She sat up, drenched in sweat, panting. A cursory glance out of her window presented nothing but darkness beyond the fluttering white curtains, the cool night air seeping into her bedroom. She shivered and pressed herself further into the blankets, wrapping layers of warmth around her like a fluffy cocoon.
With a forlorn sigh, she tried to coax herself back to sleep, trying her best to ignore the bright red numbers of her alarm clock that flashed a disappointing 4:00 AM. She knew this would be pointless. She could never sleep on this night- this night where she was annually plagued by a steady onslaught of nightmares on the anniversary of that grim event. To fall into the foreboding arms of sleep meant to curl up in a flurry of gaunt eyes and hollowed skin among other things- terrible things that slowly slunk back into the light, try as she might to push them into the back of her mind and deprive them of memory or existence.
The worst thing she dreamt about, though, was his face. It rushed into her consciousness like an angry dark secret with blinding clarity and startling vividness. She counted several prominent wrinkles on the yellowing, sickly skin. His hair was thinning, falling out in wispy clumps. Perhaps what bothered her most was her recollection of the eyes. She had looked into those eyes much like one would peer down into a chasm: knowing that there was a place down there deprived of light or joy or laughter, simply an empty void. It had been painful to look into those eyes and realize that there wasn’t any hope left for him. And so she had held the withered hand connected to the emaciated excuse for a body, and the eyes looked towards her one last time, remorseful and hopeless. Then they had closed and he was gone.

glide the sharpened blade
of a sacrificial knife
up and down my wrists
then up to my throbbing throat

so similar this seems
remembering her fingers
glide across my skin
as we became like the Sabbatical goat

neither her nor I
were either inside or out side
we were as Baphomet
and we did float

brush strokes, of our blood
used to paint the figure we were becoming
something worthy of worship
as our nails dug into eachothers sides

Oh, I could feel her ferocity
trying to get inside of me
Oh, though she could only follow me
as I follow her-like the moon and the tides


her soft lip, whispered something to me
up against my warm throbbing neck
as her hips continued to sway like the seas
and she said something to me that put a shake in my knees,

"I love to feel your heart beating
deep within me, like a serpent's in me
now feel mine on your lips
can you feel us?
Can you feel
when our souls kiss?"

I had to hold on tighter to her
as she did to me
as we spiraled away
into certain bliss

our bodies were no more
nothing but ecstasy we became
boom, bloom, eyes like blackholes
and like nubulas, we came

and there we drifted
within what is us






I am not sure if she ever came back down
her presence now is like a winds gust



so I sit here
with this sacrificial knife

teasing my belief
in tangible life

finally, I get a smile from her
as she stands in front of the sun
an so innocently says,
"Ooh, that looks fun"

"It is,
it's better than pictures."

"Even a mirror?"

"Yes, even a mirror"


"How do you do it?"

"Just breathe, and remember."

"But, what if I bleed?"

"All the better, take a sip and remember."













"We were dead, weren't we?"

"Yes, my love, yes indeed."

How does one's life get so bad that they resent every morning they wake up, cry each and every night and regret every breath they take? I just don't get it. How--why--does this almighty God character let people spiral down so deep in their miserable existences that they want to **** themselves? Why does He let them go through with it if they're going to hell because of it? Isn't He compassionate toward us humans? Doesn't He want us to have eternal life or whatever?

If He knew that so many people would suffer so badly, why didn't he just **** everyone and start over? I'm sure we wouldn't mind an easy life in the Garden of Eden.

I wasn't really going to speak about God, it's just where my thought process took me.

Anyway, really, how does someone get to that point? To the point of jumping off that building, of cutting the artery, of swallowing that myriad of pills they've been saving up, of holding the gun to their heads before pulling the trigger? How does it happen?

I don't know, but I feel like I'm awfully close and I don't like it. If I knew how people got to that point, I could try to avoid it. Alas, I do not. That's what *****: a lot of people don't. And that's why so many people get there without ever realizing where they're headed.

I remember the darkness...
the complete emptiness in my black soul...
the disregard for my own life,
the dream of overcoming, and being victorious,
but dreaming that the only victory was in the defeat...
I remember this now,

I remember the tyranny of self
being bored into the threads of my existence...
where my own psych turned against me.
After years of comrade , it gave up
and turned into self-destruct mode...

but then I saw the light.
it had to be swallowed or injected...
but afterwards I remember feeling the warmth returning to my veins...

some people breathe through tubes....
some eat through straws...
I had to receive my happiness in the form of a pill.
had to feel its bitter sting being injected into my ***...

and now after several months of enjoying the light...
I made the shocking discovery, that
with the light...
comes shadows...

and they are calling me towards them.
growing darker.
growing larger.

and I... find myself slowly slipping into their gripping charm
like a refugee in regression...
returning to his country,
to empty promises...
...
to darkness ...
that ends more than just the day...
to sleep...
that stays for more than just the night