A young girl's life ended
without the opportunity to grow
made all reason incomprehensible
shrouded the family in agonising woe
Her nascent bubbling personality
not given the light to flower
taken from this life
too soon for a final hour
Her mother may have questioned her God
her father may have denounced his belief
broken hearts may never have truly mended
prolonged time may never have healed grief
Her mother may have believed in heaven
her father may have returned to Mass
but their faith would be fully realised
if rejoining her came to pass
The darkness disguised as light that is life creeps slowly into my spine like water dripping down a rain gutter after a storm. The reality in the air fills my lungs like twenty cigarettes all smoked in a dimly-lit stairwell on a Tuesday afternoon. I exhale as hard as I can, but the reality ceases to leave my being. It carves into my windpipe like a tiger's paw, ripping it into shreds as gravity pulls it back down.
I take a look at the calendar. A calm font reads December 24. I feel nothing. There is no cheer or happiness lingering in the supposedly cool December breeze. It used to fill the air with the scent of gingerbread and mint, but all there is now is the smell of rotting garbage, sun-dried piss, and the occasional stench of shit.
False smiles are painted across coffee shop windows. Bright lights that distract you from the world are wrapped around the trees. Mary gives birth to Jesus on each manger atop each building. It all still feels blank. The magic is gone. The false smiles frown at me. The luster of each bulb of each string of light has faded into a bland dullness. What lies atop the buildings are dead eyed statues.
Where has it all gone?
I cannot keep this
This fruitless ache
This pounding in my head
There go my blades
At their works
Sign the dotted line in blood
We try to bleed it out!
each droplet an hour of agonies
We cried but in vain
This depressive, this manic
This open raw wound
to which everyone spits in
For tis that which they doth not see
Oh so blind to!
Therapies, forsooth! a worthless pastime
Dampen the mood, quieten the voices
A mind torn asunder
for of winter snow
and summer thunder
a body I do plunder
to rip out these demons
exorcise these ghouls
claw out these ghosts
This cannot be glorified
it is not beautifully broken
but tearing oneself apart
to remove the ashes in my head
Borderline personality disorder
Post traumatic stress disorder...
I've realized that I love hard
In the moment I can suffocate love
before it has even been born.
I rush in, in fear of loosing it.
And when they knock me back
I fall apart.
I can say that I'm strong all that I want but I'm not
and even this is just playing the victim
oh woe is me oh woe is I
suffocating love before it can cry.
oh woe is we oh woe is us...
or is it just me that cant see when enough is enough
I went down to the land of woe
Where all the selfish people go
They all set around a banquet table
But to eat they just weren't able
Glorious food was all abound
Eagerly at that table they all sat around
But the forks and spoons where a mile long
They all cried, "this is unfair and wrong"
Try as the might
They couldn't get it right
Some where dying of hunger
They couldn't get the food to their mouths, they where going under
They couldn't figure out how to eat
It seems this life has them beat
Just across the river nine
This is what you'll find
It's the exact same scene
Glorious food, it's so serene
They all set around a great big table
Same long utensils, but to eat they are able
Can you imagine what the difference is
Why they can eat and live like this.....................
It's a lesson we all should learn
So by ourselves we don't get burned
It's as simple as thinking of others
For my friend, they feed one another
Just have a little bit,
To get you through the night.
Just have a little bit,
To be able to see the light.
Your heart is weary,
And your head hurts,
But know in your soul,
That this isn't the worst.
Listen to the advice,
Try your best,
And know that,
Soon the universe will answer those prayers.
It takes us to wither,
To finally rest.
as we worsen,
Our scores on this test.
And to wit,
It is always played out of turn,
A game of cards turned to chance;
As we wend our willed way
Through life and romance.
When weary, we wander
And yet ask nothing new-
Wiping our worried wrinkles with care-
for just a few
for us to stem and stew
As we hug our trappings,
And wipe our wrappings away-
At the end of our day.
That the turmoil and tremors that threaten on the hour;
The problems compounding
The alarum bells sounding
The lessons resounding -
The things that turn our world sour;
That without these wild warfronts,
These savage frontiers,
We'd never be better,
And reap nothing from these years.
A quick, quiet musing
I present then,
in humble contemplation;
If we do not learn from change,
do we improve our station?
Be still my child, don't listen to the wind
as it tells its tale of woes
Darkness hidden within its grasp
Calling to you as it blows
Circling around your innocent soul
like a vulture hunting his kill
Ramming and battering against all odds
Attempting to break down your will
This evil wind comes late at night
When all of the world is at rest
Seducing all to the darker side
Putting you to the ultimate test
Caressing your mind with its fetid breath
Your eyes ablaze with temptation
Giving into its most malevolent ways
Will lead you into total ruination
So heed this warning and listen well
for when this wicked wind blows
Turn a deaf ear, run for the hills
For you might be the one that it chose
This is the word whose cries echoes in the well of my soul.
A desperate calling in the darkness overcome with hopelessness.
A pleading of defiance against all that has been done un-rightly so.
The last sound of innocence and its unheard scream in the night.
Its last word being rejection of the world's cruelties.