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If i told you i needed help
would you listen?
Or would your silence
Echo off the walls.
See my life is like a car,
Sometimes moving fast
And other times so **** slow.
If i told you i feel hurt inside
would you not just hear
but listen
to what i said
I need someone to care.
Im tired of trying to fight alone.
Im tired of trying to survive at a table for one.
If i told you
I cry all over my body
And each tear is a knife
And they are leaving scars on my flesh,
Would you cut me a bandage,
Sop up my blood,
Or leave me to bleed out.
If i told you
I was alone and my demons are taunting me
would you get me out
Or would you keep walking
or keep scrolling...
Im not begging for attention,
But one cannot be expected to be alone and silent like a life long detention.
If i told you
I was ready to confess everything
Come clean from my secrets,
Strip myself naked so you could see my imperfections
would you care even the slightest bit
Or are you so selfish
And so ignorant
To walk on
And leave this person to die.
If i told you i was ready to die
would you blame it in cliche,
Or believe it and save me from damnation

Its time to think.
It could be up to you
This isnt just my world,
Its yours, too
and dont you want to be
somebody
To someone?
I need you.
Because all of these "if i told you's
Are becoming
**im telling you
Help people. Dont leave them alone. Provide help. Depression is very real, and it is all around us. Repost if this means something to YOU
Jon Sawyer Jan 2018
A new year is come and you're still not gone.

I can feel you creeping up on me. You feed on my energy, yet, I cannot see you. I'm glad I can't see your face.

You smell like an old forgotten rot underneath a seam of doors hiding the old death of forgotten men. Your cousin looms, taunting me to acknowledge your presence.

You climb on my back--you've caught up to me.

I've tried running, it doesn't help. You live under my shadow; you're quiet like him too.

I can hear the smack of your lips graze across my consciousness, your breath--icy. You touch my eyes and they freeze without freezing. The hairs on the back of my head hurt because they stand on end amidst your frozen breath. You make your move and whisper icily into my ear,

. . . . You're nothing.

I almost agree.

. . . . No one loves you.

My wife does! And my daughter too!

. . . . No one wants to hear you speak.

Fine, I'll shut up. I look into a mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My icy stare sends chills to my bones. Is that really me?

. . . . Yes, you're dead.

Sometimes I feel like it, yeah.

. . . . Nothing matters.

Finally, we agree on something.

. . . . It would be better if you just weren't here.

I begin to cry.

. . . . Remember your daughter, here's a picture.

She's so beautiful. I cry some more.

. . . . You will fail her.

. . . . You have failed her.

. . . . I will consume her.

. . . . You perpetuated this all on your own.

. . . . You're a fraud, seeking pity.

. . . . You're a sorry person, aren't you?

. . . . Feel that burning inside you? This is what happens when you let in the dark passenger.

. . . . I shall consume you, too.



. . . . --AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.



Yes, it is my fault. Like the fault line in the earth's crust, my mind splits in twain.

The excitement ends when I've become drunk with madness, not seeing the light around me. I sleep a little, contemplating all that I convinced myself.

In the morning the sun is out, shining through the window. You're still sleeping though, dear dark passenger. I try not to wake you. I seek the sun hoping you will disappear and take your darkness with you, but you persevere, keeping your hands at the ready until I am vulnerable again, waiting to make my dance to the tune of hopelessness--always just, "one more time."
6 January 2018 - My take on bipolar depression, the dark passenger. My biggest struggle is what it does to me, using my daughter as a pawn to dig the deepest abyss my imagination can create; I cast myself in. She's both my shining star and my worst despair, because I fear the dark passenger will take her, too.
Remus  Feb 2015
Pronouns
Remus Feb 2015
"Look at my beautiful girl."

This title is thrown at me
and I find it hard to
breathe.
You label me a girl,
I know you know no better
but it still wounds me
deeply.

"Look at* her, she's so pretty!"

You should know better
than to call me this
pronoun.
I asked kindly that you
use different pronouns
but you throw these
pronouns at me in
a taunting manner.

"You were born a girl so you are one."

I was born a human with
female genitalia.
I do not classify as a
girl or a boy.
I classify more as me,
as an
agender.

