I find myself conveniently deep
When the weather is bad
Or when I cant sleep.
And so I count sheep.
So I sit there, in the cold,
In the very same chair
And I feel myself getting old.
Slow, I feel the growth of hair
With the same green cup of tea,
Self-obsessed, trying to find me.
So I give up and go to bed.
I sit up when I should be lying down.
I sit there lying to myself,
Prying out reasons why I'm still myself.
Denying, trying to convince myself
That I haven't given up
Pretending that I'm still the same man
That I once was, but no luck.
I do this until I fall restlessly asleep.
Wake up and turn on the t.v
and the Weatherman says:
"Cold, with a chance of sleet."
Where could I go?
If there was nothing to stop me
If the world could let me cross all of its walls
If the universe really has no limits
Where could I go?
If I could run as fast as the wind
If I could run as fast as the currents of the water
If I could run as fast as light itself
Where could I go?
If I could fly
If I could reach the heavens
If I could touch the stars I've always dreamed of
Where could I go?
If I could see the world move forward and backwards
If I was not bound by the laws of time
If I could travel through time and space
If I could travel to and from any point
In all of space and time,
Where nothing could be able to stop me,
I wouldn't go anywhere.
What's the point of seeing the universe turn?
Who cares about the whole of time and space?
If there's no one to accompany you and
There's no one you could share it with.
You could come with me?
It's just a sheet of paper
so thin and feeble
and almost transparent,
yet it has
to hold my broken soul;
all of it
on a piece of paper.
It's just a pen
so solid, made of plastic,
yet it has
the power to
transform my thoughts
into lines of ink
and turn them
all my soul
pouring out of a pen.
an old piece of paper
my soul turned into ink.
There were some things young Hildegard
Believed deep down in her heart,
And it affected how
She treated all her friends.
"If you're not a part of my parade,
You're just another useless part
That will get tossed out with all the
Other odds and ends.
She told Rolph Johnson
To go on home..
He simply did not suit her taste.
And little Mary Fennel
To have a life,
But Hildegard had one
She had no plans to waste.
"I'm not sorry," she told them all.
"Because it's you. It isn't me!
If I let you hang around,
Someone important may just see.
And I will not allow that.
Where I am you cannot go.
I'm twice as good as you are.
And I know you know I know!"
She told her Mom one late summer day
She preferred to do things her own way.
She did not need her parent's care.
She had no need to worry there.
"I'm smart. I'm strong.
I'm quick. I'm wise.
And I think I've
Outgrown you guys.
You just don't understand.
I'm a some one
You can never be!"
"Even my Teacher
Thinks I'm bright.
And I must admit.
My Teacher's right."
And she's usually
Sort of clueless, so
It's kind of good she
Seems to know."
Her friends, they vanished,
One by one.
They were in the way,
And they weren't much fun.
They did not understand
Was twice the girl
They could be.
Once, or twice,
T'was true, they heard:
"Supercilious is a silly word."
And Hildegard would turn away,
Without another word
She had so very
Much to do.
She'd planned her life.
T'was true, so true.
It was a life she would not be denied,
A future she'd not toss aside.
She'd be incisive and demure.
They'd never undervalue her.
And to this day,
She's made her case.
No arroganace upon her face.
She's a belle of substance, and rightly so,
Trapped in a very lonely place.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"I call everyone 'Darling' because I
can't remember their names."
~Zsa Zsa Gabor
when I was a young kid there was no room in our house so I had to sleep in the crawlspace above the house
It was winter and the crawlspace was uninsulated and there was
a small old space heater from the 1970’s that didn’t do anything
unless you were right up next to it. Sometimes I would get up
next to it and the sleeping bag would start to burn on the edges
melt. I’d wake up and move away from it because it would burn
the sleeping bag. One night it was very cold but I didn’t turn on
the heater because I didn’t want to melt a giant hole in the
sleeping bag for good and maybe burn myself. That night
while I was sleeping a brown recluse spider bit
me on the hip. It must crawled in to the sleeping
bag with me because it was cold
The next morning the bite had swollen
up like half a golf ball and in the middle was
a sort of purple spot where the skin was most affected by
necrosis and that spot already looked like it wanted to let
out all the pus inside. I knew that there was pus inside
because it had swollen so much and sort of felt solid but
squishy. I didn’t do anything about it that day
because I didn’t know what kind of a bite it was. The next night
was very cold because it was early february but I didn’t want to
melt my sleeping bag again. The temperature gauge in the crawl
space said it was 34 because some of the heat from the
house did leak in to the crawlspace because it was uninsulated.
I had lots of clothes on but only had a pair of baggy
jeans and my legs were bare under that. That night the
same spider must have crawled in to the sleeping bag
up my pants leg. The next morning the bite from two
nights before had gone to hell because I hadn’t done
anything to treat it right away and I had rolled on to
it the next night and it had turned yellow and purple
and the skin on the whole area was necrotic but on top
of the first bite was a second bite that had started to swell
up as well. I thought this was funny because I was young
and nasty stuff is funny when you’re young.
I sort of squeezed at the fleshy mass and a bit of
liquid came out but not a whole lot of liquid.
