Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Aug 2015 Bobby Ray Bagley
Chaos
Someone once told me
Whenever I was lost
I should look to the stars
They would guide me home
But where are they tonight?
The sky is cloudy and grey
And no stars are in sight
Why aren't they here?
When I need them the most
I'm so, so lost and I need them
*I need them to guide me home
I feel at home
Laying in nothingness is where I belong
No Ray of light to call my own
This darkness comforts me
It subdue me when I'm alone
There's no hiding from it
No begging it to leave
This darkness if apart of me
It's the knife that cut me when I bleed
The dead leaves that fall from there stripped trees
It's the anger that needs to feed
The void that filled an empty heart
It's the stitches that kept it apart
Now I owe it
Cause it owns me
This darkness
This darkness
Is me
think of all the people you've ever met,
and all the conversations that have ever left an impact on you.
think of all the thoughts that those words prompted in you,
and all the actions they led to,
which went and touched more people than you can count.
innumerable words and thoughts,
little cosmic representations of the
souls of people touching us
every.single.day.
your life is forever and inexplicably interconnected with a million others.
forever intertwined, forever in tandem; forever solitary.
And with the first showers
Comes the kind of sadness
Which only half loved lovers
Can feel.
I catch myself getting progressively more angry.
I safely yell at things that don't give 1 iota of emotion in response.
I watch myself getting mad at TV's, cars, computers, even light bulbs!
Most days I am able to 'hang tough' primarily through my own strength,
but partly because it is expected of me.
I've never asked to be anyone's hero
and I certainly know first hand
what a fraud I would be
to ever claim such status when so how many times,
far more than I will ever let on,
I have found myself curled up in the fetal position SCREAMING guttural SCREAMS primal.
I no longer ask the glib question of "Why me?",
when I know the true question is
why not me??
Once I had led a life of figuratively being spoon fed from utensils made of silver,
thriving on that bliss that does indeed come from an existence of ignorance.
Maybe why not me
balances the scales.
Sept. 26 2013 will be the 5 year anniversary that my sweet little boy seemingly fell off the face of the planet.
It hurts so bad I could just scream. SCREAM!

And I do.
At technology.
I scream at my TV with it's crackly surround sound speakers that are going out,
I scream at my car when strange warning icons flash on the dashboard,
I scream when the florescent light bulbs through out my house flicker
and burn out
and S C R E A M E D !!!!! at my computer when in the middle of typing this diatribe
the browser crashes
It got dark early that evening,
as it always does when winter is in full swing
and
the day's sun never quite
manages to ease the chill.  
Moods were equally brisk inside and stung about as sharply as the winds shrieking through the windows.  
My boyfriend
and
I
had been cooped up inside for the last few days.  
The walls
were
closing in,
suffocating us.
Tempers were flaring often that winter,
and
our nerves were especially raw that day.  
He had been in my face
barking orders from the moment he woke up.  
I tried to bite my tongue but my tongue would often betray me.

     "Hey, you gonna go get me some cigarettes?"  
I knew by the tone of his voice, it wasn't really a question.
     "No, I don't have time yet,"
I replied.
     He'd spent the whole day in the recliner wearing the same ***** t-shirt, boxer underwear
and
smelly socks as
he had on when it had started snowing days ago.  
He hadn't gone out job hunter for the last couple of weeks.
My      life      had      become      relegated      to      cleaning      up      after      him.  
It wouldn't have been so bad
if I hadn't moved so far out
into the country,

relying on a drunk

for my sole source of companionship.


He sat in his chair chain smoking cigarettes,
watching me as I folded the laundry,
gulping down one beer after
another,
loudly crushing each can that he emptied.  
     Bite my tongue, bite my tongue, I reminded myself.  
I continued folding jeans.  
It kept me from glaring at him,
seething with gritted teeth.  
I dont think I could have hated anyone more at that moment.
     "Come on, ******!"  
Go get me some cigarettes,
he bellowed.

     Something snapped.  
I threw the basket of jeans at him.  
They scattered across the room.  
I came toward
him.  
I balled up my hands.
     "What the hell is wrong with you?  Don't start with me!  I don't want to hear it,
he yelled.
     His words had no effect on me.
He cowered his head with his arms,
lowering them towards his lap.  
My fists
were clinched,
aiming anywhere on his body.  
Faster and faster.  
He made the mistake of looking up.  
I felt the
punch hit his right cheekbone.  
His backhanded slap landed on my right ear.  
After that, all sound was gone,
replaced with a ringing silence.  
I couldn't hear what was coming out of his moving lips,
nor out of my own.
     "I am sick of this!  I am sick of this!"
I roared.  
     "I can't live like this anymore.  
     I am sick of you mooching off of
     me!"
     In one swift motion,
he had managed to pull himself up
and
knock me down off of my feet.
     I don't know why I scrambled on hands
and
knees over to the car keys on the coffee table,
but instantly,
they
became priceless treasure.  

The all day beer binge caused him to swagger,
and he landed on top of me.  
He tried to pry the keys out of my grip,
knocking the coffee table over,     spilling cigarette butts
     and
     the pile of folded
             whites.
i feel sometimes that i should get a "get out of jail free card",
like....ive been through the worst day of my life...
when police told me he was dead,
murdered
and now i should get immunity from any and all other crap that this life has to offer,

but it doesnt work that way.
she always sent me butterfly stuff
when i was feeling down
and now
whenever i see one
i feel like it is her
telling me that she loves me
...so when i see a butterfly
i whisper to it, "I love you too, Mom"
Next page