Please don't yell or shout
or tell me I'm wrong
because then you're saying
you know me better than
I know myself and
that may be true
but I don't believe
it is so.
OnlyEggy Aug 2011
Twisting thoughts of a bed left yearning
Stretching across sheets that thirst for a touch
Embracing blankets that cover your naked body
Taunting ****** outlines begging for me to clutch
Beckoning pillows call out as they frame a pretty face
Wandering thoughts as a dimming light begins the learning

Twisting, I shed the clothes left yearning
Stretching sheets smile as they accept my touch
Embracing blankets warm me with the heat of your body
Taunting shapes shift from two to one under a lover's clutch
Beckoning lips begin to prepare for the reception of your beautiful face
Wandering hands of ours begin their journey of ****** learning
(AIP)
Perri Jul 2017
it started at five
I tried and I tried
I did not understand
why people wanted me to die
my mother
the others
taunting me
haunting me
I was curious
red and shy
full of hope
I would harm no fly
please, just tell me
why,
why?!

next thing I know
its junior high
this is the time
where we all have to try
god forbid
you don't fit in
don't show weakness
don't let them see you cry
the taunting
the haunting
on your back
a bullseye
spoke of being a friend
in a week
you're alone to mend
hope for the future
is running dry
people questioning
why I'm still choosing
to be alive

highschool was a mess
so college will be my high
a phrase I told myself
unknowingly full of lies
again and again,
I try to make friends,
at first full of grace
then evil behind their eye
taunting
haunting
I will never escape
why, why
do people push me to die

now I'm twenty-five
and I let out a painful sigh
there is nothing left
I am drained
of all emotional supplies
who I call "friends"
wasting my time
it worked, everybody!
all your taunting
all your haunting
it worked,
because here I am
just praying that I die
One day, I would love to make even just one friend who is genuine and empathetic, and will reciprocate the friendship. It is lonely when you are the target out of your group of "friends".
Ricky Rose  Dec 2011
Kisses
Ricky Rose Dec 2011
Here we are just me and you our emotions boiling like stew for each other as we gaze at one another. I approach you standing before you in ****** thought. Studying your beautiful **** figure so innocent in your taunting  poise. I give you my crooked smile with a raised brow. Wanting to show you if not everything I know how. Everything that's not allowed. Now I take you boldly and without warning close to me.

Pressing my lips to yours overlapping each others. My lips almost curl to yours as I enclose over your mouth like a puzzle piece fitting in place. I close slightly to interlock our mouths passionately head tilted to complete the exchange. My tongue exploring your mouth teasing your tongue to play. Ever so long we kiss as we wrap our arms tightly around each other. Not wanting to let go.

Inevitably my arms loosen only to grab your sides my hand slipping down beneath your pants swaying slowly as a tree limb in the faint wind. Fingers expanding apart into your ******* like the tentacles of a sea creature over your patch of ***** hair above the sweet lips of your ******. Longest finger going threw the folds feeling your **** harden. You start to moisten with every touch I give to you playing with your *****. I stop only to have my lustful kisses go to your cheek, on your neck my lips as a suction cup feeling the warm pules of the blood beating in your jugular vain.  Tasting the salty sweat on your skin ******* the blood to your skins surface I leave my mark as a vampire on your neck. My **** hardens unbarring wanting to escape the enclosure of my jeans. I push you on the bed of seduction caused by your temptress ways!  We feverishly tear off one an others clothes all while caressing and pressing ourselves to each other.

My eyes exploring your **** body every curve and shape it brings so lovely in its beauty. It's form can not be duplicated. I stare into your eyes hands at each of sides the prettiest face I've ever seen on a girl. I left your head close to me as I lay over you. My lips going for more of you. My body nudging between your legs you spread them apart slightly I balance over you as if I was readying myself for push ups. We can't stop making out I go to your ear kissing your lobe flicking and nipping the bottom of your ear with my tongue.

My body slides down a little further as I explore you. Going to the finest breast Ive seen. Shape just right I circle  my hand around and over it feeling your ******* hard between my fingers. I massage them firmly and lightly. Kneading them in my hand I start to Kiss and suckle them playing with your ******* in my mouth. Teasing them ******* on hard and softly with the hot and cool air as I breath and blow on them.