There was obviously an obstruction. So I took
a metal needle and heated it up with a lighter to
make it easier to pierce the skin. When it
was red hot I pushed right in to
the top of the hole where the purple was and
it started letting out little bits of pus. I wasn’t
satisfied with the amount it was producin
g but since the hole from the needle went in really deep
I figured a lot more would come out if I pushed on
either side of the lump. At first there was mostly
light red blood and some white pus that was watery
and it sort of ran out. No matter how hard
I pushed it only a little bit of puss would come out.
I left it alone but came back to it later on and by
this time a scab had formed over the top of the hole
. I ripped this off and continued to push on to the
sides of the lump which by this time had lost some
of its original form because the skin was dead
on and around the lump. It had caved in like little
indentations of my fingers where I had pressed
but no liquid came out. The second bite had taken
care of any skin on the first bite that might have
missed the necrosis and even it had its own little lump
coming out of the first. My entire leg was sore
because the muscle tissue was necrotic deep down.
By the next day the skin had died and changed in such a
way I never thought I would ever see a part of myself.
It had turned a dark yellow and the purple was a
solid purple that didn’t mix with the yellow. As
I scratched at it, the skin peeled off in layers and
I kept scratching at the skin and it kept peeling off.
It got to a point where I knew I could just bust
the whole thing open if I really squeezed at it and
it all just came out. The blood in the middle
was blackish and the pus was thick and lumpy
like oatmeal. There was lots and lots of it in there.
After that the spider bit me again on the same hip
but about a month later. By this time the first bites
had healed to an indented scar where the skin had healed
but not come back. The third bite wasn’t as bad as the first
but it still died like the first. Spiders are ok because they don’
t bite people who didn’t have it coming. As much as I’d like to
think I could have prevented that from happening I
would gladly let the spider in to my sleeping bag again
if it was cold but with no guarantee I wouldn’t roll on to it and I say this with warm feelings.
each one breast
at a time,
thought of them
licked at them
like some hound
each rib place,
then she kissed
to get there,
she kissed deep,
but soft love,
to the boil
of deep sighs
and throat sounds.
in her turn,
to finger enter
such a place
(such as hers
of her hot
As empires fall, brought to there knees
I know you will be down on it
this is why I love humankind
for maggots can never merit them
You and planet are deemed dangerous
so the sun will swallow you
just as you do
So let empires fall
let me hurt them for you
who are you kidding sluts
as empires of Babylon fall
Your terror of hate is over
I reached that final day
you will take it up to the hilt
as if you were some serious gay
What a dusty subject
waiting to turn to dust
like my mother Earth
and the last of me
When you are gone
I will leave a marker
tell those that care
Humans lived here
By Christros Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
She's come so far
For everything to fall apart.
She masks the pain behind
A sweetened, broken smile.
The truth, so plain,
Stares her down.
The simple sound of her own shame
Haunts and taunts and blocks
The way to her dreams.
She's the end, and it's coming.
About to break, and fear has escaped.
There's no where left to turn,
But to fight the insanity.
I never really let myself look back at it,
you know, since I transformed into this person,
since my heart relearned its beat,
and my eyes regained their sight,
and my mouth relearned a speech that could stand up for
the brain that's had to muster every ounce of confusion,
every spec of pain,
every seed of anger,
and release it until the look in my tearless and fearless eyes
gained light again.
I never wanted to lose you.
I just had to if I wanted to come back from the dead,
from the grave I made in my hollow bed,
formed with baby green sheets and a pillow for my headstone.
That was your choice.
I just walked away from a world that would never care.
Sometimes... I just really hate when you're the inspiration behind
the fingertips clicking on the keyboard,
when you're the reason why I let myself bleed into a poem,
when you're the motive in a desperate attempt for me to have something for myself.
And then I remember... that's how I escape the way I'd wrap
around your conniving little finger until it turned to blade.
I always find it interesting to see how fleeting my existence can be.
It's like a game, isn't it?
The drunken texts, the awkwardly un-awkward hugs, the hellos and goodbyes
that turn into absolutely nothing.
It's funny how I'm the one who can be normal.
The hardest thing I've ever had to do is accept that you aren't you,
that almost everything you do is a charade,
you parade about wanting pity and remorse,
you love the sadness as much as you hate it,
you hate the deception as much as you crave it,
and I simply cannot do that.
Maybe I haven't fully accepted it yet.
I wonder when I'll be invisible again.
I feel somehow that they have mislabeled you
Perhaps just penned you in the wrong ink...
I'm not sure
It seems when I try to describe you, the idea goes sailing away and never anchors home
Slippery one might say...
As the man crawling beneath a rolled-over vehicle, slathered in blood and puke
Like the words that had beckoned to him "C'mon let's go for a ride..." now thoroughly lost
Nothing more then a few grueling moments in agony before it was just a memory and a phrase that didn't quite seem to fit...
Unreal. What did that word even mean?
It felt insulting.
As though the momentary terror that had consumed your reality was nothing more then a passing storm -- No more then a ghost or a Flying Dutchman...
But could the same not be said for it all?
Is any of this really what we came here for?
The choice alone is too much for me not to waste it and I fear if I leave it for too long that the choice will inevitably make itself...
Perhaps that in turn is the choice
The freedom to be or not...