Flares of chalk
Softly blinks the words,
We are open.
Silent crackle, tingle,
The smell of a sticky must. Floating dust in
An abandoned attic, where the rats roam and the dead skeleton of a fish
Still lies in an empty bowl of moldy rocks and plastic plants.
Yet, despite the emptiness, a girl curls up in the corner, black
Running down her face as she weeps for the things she longs for most.
She looks out the dirty, broken window at the cloudy sky and imagines it
Blue. The brightest of skies with only few hints of cirrus.
A blanket on the ground and the man she loves, nothing else in sight.
The expanse of green in her head is contrasted to the rotting floorboards she lays
On, dreaming. The steady beat of Boy in Static thrumming through her headset
As she struggles not to scream and jump, finishing the job on the window
From troubled teens years before. The sound reminds her of VHS tapes,
Press rewind, take a turn and start over. But she can't, when something has changed.
The boy she knew, looking down with his hood not up, but covering his face, shielding
Himself from her. She knew he had a screw in his head, but she just looked away. He never answered anything she asked. He was unable.
But her heart still dropped, she smiled her best. An amazing actress, fooling everyone, makeup allergy keeping her eyes dry. She just read Huck Finn as though nothing was wrong.
Now she sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry, but her mind kept wandering to that attic.
She was there again. Blankly staring at her star charm anklet. A simple blue ribbon.
And the throbbing of her heartbeat through that one spot on her thumb,
That pressure point that hurts more than anything. But one thing could be worse.
Being left. Just like the broken rocking horse in the corner and the baby's cradle
Lined with blue silk that was shoved into a box. That baby is probably dead. Just like all
Of the others who lived there, burned by the fire. Goose flesh raises, prickly
Hairs on her legs from a week of no shaving. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bleed.
Change the song. Bleed Like Me. Perfect. She draws on the peeling walls, two hundred
Years of wallpaper and lead paint, chalk barely leaving a mark. She sketches a masterpiece.
A child that she wishes she could have. Impossibly too young, but still...
A daughter she could raise better than her mother raised her. A chance to do something right.
More than the mechanic life she has lead, empty and useless.
Confused and pathetic. Like the broken grandfather clock that ticks backwards.
Three, two, one.
Ding-dong, dong-ding. Grandfather never taught me anything. He was not a wise man.
He was a fool. Knew too much and too little, no room to know what was right.
She let another raindrop escape and suddenly it began to pour. Lightning crashes as a glass
Slipper collides with the picture drawn of her dream. Thunder as she releases a
Bloodcurdling scream. "Why!?"
Why her? The pain in her back is unbearable. She slouches too much, and her eyes burn.
She is not Cinderella; her ball gown does not glitter.
Piano is her least favorite instrument, but it somehow gets to her. Small hammers
Striking her heart strings, low notes reminding her of his voice and the soft, feminine
Voices radiating, remind her of when she was young... Immortal. She has aged since then.
Too quickly. Her entire life has been a masquerade ball. Unskilled idiots dancing
Around her and stepping on her toes. Shouldering her in the stomach,
Breaking her ribs. Beats of music guide her skilled toes, swerve around falling raindrops that
Her own eyes emit. And she crashes through the floor of that dismal attic. Broken free,
But she is still trapped. The walls are charred down here.
But the walls are not painted black. They were once a mint color, green and cheerful, healthy.
Until a psychopath lit a match.
"I didn't mean to do it." It was all in her head. The house.
She set it aflame.
She sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry. It isn't worth it to stare. Nothing will change.
She is still just a girl in a glass box, being stared at and judged. Trapped and ridiculed because her eyes bleed and bless the onlookers with bad luck. It's amazing the things
That people don't know. Drifting deeper into a pit of endless darkness. A candle won't
Live down here. No oxygen to let it breathe. But one lit self portrait hangs in the air.
Years ago, drawn in pencil. Symbolic, it wants to be erased. To die.
And the girl on the page is wearing a mask. The girl in the parchment is me.
Medium length hair and a tear painted, permanent. A Parasite. Capitalized for its meaning.
A demon is running through me, singeing
My tissues, blisters on the insides of my bones. Swelled up, show through
My skin. Waves on a shore. But I am not a beach. A bitch maybe...
Still, I hate it. The hate killed whatever flowers I had left planted in my mind.
Tainted me with the horrible visions of a tear streaked face of paper mâché.
She was the one in the attic. Her whole persona
Wilted and ashen, grey. A silent movie might mask it; the hurt, I mean.
The grey lines on the screen hiding the bags under her eyes and the redness of her nose,
Get rid of the twinkling shards of glass frozen on her cheek from crying in the dead of winter.
Slip up once, and everything goes to hell. Well, I must have slipped years before I was born.
Few smiles are left on this dismal timeline. And I shall use them wisely. But, for now,
I think I will just weep, sleep forever and hope that you don't give up on me and pull the plug.