I raise up a little kissing further down your body as your legs spread more before me. I adventure to your belly kissing your belly button in a playful manner tickling you. Hearing your cute giggles laughing so soundly sweet. Now at the entrance of the ***** I french kiss your ****** in a romantically way. My lips pressed to your *****. Licking you rubbing my tongue through the folds and over the pearl that is your ****. Turning my head back and forth as I bury my face more between your thighs as you push my face up to it wanting me. You lift up spinning around to sit on my face. Sliding your self to and fro as your ***** mounted on my lips. Thighs against my ears. I Lick and lick  kiss and kiss in all manner of ways I **** on your ****. Turning over you grab my **** kissing up an down the shaft of my ****. Kissing the head of my ***** your mouth engulfs my ****. ******* on me rubbing me squeezing my ***** with your hand playing with me only as you know how. I continue to make out with your special spot while grabbing your *** cheeks and spanking you playfully. entangling around like two serpents mating. I have you down back on the bed.

My **** hard as its ever going to be in this moment of lust, passion, and ecstasy. I insert myself and enter you sliding my **** in the entrance of the begging of life. Giving you my love and tenderness. Feeling your warm wet ****** around my hot ****. You gasp and moan inhaling and exhaling with every push and release of me in you. Faster and faster I go exploring your insides every which way probing you with every inch. We are at a rhythm of love making. Kissing caressing my movements are like a crazed caterpillar crawling in its way. I tug at your hair as I'm going back and forth inside you. Pounding vigorously against you more and more.

We spin around once more to have you ride me. Back forth up and down. I buck you like a wiled horse. Lean up to you kissing you between your breast. Playing with them once more. In the moment of ****** you ****** uncontrollably scratch my back. We turn over and I lay you back down once more. Never exiting you keeping that good rhythm inside you. Alas I pull out as you can't take no more only to roll you over on your back side and protrude your tight ***. My **** swelling once more. You tighten your *** cheeks while I'm inside you again. I rigorously pound against you as I did in your ******. My hands massaging your back as I press against you. Leaning over to kiss and cress your back with my face. I pull your hair with one hand playfully. With the other I massage your neck. Now with both hands I go to your shoulders and pull your body closer to mine. I *** in your *** as I came in your *****. Our breath exasperated from the pleasures of love we muster up the very little energy we have to shower and cleanse one another. So we can lay and cuddle in our bed of love with a kiss to fall asleep.
Grace Jordan  Aug 2013
Bipolar
Grace Jordan Aug 2013
Bipolar.

The toxic word flickers across the blue screen, taunting my tears into reckoning. Everything makes sense now. Now I know each time my feelings crash there is no reason, no problem, no answer. Just disorder. My disorder. It’s swirling in my veins, intoxicating me like a drug, and sometimes I like it.

Each manic moment is incomprehensible perfection, with I as the center of its universe. The world is mine to own, the Gods mine to control. Every movement is unstoppable, the energy seeping out of my very pores. Words come easily; all I am is a flowing expression of the beauty within. Nothing is above me, all are below. I am flawless. Why can’t everyone be so perfect?

Yet each depressed crash sends me spiraling into a darkness I have never known. My nails become bitten, my hair a tangled mess. Every turn I find myself nothing but alone, no one around to notice or care or even see. They are better, everything’s better, as long as it’s without me.

I am a cyclical monster, luring in my prey before dragging it into the pits of my own personal hell. Every shattered shard refracts inviting light, yet they cut deep and only capture people in a lethal web. I am breakable, unfixable. Every shade of me I thought I understood is now a vague gray. Is this smile mine? Are these tears real? Am I feeling pain or is it just the chemicals and synapses dancing haphazardly in my brain, concocting this uncontrollable body that I do not know?

I cannot hinder my blood from screaming for help, but my heart cannot tell what my lips refuse to speak. Lips lie when I try to hide, the habitual sin I can never break. People must be punished for their sins. Locked within my prison, kept without my food, begging to be unchained yet pleading to cement my sentence. A prisoner cannot **** when they are dead.

He asks to help, but he is ignorant to the truth. My arms pull him close while my heart shoves him far away, dooming my flicker of a fantastical romance before it begins. It shoves them all away. The choice is shove or break. No one deserves this, the swirling vortex of uncertainty, depression, mania, unknown. How could I break them too? The only paths before me are to lose them or hurt them. Losing them would **** me; hurting them would **** me. My heart will be murdered either way. How inevitable it is for me to be dead.

This disorder is not terminal, yet its killing me quietly, so slowly, and forcing me to feel alone in even the most crowded room. To become an alien in my own world. They want to save me, but they don’t understand, she doesn’t understand, I am too afraid to understand. It won’t be spoken. Only on paper can my iron heart ease, only alone can I say what I know is real.

