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On nights when the moon
Sheds herself of pretense
She speaks,
Reaches in,
Spins out thoughts
Like yarn, unraveling

Shows me what I keep
     What should never be spoken
Shows me what I dream
      What should never be seen

And I can almost feel
The cool touch of metal,
The warm after- blaze
Against my temple,
Of a ****** barrel
Giving birth to a silencing roar -
Pushing through
Emptying mind,
Thoughts splattered,
An abstract on my walls,

The things I keep
Dripping
Crimson
In her light.

you don't know the real me
.
.
no one does
and no one will
.
.
I'm always going to hide
I'm always going to lie
.
.
don't waste your time

They can't tell what's wrong with you from the outside. They can't tell what's wrong with you from the outside. They can't tell what's wrong with you.*

Is my illness truly  invisible?
Or am I just deluding myself again?
My thoughts are racing, falling, tumbling,
maybe their right to call me insane.

Don't ask me to speak because I don't want to;
words don't mean a thing any more
Instead I write and write onto sheets of white
into the abyss my heart is poured.

I hear their screams in my head all the time
a pleading in my ear,
I'm the one who's living this hell
so why is it me you fear?

I carry on breathing everyday
despite the creatures living inside
and I will keep living in every way
until one day I don't even cry.

PROSE FOR ALL PEOPLE
CONSIDERING SUICIDE.

The last month has been torture.
I've tossed and turned at night.
I've been begging God just to take
me Home... then MAD at Him for not
answering my plea.
My body is wracked in pain.
My life is a dead-end.
My dreams are shattered.
But now I know why He did not...

This morning my 90 year old
father was choking. He hardly made a
sound as the breath left his body. I don't
know how (God?) but I KNEW something
was terribly wrong. I went over to see
what had me so disquieted in his regard.
He was gesturing to me frantically...

This had happened before. We both knew
the drill. As I put my arms around him
from behind and began the upward jerks
of the Heimlich maneuver, his arm got
caught in the mechanism of his power-
chair. We began to do a sort of a gruesome
dance... his body struggling not to die...
mine to bring it life...

I screamed at my mom, who was in
her room, "Call 911!!! Dad's choking again!"

I applied pressure to his solar plexus,
just under his ribcage by lifting him firmly.
With each motion saying a calm prayer... "Not today, God. Not today. He's going to LIVE. Today... in Jesus' Name. AMEN."

Then my father spit up the eggs which
had been lodged in his windpipe. His
breathing was ragged. But became regular.
No ambulance would be needed today.

As I looked at the wizened little old man
in the power-chair I realized something.
I had not saved HIS life as much as
HE had saved

MINE.

I may not be much or have much.
But I have him
and my family to help out.

I may never realize my dreams. But God
will always give me another day to try
to live them... a precious Gift...

LIFE.

SO WHO AM I TO THROW THAT GIFT
BACK IN HIS FACE?

So think about it. Perhaps later today
you may see a child run out in front
of a car... and pull him back. Maybe
you'll find a frozen starving kitten...
you'll smile and put a dollar in the hand
of a homeless person who was ready
to give up til your act of kindness made
him reconsider...

Who knows?

The life you save....


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/17/2015