I am still here somewhere, just dormant. Please wake me up. Get me out of this charred cabin,
This glass box. Pull me out of my warped sense of everything, teach me again what
Love feels like. I have forgotten amidst everything that I have felt and remembered.
There is no more room for things to be learned. Only for things to be repaired.
I will give you a hammer. Come inside and fix me; that screw in your head couldn't have taken your knowledge away. You are the only one that knows.
Give a jolt of static and bring your bride to life.
i don't know
if you taste like
syrup or chalk;
the inside of your
mouth is a grab bag
i'd never stick
my tongue down
i don't know
if i want to be at
there's no benefits
but your cooking's
(it's five am and
we're lying on the floor
in my estranged
father's apartment and
hamlet like i'm horatio
i just want to know
what you taste like
and why i'm always
loved or hated)
We desire the things that will destroy us in the end
It's funny how we protect those who hurt us I think it's because we think there constantly trying to change that imperfection we have with in us how ironic
They told me it would be fun I wouldn't ever forget the feeling, this feeling, they said I'd be cool if I did it, and how I feel cool the cold night air as soft as cotton when it touches my skin but as sharp as knives as the cool cuts to the bone I can see every thing clear as day as if the sun was at my back showing me a new perspective I think that's why I can see the stars shiny behind the thick clouds. I can almost hear them whisper their singing heavenly tunes with the rushing river playing percussion with the river rocks which drummed and the claps of the rips which match every color I've ever seen even the new ones in front of me
i feel like i could fly and belive me i tried every time i landed the grass under my bare cold feet were having tickle fights with my toes there rugged wet tips almost like a dogs tounge licked and my soles they were winning, I the meekest of the meek was now the king of all I Survey and as I watched my kingdom of color, shape and sound they started to take shape of my "friends" all laughing with tears in there eyes I thought it was another one of my renditions of how I perceive things them seemed so real I could almost feel their breaths as they laughed even more hysterically their laughter seemed to shack me to my core so I called out to ask what was the joke
the sky spits at me with great disgust I want to ask why but I could not hear my self over the now screams of my "friends" they matched the screams of banshies and nails on a chalk board I mixture of millions of off pitch piano keys I was In pain a pain I had never experienced before it was every were on my body no fixed place no origin site but raw utter pain I held with all my might it still was no competition for there screeches, I wanted so much to rip off my ears but befor I could for a brief moment i felt at peace one with all and all in me then every thing went black no songs now vivid colors no feeling of anything just darkness then when I woke I saw a bright light took me a second to realize I was back to normal the sun was up but it did not greet me the grass was cool but it didn't fight I felt lonely I check my phone for any massages,
"how was it""do you want more" I thought about all the hell I went through all the pain I felt then I remembered that feeling I wanted to feel it again no I needed to feel it again so with out a second thought I answered "yes" it's funny how we want what will destroy us in the end it's just human nature
A bad trip.
In my mind,
the fight was a result of your undying love for me,
an act of protection,
for your fair maiden.
I was the perfect damsel in distress,
dragging you away from the bad guy.
How I ever managed to daydream,
over the screams
and the struggling,
is beyond me.
As you gracefully caved in the guys skull
with your elegant knee,
painting a watercolour of red on the concrete,
I stood back and watched.
Each drop of blood,
that splattered the night scarlet,
mirrored a drop of the salty tears
running down my cheek.
I wanted him to get back up
and smash your beautiful face into a perfect Picasso.
He didn't do anything but lie in his own river.
I wanted to be washed away with it.
Instead, I had to watch you triumphantly step back from your kill,
the picture of alpha male,
and look for your mate.
Why won't you capture me?
Because you want her.
My best friend.
The one who I should be comforting,
for having two guys so in love with her that they'd kill each other.
I'm scared if I place a hand on her shoulder,
I might crumble.
I could leave my soft white mark on you,
if you just gave me the chance.
But maybe you like the chill,
the chance to pull her closer.
I can't look anymore.
I step over the battlefield and make my way down the street.
I see her get in a taxi
with the guy you just half bludgeoned to death to win her heart.
I see you stood amongst the wreckage,
confusion on your war wounded face,
not knowing what went wrong.
Just like I gave in and cared about you.
What idiots we are.
Somebody punch me in the face.
we can question the nature of art,
what it means to be beautiful.
I see hopscotch in chalk on sidewalks,
children laughing and playing while a political picture,
stares blankly down at them from a brick wall.
I see that,
and around the corner is a
that illuminates the area as existing through poverty
but it doesn't stop
kids from playing. Even if the city pays a man to take down the
because adults are afraid.
While we decide what is worth keeping,
can we please remove that
Please, it's poorly drawn, and it leads to
And that's scary,
Everyones looking for wealth and always have they hand out for more
but what's a dollar to success if you morally poor?
what's the point of being a king without respect for the throne?
why say you independent, when you can barely hold your own...
ya called me out and said "He stopped writing with passion"
"He's writing for a deal, hasn't been the same since "They Keep Asking"
Mentally I'm basking...taking in the sun
closing my eyes at night, dreaming about what I might become.