Bipolar.
GaryFairy Dec 2013
I have been meaning to meet
seeming to seek
a new way
i have been leaning to peek
meaning to greet
a new day

i have been wanting to see
dawning for me
a bright light
i have been taunting the free
daunting for me
a slight fight

i have been pulling the blind
fooling the time
a ****** fate
i have been looking to find
footing of mine
to stand straight
Danielle Rose Feb 2013
She was dancing on the edge with a giggle
Teasing and taunting him
with the danger of all he loved to be lost
Careless
Reckless was her exsistence
and he looked on wearily
but kept his distant
Pleading
"Please let her fall I've grown so tired of this"
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.i might have been an *******, on many occasions and with many instances of it being true... but attempting to take someone's life? even i couldn't be such a ******* in the worst of probable instances; no, i'm pretty sure we were doing the "sleeper game", and like i once asked myself cognitively, 'what will be the last song i'll ever hear?' well... it wasn't good morning, or godless, or muhammad... it was... sleep... from the 13 tales of urban bohemia album; befitting, don't you think?

there's no point investing in
the current narrative,
given, that, the moderns
do not entertain the notion
of a dialectics...
    personally i don't see
the point...
or a, point...
          how can there be
debate "concerning",
a, "freedom" of speech,
when one side speaks,
the other side listens,
and then exercises authority
over the former side,
that abolishes their,
"freedom" to continue discourse?
that's not a, "freedom"...
that's... taunting
for the sake of taunting
and subsequent obliteration...
this?
  this particular piece?
i'm not talking...
    i have a cat sleeping
in my bed, in a fetal
position like an alien embryo,
and i'm taking?
who's talking?!
hearing voices in your head?
oh don't worry...
whoever is in charge
will gravitate to moving on
the one politicized medical
condition, schizophrenia,
as an excuse to cage you...
i know... i was also uneasy
when it came to making
a protest...
and guess what...
i made the right accusations...
but i hear of no law suit...
kinda figures, if i'm not being
sued, "merely" labelled
mentally ill...
  hence the... perpetual silence
surrounding my claim...
i can eve give you the details...
he said it was Salvia...
  a south american hallucinogenic...
and he said he hallucinated
riding an elephant,
in India...
         and he also encouraged
the driver of the car to smoke
**** which included almost
veering of the road...
and prior to that fateful day,
we went to a party,
and he made marijuana brownies...
and i donned a cowboy hat
and posed for a picture
like some Buddha with slit
eyes...
         and his friend encouraged
me to do a, "sleeper" while listening
to some Dandy Warhols',
song?
coin toss:
either Muhammad,
  Good Morning...
                    or Godless...
  "sleeper"?
when you get high,
lie down...
  and have two speakers on each side
of your head
blasting music...
a gimmick, a revision of
the concept of headphones...
where?
Canterbury... with a good view
of the cathedral...
the next day...
   spring frost... lovely tinge on
the cathedral from the sunrise...
also went to a bookshop
in Canterbury...
lovely atypical market / cathedral
town narrow streets...
what book did i buy?
inevitable revolutions:
the united states in central america,
by walter lafeber...
so i guess i must be mad...
given that i remember so many details...
regarding the day
i experienced a psychotropic
poisoning,
experienced a brain hemorrhage...
with my face...
melting on the...
here's a problem...
was it the left hemisphere or the right?
i'm not sure...
left?
or right?
   but the sensation of being ingested
by the sofa, and having
difficulty breathing...
with his friend...
as i drowned...
    imitating riding a
Lego-land choo-choo train...
and the fear in his eyes,
the eyes of: someone who failed
to ****** someone
but at the same time fearful
of the intended act?
      i should be dead for...
oh... 21... i'm 32 now...
11 years...
         i might be an alcoholic,
but i have a memory like an elephant...
and i'd believe all the crap
i've heard over the past years...
but if they only drove me to
the hospital...
   out of a simple human empathy...
instead, i was driven home...
i'm surprised they didn't smother me
after witnessing me get up,
and get 4 shots to the head
of my consciousness retracting
from the hemorrhage...
as they recalled back to me,
i said: i'm looking for the 4 other Matthews.
but i'm not a rat...
i am waiting for karma...
i played happy birthday on
the guitar on one of his birthdays...
and i'm guessing...
my sweet sweet love...
Ilona, that russian *****...
hey... she proposed,
she chose the engagement ring,
and then she broke it off!
is behind all of this,
i'm guessing, thanks to social media,
they ****** and she complained
how she was planning to enslave
me by becoming pregnant...
baby... i was so going to propose
you donning a latex **** suit
to extend on the ******...
and he being a Muslim...
and all things quasi-Irish
with regards to my advice to her,
poor thing, only 19...
hey... get an abortion...
   was the Mullah in a bright
white turban, ready to save a damsel...
but i thought that abortion
was legal in England?
oh hell.. pro life and ****...
but a 19 year old?
so why didn't she move to London
with me?
  i had a job here... there was no
prospect for me back in Edinburgh!
   ah... two flats in St. Petersburg...
but i guess that's how law & justice works
in England...
i'm a ruined drunk,
he's a son of a radiologist
             and a mother working
in the perfume avenues of a John Lewis...
my father is a respect industrial
roofer,
   my mother is a housewife...
i guess... i guess me being a boorish
drunk and he becoming an esteemed
corporate lawyer is karma...
   i wish him all the best...
but his children?
   what my parents experienced when
the circus came to town...
all the possible misery,
in the whole, entire, world.

