Oh Beautiful Daughter,
"I see not, your sins."
I fall to my knees
Utmost gratitude conceived
Though I remain too afraid to believe
I trust Him; words flawless to
every form of life
It's, alone, myself I cannot face
My mirror's as shattered as my soul
Those weak, disgracing, foul steps
I daily take
As I trudge down my chosen life
path of misery
A path to spawn animosity, contempt,
And nevertheless, He follows
Offering continually His hand
The Divine Hand
I shutter at such a notion!
Oh! How I don't deserve!
My broken puzzle has cracked
open my mask
Lies to be uncovered ~ lies of mine
Revealed by my subconscious' truths
I collapse to the earth
Piercing my body with stones
Pierced flesh, it bleeds
As was once shed upon a cross
Stop my feet now, please! Oh, stop me!
I'm running... running away
The light, so beautiful, so pure
I, a stain, to be cleansed; washed away
His voice, so powerful, yet gentle
A child's perception of her father's
And now, a message He declares
unto this mortal me
"Quit your resisting,
"Oh Beautiful Daughter of Mine
"It was for your sake I created
the light of day
"Come now, My child
"I've spoken, and you are worthy
"Bathe yourself in the oceans of
My grace's eternal waters"
My shattered fragments arise
Fitting together a work of art
too undefinable to speak of
In this new found light of grace, I bawl
In new tears, I rejoice
I have felt my Maker's unconditional love; His grace
I've been possessed by His showering of love
a soft, slow-motion like blink.......
eye lids, heavy, pulling down
then, now, raising back up
open... close... opening again
lashes gently, briefly collide; brushing
nearly inaudible whisper of sound
it's so cold
the sunshine gone?
Words, phrases, exclamations...
great efforts to birth well-articulated strings
sentences, paragraphs going nowhere
just evaporating into the air
- after their pleading, violent spewing forth!
mad workings of mouths and lips, of tongues
raging torrents of language
worthless, pointless, meaningless...
one could say anything -
enunciate; flowing, eloquent
or ranted, rambled
lightning-speed creation: disastrous!
no matter to be coherent -
to be nonsensical
speech is of absolutely no value;
devoid of all worth
perfectly useless, audible abyss...
So I'm finished and fucking surrender
it's been a journey traveled far too long
hope has long been departed and gone
painfully overdue, it's undeniably time
-So I'll shut my goddamn blabbering, jibbering jaws
and I'll do it RIGHT NOW!
BURN me, HATE me
You cannot defeat me
I am who I am
And you cannot change that
ACCUSE me, TWIST me
You cannot shape me
I am who I am
And you're no part of that
BEAT me, TORTURE me
You cannot hurt me
I am who I am
And you cannot break that
FUCK me, RAPE me
You cannot burden me
I am who I am
And I am NOT part of you
FLOCK me, KILL me
You cannot bury me
I am who I am
Steadfast, in life and death alike
THIS icy cold water sort of, almost helps
but my throat is still thick, hot, and dry
caked and clogged, choking on nicotine phlegm
and oh God, how I long to just be high...
MY skull's a million pounds; head, so heavy
suffocated with thoughts, swarming, squirming, zipping around
my consciousness' holding capacity is entirely used up, one-hundred-ten percent spent
it's matter-less though, as I've nothing left waiting out there to be found...
CRACKLING, pop-popping~ there's a ringing in my ears
and I'm nauseous, my stomach aches and aches
I can feel my face, squished and crying, though I haven't any tears
my spirit feels on the verge of a complete and massive break...
I"M overwhelmed and broken~ too much, the physical hurting
I'm psychotic, shattered and scattered~ ugly emotional and mental pains
what if I'm destined to never find a cure that would make this sickness end?
and what if I can't, either, find a way to save the little left in me that's sane...?
HOW can this filth and destruction only be seen through my eyes?
perhaps I'm delusional beyond reason, perhaps nowhere, only inside my head?
am I possessed of an illness, hideous and wicked, hiding deep inside my soul?
should I relinquish this breathing now; maybe just be better off dead...???
OR maybe I should merely write another of my nonsensical, depressing poems?
in a fantasy world where there's truth to the notion that words can heal diseases such as mine
is there any purpose or point? - do I even have any strength to hold on to a fragment, so delicate, of hope?
how sure, how certain can I be, that, in my continuance of life, the days will always pass with, still, nothing left for me to find.......???
SUCH an ancient wisdom radiating from HIS words
chiming through each syllable this wise, OLD MAN spoke
granting me visions beyond the obvious of my world
a time to uncover comprehensions that have not yet awoke...
KISS the man - the boy, then rip out his beating heart
eat his pulsating organ as it fades, as it pumps, dripping its final blood
savor the sensation of terminated life gushing through your red, sticky fingers
watch his flesh, sprawled on the floor, die in its own flood
THE OLD MAN knew - HE could see through to the true me
though I had never encountered HIM in this life before
HE told me to, "Kill the man, free, and
"Repent of all the years spent wallowing in monstrosities and sin..."
"LOVE the man before you rip out his heart
"Bite by bite, be nourished as he dies in hell
"feel his life-blood smearing on your face, dripping off your chin..."
all of this the guidance, all the OLD MAN had to tell
THE OLD MAN whisper-spoke with a cracked, arid voice
crowned tones birthed of a knowledge, a wisdom, the man never possessed
for all of this, I have cried, but now I am done
the OLD MAN, to me, also said, "now to be blessed..."
I'LL kiss the man, then, heartlessly tear out his heart
I shall shred it, destroy it, spit as I throw it to the floor
bloody spatterings, glistening red, surround me
and it is by this end, le fin, that I'll reach out and grasp the knob of my new door
OR so the OLD MAN told me...