I'm figuring out all my mistakes while drawing a few plans
strengthening up my posture, so I can be the model of a grown man.
Life's a bitch and I'm patiently waiting to met her, imma dress to the nine,
with pistol when I greet her!
cause she's taken every bit of my sanity and soul
shes left me for dead at the end of casualty road
but this I definitely know, I hate her but owe her one
it was her challenges she threw me that made me who I've become.
I'm in touch with my demons and have conversations with the monster
any obstacle in my way, I so easily conquer!
Look up when I walk, confident when I talk
got up from the crime scene and cleaned up all the chalk.
Refused to settle for death even when there seemed like no return
God sent me here to guide all who is lost, teach those willing to learn.
Just worry about you, don't live life waiting for others to approve
remember we was built to win, but born to lose.
Society will pick and choose
Very rarely is it acceptant
Forget them and their bullshit, look up and accept your reflection.
- Dougie Simps
There are no magic memories
Fit to fix an old man's soul,
Or time befuddled bunnies
Traipsing down a rabbit hole.
There is no pot of gold, I'm told,
At the rainbow's end.
Nor an Alice fool enough to call
The Queen of Hearts her friend.
There is no quest for Camelot
Unsinged by writer's block.
Or a Pan within a labyrinth
Dispensing magic chalk.
There are no Gnomes, no spirit keys,
No dragon wars, no trees that sneeze,
No roads paved in that yellow brick,
No fairies darting low and quick
Through enchanted dandelion seas
Alongside the Everbetter Bees.
There are no mountains draped in gold,
Nor pixie dust bright as the stars.
No armored bears to fight the cold
Just to gain some battle scars.
There is no cheese upon the moon,
No mermaids deep in a lagoon,
Or pirates haunting Neverland,
Nor flying carpets o'er sea and sand.
No segacious wizards wise and fair,
No time-traveling rocking chair
Until that wild winding wind we share
Showers imagination here and there,
Up, up high and down below,
In places gently capped with snow,
Where every wiley fuss will know
All the greatest memories go.
There are no wonders left to see
Until somebody sets them free.
And that's where Carroll inspires me,
And I get so lost in young Barrie.
Where one rides a magic alligator,
Dahl flies in his glass elevator.
Where Genie's kindly grant a new wish,
Geisel shares his "one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish,"
To my Muse, this is the grandest sight,
And why I am compelled to write.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"I can believe anything provided it is incredible."
~ Oscar Wilde
Don't hold on anymore.
I've wasted enough of your time.
You deserve far better
than the likes of me.
All I could ever give you is my words.
And I still promise I meant every one that I ever said.
But the soul can't live on letters and syllables alone.
Please find somebody who can make you happy.
you’re like an echo,
a pattern on a rug,
a wild rainstorm without the flood
I drew an X and O on a piece of bark
with my red lipstick but I didn’t have the guts
to put it in your mailbox
that’s a true story
you met a vixen
golden smile and legs
when we last spoke, I told you life was absolutely great
dishonesty gets the best of me
when really I’m alone here
trying to scrimp and save
every moment you and I have made
and I could die
that’s a sad story
and a true story
come back to me like a boomerang
I haven’t seen you in clarity
in a very long time
you’re like a horse race track
and I am galloping, number 9
running for dear life,
with blinders on the sides of my eyes
running to run, not
running to win, just
running for running
I never found it easy to stay
in one place
in my head, even in my heart
they’re fickle body parts
it’s easy to take one step too far away
it’s not easy to stay
it’s easy to regret anything
and I do all of these things over and over again
I’ll probably always thirst for distance
but if you need to,
you can find me in my garden, where I plant
a lot of thought
I’ll always hope that someday,
you’ll recognize your loss and look me in the eyes again
I’m like a hayseed
having a hard time surrendering to the wind
and I could die
still, maybe I am barefoot at your door
while the neighbourhood is asleep
drawing X’s and O’s on tree bark or two stick figures kissing
with sidewalk chalk
I dreamt you were with someone else
you drank lemonade and held hands,
a perfect summer romance
it made me want to die
it made me want to write you a letter and then burn it
but I decided to repress it all instead
I’m sorry for leaving
and then coming back
and then leaving again
and though I only saw you last week,
I haven’t seen you in clarity in a long time
it makes me lonely and when I feel lonely,
I speak to the sky
whispering secrets, you see,
it’s the only thing I can always speak to without lying
the truth is a fierce thing,
like wind can be,
it can be merciless
and I am just a hayseed
having a hard time surrendering to the wind
oh, the truth
it echoes, even in a field
just in my head
you can’t run away from the truth after you tell it to the sky
because the sky is everywhere,
and that kind of makes me want to die