but coming back to current affairs...
there's no point,
absolutely none,
in expressing a, "freedom" of speech,
since expressing such
a "freedom",
is not met with an engagement
in dialectics...
none!
   so why bother...
let's join the four horsemen,
with ***** on either side of our
eye-sockets...
and just charge forward
like a hurricane might,
mindless and in perpetuation
of complete, and utter,
destruction...

i'm up for that explanation
with regards to an exit
policy,

mind you,
happiness could savor
a peace of mind...
but sarcastic humor,
once upon a time...
also could;
as it does...
dutiful to expecting
the final closure
of relying
on the uttermost,
relief.
Felix Sladal Apr 2017
Yawning mouth of the city beckons
Glittering jagged teeth tearing into
Passing souls
Walking on slick black tounges
Sand beaten breath fogs windowed eyes
The beast we come to love
Even as we live incased in it's cavities
The plaque in the grime of eroding gums

When did you last brush your teeth
Your buildings, starting to turn gray
Your tongue a tad flavorless
Do you grow old, fat, and tired?
Or is that just us?

Changes float on the breeze so subtle
You'd never see them unless you left
People slowly turning to dust
Blowing away
But everything still stands
As if nothing ever happened
We live our lives in nooks and crannies
Ghosts pressed between the glass
Tiptoeing enamel streets

Plush gold chairs and minty fresh
Oh peppermint fresh
Rain trickled saliva slips over your
swinging silk face
Breath, taunting tints of lavender
Your back is straight
Stressed crowsfeet pupils shine
Wake up tomorrow to find today
Your eyes are brown but green
Your mouth is wide but tight
Your grin not as cheap as the others

Everyone starts to bleed together
All traits the same
So very different
You weren't drinking mint
Nor lavender
Freeze frame in memory
Pick and choose what we see today
Who to be yesterday
Next week pickle plum I'll jump through a fire just to feel me, feel you

We're running from something
Day to day
Feels like time, might be ourselves
Your shoulders are curved, the slightest of slouches
Your eyes are oh so green and teeth so straight
Thin lips and a long face
Once opon a time I almost knew you
But not today not ever
Self chained straining towards freedom
But happiness wrinkles you cheeks
Self imprisonment won't bruise the will
Don't listen to me, your far more free than I'll ever be
Whistle to the stars
Shrug your shoulder at life's questions
Look it in the eyes with your peridot irises, tell it you've got this
I wish I know what you were drinking
Rainwater and honey

Your eyes are weary brown
Rosy cheeks blush on bronze
Hair shifts to straw spun gold
You haven't aged but I feel so old
Going places while I stand still
Doesn't feel the reverse though that's the truth, if only in theory
You paint life, I paint paper
I maybe younger but I'm wilting faster.
Is it wrong that I wanted to kiss you
For a millisecond and no more
Atune to a time warp lost in free space

Green eyes Brown
Rigged lines graceful limbs
I'm a overcooked noodle
With a halfcooked plot
And everyone seem so put together
I'll poor the pesto on myself and call
me done.
Eugene OR some time near me birthday 2016
Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
THE STORY OF SARA

