Tell me you don't want me

So I'll leave and never bother you again

...

I've grown tired of your games.

I sway from side to side. Floating, hovering above the ground. My heart beat is starting to slow down. My vision fades subtly. My eyes feel like they're going to pop out of my head. The cold leather coiled around my throat, starts to chafe my skin. No feeling of air inside my lungs. Not breathing feels comfortable, it feels right. It feels peaceful. My mind casually slips away from me. Sweet serenity graces me with a final kiss I've been waiting for. Black. Everything is so fuzzy, and so shifty. I can't see straight. I collect the fragments of my mind. Above me hangs the remains of my neuse, frayed and torn. I lay on the floor. Unbelieving at this sight. This attempt has failed. Hopefully the next won't.

Hanging Ropes

                     Mine heart
                   A solitary room
But of shadows and redundant dust

                      Mine heart
       You've set on a play Judas dart

           The forbidden walls
       Your hanging cute portrait
Every glimpse of you,is a vision doom

               You're killing me
          But the deeps inside me
    Of where sorrowful blood flows
            You pause my pulse

      You leave me with hanging ropes
          You're an aeronaut
You make me fly but with froozen feet

              I'm comfortless
You've brimmed my soul with tormenting maggots
But I shall lie in peace on these ropes,a piece.


Hanging ropes
©Historian E.Lexano(P.h.D)

hanging moments swing
symbolic silence

departed eyes gaze

The truth is turning plastic
And politicians spastic
As they dream up fantastic
Ways to be bombastic.
The anti-intellectuals,
Their rhetoric effectual,
Demand a perpetual
And lucrative processional
To a place they know the score
Where they can amass more
Of money and stores
In disregarding the mores
They were elected for
And continue waging war
Like high-priced political ******.

The truth has no chance
In this genocidal dance
Of unfortunate circumstance
Created to enhance
Resultant happenstance
When, by the seat of his pants
When we happened to glance
Away for a particular moment
And were swamped by the foment
Of eight long years of torment;
Freedoms arteries turned to cement
And any chance of sanity
For American humanity
Got buried in some inanity
About hanging chads and counts
Giving a fool a chance to pounce;
To squeeze the last pure ounce
Of dignity out of the Presidency
By merely taking up residency.

Have you ever scooched so far down in a chair
That you’re not really sitting on the chair anymore
You’re just kind of holding on by your elbows?
That’s like my life right now
It’s a metaphor
And I mean don’t worry, I have strong elbows
I’ve fallen a lot in my life
And I don’t really moisturize there so the skin is pretty dry and has a lot of friction
So I don’t think I’m going to fall off any time soon.

The thing is though if you’ve ever been that low in a chair
Have you?
You can’t really just push yourself back up
There’s nothing to grab on to
Your upper arm is fully extended all the time
So if you want out of that situation you have to sit all the way down
On the floor and then turn around and get up
The thing is, the chair, is a metaphor for my life
And I don’t really want to go down any further to get back up
I don’t want to see what’s down there
I kind of just wish someone would come up behind me
You know a bystander, friend, family member, girlfriend, wife
Grab me by the arm pits and pull me back onto the chair
Then I can stand up on my own from there
I want to stand up on my own, I’m a grown man I have the strength to stand
I’m just metaphorically hanging on by my elbows
To this metaphor chair and I just need a real person
To metaphorically pick me up by my arm pits
And I’ve let you in now on the metaphor part
So it’s probably time I tell you about the literal reason
That I’m in this metaphorically precarious situation
But before I do one more thing
The chair, the metaphor, it’s an office chair on wheels
So you know, when I tell you why I’m scooched down so far you can’t cry
If you cry the ground will get wet and the chair might slip
Or it’s been a bit hot so it might steam and get moisture under my elbow
I might slide off so you can’t cry
It’s super important you don’t clap too hard either,
The vibrations might roll the chair away and I’d fall on the ground
I’m only hanging on by my elbows
So anyway here we go the literal reason
I’m serious though you can’t react too much or I might fall
So please keep your reactions internal for me
Can I count on you?
Can I?
Are you sure?
Okay here goes.
The reason I’m hanging on by my elbows on this chair is
You know what
You’re right,
I shouldn’t risk it.

everyone speaks of going to heaven
"may his soul rest in peace"
acting as if they don't realize
he chose this for himself
conciously decided to take his life
he did not grow wings and fly away
his coffin is not empty
it has a body
and that body has rope marks
around the neck
his hands are cold
his eyes are shut
his organs are slowly rotting away
it is not beautiful
he is not an angel
he is the dead remains
of what once was
and all those saying
"he is in a better place"
have absolutely no proof of their statement
and neither did he,
all he knew was
that no matter what awaited him in the afterlife,
it could be no worse than the life he was living right now
it was not an accident
he did not fall,
he jumped
he chose to die
he chose to die this way
because the pain of death
& the pain of the dead
was nothing in comparison to the pain of life & the living
because it was easier
to hang himself from the hook on the ceiling
than to wake up the next morning
and look at himself in the mirror
he could not run from life
unless he was running towards death
so he chose
to win the race
first place
*once and for all

I swung on the hangman's noose
Feeling the too and fro of others
Moments of death, were my fingers
Gracing a moment of chocking silence.

My digits were decorating a moment
As if my grip was still around the spirt
Of a clutching oblivion that gasped
On tightened desperation.

I swung for a while till my fingers lost
Feeling like that of breath losing life,
Silent was my motion and then I was still.
I left it swinging a circle of life gracing death.

in my mother's basement
once upon a time she ******* a clothes line
though most of the time
the line
was used to hang up
hangers
precariously hooked to a rope becoming less taut
as the years go on

the paradox of garage sale hand-me-downs of broken homes
as bodies for clothes become subtracted they make room for memories
we grow heavier by
as the hangers continue to multiply unused
clothes hangers are sacred
they are ghost as zygotes

back then there were days
I would wear my woven leather belt for an inverted neck tie
on those days
tie the other end to the wooden cross supports in the basement ceiling
then tip-toeing up
on a beat-up old stool
play chicken
a game of chicken with nobody
a side of extra mc chicken sauce for the soul

I wonder now
how if anyone would've wondered
if I had died never really learning how to wear a belt
or how to properly tie a neck-tie
kids today wear their pants too low
and parents back then were way too given to involuntary penance

to up the ante
I would write a list on the wooden beams in the ceiling
each time I got up there
for all the reasons I got up there
in attempt to embellish the exit sign
singing ugly duckling swan song echo
sedated by the attempt
training wheels for Icarus syndrome

it wasn't that my youth was in disillusion
I just never really learned how to measure distance properly
a pair of breaking parents
an unwanted pregnancy
"What's with in arms' reach?"
a game of catch
a game of release
a flight of stairs in one step
"it's not your fault kid
but you're gonna have to get hurt anyway"

funny how when you are teetering on stoic infinity
balanced like an idle pendulum
a noose becomes a life-support system
dance like no one is watching

I don't play those games anymore
my bones have gotten too heavy to bet against
memories I still wish to change
knees too weighted to two-step the precipice
on weekends

and since practicing how to use my legs again
and again
I now prefer walking this earth
wearing my belt around my equator
over drawstrings around my neck

the basement has since been renovated
no more wooden crosses
exposed in the ceiling
I don't play childish games anymore
I just do my laundry there