OR A REFLECTION ON OURSELVES

Ayad Gharbawi

Chapter 4: THE HALLOWED PURIFICATION PROGRAMME




  One night, Omar began to thunder on:
  "No more of the disgusting concepts and ideas created by the Pigs! We should eliminate from our minds every single Pig that is influencing you, and I must say to you all, that I'm not seeing any progress."
  The audience suddenly went all quiet.
  Our leader was not satisfied with our emotional progress.
  We were not purifying our minds in a manner and speed that was satisfactory to the Great Noble Leader Omar.
  "I am looking at you all. I see you; yes, I, Omar, see each one of you. Your eyeballs seem to me to be unsure of what's behind them – I mean, your brains."
  Omar's voice began to talk in a tone that was almost a whisper, whilst the vast audience strained their ears to catch his every precious word.
  "And inside your brains lies our minds. Well, I'm talking about your minds, my friends. I'm not seeing progress. Yes, you do this riot; you **** this Pig; you burn this Pig school – and all of these acts are crucial to our holy cause. But, what about you yourselves? What about your own minds? Maybe you, too, are tainted with some of the Pig mentality yourselves? Now, how about that? Yes? What do you think?"
  The audience gasped.
  Omar began to raise his voice again.
  He was taunting this audience.
  Mocking them.
  Sarcastic.
  "Why, you really are telling me, that you think and feel and believe, that you have the right to **** Pigs?"
  At this question, Omar stopped.
  The audience gasped louder.
  I knew what they were thinking.
  Is our Great Noble Leader questioning our faith in him and in the cause itself?!
  He screamed, almost blowing away the microphones!
  "Why, who gives you the right to be soldiers in this unforgiving, merciless and ferocious war we are waging every day against vastly superior forces? I'll tell you 'who' gives you that right."
  The audience waited in tense anticipation at our leader's answer.
  It was so silent in this vast stadium, you could hear a pin fall.
  "What gives every man, woman and child the right to be a soldier in this brutal struggle is when that soldier has the purest heart and mind. It's as simple as that. And to be 'pure', my friends tonight, is the one who has not a shred, and does not have one ounce of Pig matter. That's right, you heard. Pig matter. Any dog that has even a fleeting Pig thought, is a Pig him or herself!"
  The audience now began to whisper among themselves.
  They seemed to be receiving the light from the words being delivered by Omar.
  Many were saying among themselves, that, 'Yes, we do have Pig thought and ideas and emotions and feelings in our hearts.'


  Omar continued, in a soft voice, after allowing his audience to digest his last words:
  "Yes, that does come as a surprise to you, doesn't it?"
  "Yes!" roared back the audience who now fully submitted to his question and answer.
  "So, I ask you – who are you?" he screamed!
  And the crowds immediately screamed:
  "Pigs! Pigs! Pigs! We are ***** Pigs!"
  Again and again, the crowd seemed to be going a little bit hysterical.
  Some began tearing off their clothes, as if they were trying to 'cleanse' themselves from their Pig thoughts!
  "That's right!" screamed back Omar, furiously and wildly staring with those maniacal eyeballs, like some trapped, ferocious animal, at his audience:
  "Why you yourselves are Pigs! That's right! Come on now! So, what are going to do about you? If you give yourselves the 'right' to **** Pigs, then why don't I have the same 'right' to order my best elite troops to **** you too?"
  "Save us! Save us!" screamed back the audience.
  "Save yourselves!" Omar screamed right back.
  "We are filthy! We are Pigs!" the audience began to insult themselves in all sorts of words and phrases.
  At this point, Omar was shrieking!
  "That's right! You are filthy Pigs yourselves, aren't you now?”
  The audience continued to scream and you couldn’t understand what they were saying anymore.
  Omar went just as suddenly silent.
  He just looked at his followers, and allowed them the need to express themselves.
  After some twenty minutes o this chaotic screaming, Omar became impatient and quickly motioned his followers to be quiet.
  Silence.
  He continued, with a soft tone:
  “So, I hereby announce the following."
  Once again the entire audience become tense.
  What was Omar going to order now?
  "I hereby allow you all, and I mean all our soldiers and not just those sitting with me here in this stadium; I order all of our soldiers to purify themselves of every Pig matter. You will have three months. And then, after that term ends, we will establish courts, to decide wether you have succeeded in cleaning yourselves from these cancerous and murderous feelings and emotions you have. Our courts and our hallowed judges will next decide, case by case, wether you are clean or not!"


  Later, when it appeared that our mostly pathetic, ***** and sick 'soldiers' were simply unable to cleanse their minds from the Pig establishment in three months – since they had no instructions or guidance - Omar, in his eternal grace, patience and humanity, decided to help them, by allowing classes to be held where one teacher would help each and everyone to 'cleanse' themselves.
  Personally, I thought that our Great Noble Leader was decidedly wrong in being so gracious to these so-called soldiers, because, in my opinion, this lot were not worthy of being in our party, and they ought to have been immediately expelled.
  "But, Sara," Omar would gently explain to me in his humble office, surrounded by his most trusted officers, "if we were to purge every undesirable element in the party, I would be left with practically nobody!"
  I took in his gracious words. and then thought about it.
  Why, he was correct, yet again, in his thinking!
  Indeed, if we did purify our party from the filthy ones, we would be left with little more than a handful of true, faithful and clean combatants and that, obviously, meant our self-destruction!
  "You're right, Sir; as usual, I think too hastily. That's why you are the only leader for us; my God, if I, God forbid, were leader, why I would have destroyed the party and our eternally holy cause years ago!"
  "Indeed, indeed, my dear," Omar softly said, but he seemed to have already forgotten my words, and, he was already somewhere else, thinking deeply about another problem.
  And so I, of course, went silent, so as not to disturb him.


  "You know what?" suddenly he asked me, his eyes sparkling with passion.
  "Yes, Sir?"
  "These 'classes' I was talking about. You've studied psychiatry, and I believe that we must use psychiatric methods to purify my subjects."
  Suddenly a strange feeling overcame me; I found the word describing the party members as 'my subjects' a little bit odd.
  Also, didn't Omar call psychiatry a Pig subject for all those years? Indeed, he said everything they taught us at university was evil, and that even the institutions of universities were dens of evil. And, yet, now, he was asking me to help him using what I was learning from my university days?
  "Yes, I can see the path I am talking about Sara. We need to get psychiatrists, like yourself, to tear out, yes, tear out, the filthiness in our party members."
  Suddenly, he got quite excited by his visions.
  "That's right, my dearest one, Sara. Yes, and I appoint you to supervise this programme of purification. That's right, and I shall call it by its simplest name, the 'Programme of Purification'!"
  Suddenly, I got excited as well, forgetting my previous disturbance.
  "That would be such a heroic move on your part, Sir." I gleefully told Omar.
  I feel that not only was he the saviour for our nation, but that he was also a personal saviour for myself.
  "Yes, I see my vision where it is leading us to. My dear Sara; you will set up these classes and you will bring the psychiatrists and you will purify the ***** elements in our classes."
  I got nervous again, for I just realized the magnitude of the job Saviour Omar was demanding I do for him!
  "And therefore, I Omar call for an immediate ceasefire against all Pigs!"
  Everyone in the office stood there in a state of shock!
  A ceasefire against the damnable Pigs?!
  Holy Omar could, of course, read our faces and smiled.
  "But Holy Sir," one officer softly asked, "how can we have a ceasefire against the most evil forces in the history of our country?"
  "And, Sir," asked another officer, "if we stop our eternally pure and humanistic battle against the disease-ridden pigs, wouldn't the latter take that as a sign of weakness on our part?"
  Next, saviour Omar raised his hand.
  Everyone went silent.
  He looked at us.
  There were no words from his mouth.
  We waited humbly.
  Geniuses take their time to formulate the right structure of words, not because they don't know what to say, but they do so that we fools can understand what they have to say.
  It is out of concern for us.
  Omar finally spoke:
  My clean, pure soldiers. We must declare a ceasefire, for I have no other choice. As a humanist, how can I allow impure elements from our party to fight and **** Pigs, when they themselves are still 'impure'? Where is the morality in that?"
  Suddenly, I couldn't help but feel such fanatical love for this man; I can only describe his man and his words, as pieces of Heaven coming down to us inferior beings, and if we are decent, then we must grab every shred and piece that he utters, so we can, in turn, save our impure souls.
  "Beautiful thoughts indeed, my Gracious Leader!" I said.
  Then I turned to the listeners:
   "What's wrong with the rest of you? If, one of our 'own' party members was impure, then by what right does he and she have to fight and **** Pigs? We must cease all out activities, until we have a purified party! It's simple and obvious!"
  Thereupon followed silence.


I was speaking the obvious.
  Finally, a voice spoke:
  "So, how exactly are these psychologists going to 'purify' the 'minds' of our party members?"
Good question – one that I had not thought about.
  Indeed, how, and by what means, were we going to purify the undesirables?
  And then, just at the right moment, Omar spoke his words:
  "Yes, that is a great question. There's no use giving orders that no one knows how they are to be carried out. You see, it will not only be the job of psychiatrists who will purify the filthy ones. No, we will force the filthy ones, to ***** out every filthy thought, feeling, and idea; and we shall make sure that all these impure thoughts and feelings and convictions will be screamed out of their minds."
  At that last phrase, once again, I found myself pausing and thinking, what an odd thing to say!
  I got lost in my thinking.
  After all, Omar always, and I mean always choose his words carefully, for he would always make it a point to be so careful with the choice of his words, so that his credibility would never be in doubt and so people do understand that that he means exactly whatever he says.
  I must confess, I was completely confused.
  On the one hand, I had such deep reverence, complete love and a total need for Omar, and then, there was a part of me, that simply didn’t understand what he was talking about!
  I remembered, once more, how everything was so nice and easy and simple with Tony.
  But, I assume, that Tony was a general doctor, whereas Omar was a surgeon, and so, with Omar, we had to face a far more complex situation.
  "What do you mean by that, Sir?" asked one of the officers, waking me up from my thoughts.
  "I mean, it shall be the duty of every party member to purify every other party member. We must all be psychiatrists! This will be done, of course, under the supervision of the leader psychiatrist in each class. He or she will guide you, as to how to get every party member to rip out every Pig attribute in our party members. It's as simple as that."
  At that, Omar gestured to indicate that the meeting was over, and so we left.
  I kept thinking that his idea was, I'm sure, utterly brilliant, but how in practice were going to do this?


  He left his office far too soon.
  We had too many questions to ask, and yet, by leaving us, Omar was, in effect, giving us a 'programme' to do, but without clear, precise orders.
  So, how were we going to carry out his orders?
  What did he mean that 'we must all become psychiatrists'!
  That was absolutely absurd!
  Untrained people cannot simply 'become' psychiatrists, even if they are 'led' by psychiatrists – or to use Omar's words, to be 'guided' by psychiatrists.
  So, Omar's idea seemed to me, to be really a recipe for a catastrophe for our party.
  The more I thought of it, the more I found my mind asking myself the question: why was Omar insisting on this 'purification programme' in the first place?
  Couldn't the party and its members simply continue the struggle, without having to enforce this ridiculous programme?
  And didn't Omar realize that his insistence on us carrying out his orders to do the purification programme, was going to cause absolute chaos, disruption and ultimately mass desertions and expulsions from our party?
  In other words, Omar's sudden 'need' to 'purify' our own members seemed to me to be a self destructive act that would seriously damage the party.


The ceasefire announcement was barely noticed by the Pigs – which came as a shock to many of us.
  The government didn't seem to actually care at our ceasefire announcement.
  Indeed, the Pigs declared that what they termed as the 'social troubles' was, in effect, 'over' and so, therefore, the country could breathe a sigh of relief, and people could now be 'happy'.
  I didn't believe what the government was saying.
  I was of course nauseated by the hypocrisy of the Pig leaders, because, their pronouncements were lies, as usual, and they would of course, continue their merciless war against us, while we had to cease our fire.
  Yes, Leader Omar was probably correct, but I was **** frustrated, because it seemed to me, for the first time since I joined the party, that the Pigs may now well win the struggle.
  It was obvious to me!
  For how on planet earth could we 'win' a war, when we were not allowed to fight, while the same eternal enemy would continue his war against us?!
  Also, to be very honest, I'm not sure that we could 'purify' Pigs in the first place.
  It seemed to me to be a contradiction!
  I would simply have to swallow whatever Leader Omar ordered us to do.
  God knows, he's proven to be correct every time before, and maybe, he will confound us once more with his superior wisdom.
  Have faith, Sara, have faith!
  Never question the Great Leader, for he is superior to all of us; after all, that’s why he’s the ‘Great Leader’ in the first place!
  Keep the faith!
  How can we understand what a su

— The End —