Hi, I'm

little girl, you're a dreamt dancer, a once hopefully ballerina, in a music box that was built at an early age.
bigger life will be reflected back to you, but not for you.

This is my wife,
This is my mother,

young woman, why are you here?
why did you let them do this to you?

I call her Honey.
We call her Mom.

"no, wait, I'm
know me
remember who I am/was," you say.

Honey! Where is...
Mom! Can you...

          , far from the path now.
a maze of thorns and always sickening surprises.

must get the dose right, must make sure the carb count is right, must check that the blood sugar is right for the son who can't do it himself.

life's toss of a coin, suspiciously rigged perhaps? superstition? i don't know, but you're cornered, back to the wall, no railing.

must do all the paper work, must support all of his dreams, must do all of the planning, mustn't have time for yourself, your life.

must continue.

HONey! I need you to...
Mom! Look at...

where have you gone, dreamt dancer?
oh, to the Graveyard.
inside the mind where wild thoughts and hopes and adventure go to pass.

no support, only frayed webbing leading to nowhere, or to venom, sister, brother, "friend".

only you now. and me I guess. unwilling, but an understanding therapist. an angry observer and a tired voice. the daughter to the mother.

Well, what the **** do you want me to do, HONEY!
Mom! Come here!

you're tired, I know. painful sleep and long nights dedicated to other people along with your mind. your body, your bones are load bearing. it's an incalculable weight when caring for others.

Insert Your Name Here:

HONEY! HONEY! HONEY!

I don't know, HONEY! HONEY!

Mom! Mom! Mom!

Hey, Mom!

You swore you'd love me until the end of time
But now the end is getting nearer
And I still don't even see your face
When I look into the mirror

What now I see is shadows
Cast from shaky lights above
Where your little voice cries out
"What once was here was love"

I don't know how to be healthy anymore
and it is starting to scare me.

Except I don't really mean that it scares me,
only that I know it should
and it is slightly unsettling to realize
I don't feel anything about it at all.

So when I say it scares me,
I mean;

I am exhausted.

I mean, I spent 45 minutes staring out the window at nothing instead of writing.

I mean, I set up all of my paints
just so that I can sit here
with blue fingerprints on my thighs
breathing in paint thinner and linseed oil.

I mean, I physically cannot pick up the paintbrush.

I mean, the only thing I ate today was zucchini.

I mean, I don't know how to say any of this.

I mean, I want to talk to you,
always
constantly
but I can't open my mouth.

I mean I am disappearing
and I have no idea how to stop.

Here I am bleeding again
Taken aback by mortal fear.
                     Staring at faith
                   Staged by hope--
Pouring rain on visceral cage–
               The sound of deep
                       Calling to deep.

Repressed feelings buried by time.
Epitaph reads on the forgotten grave:

"Here lies the child now grown.
  His hopes and dreams
       Dashed to pieces.
  This is where the child died."

I often hear the Mystic Keeper
        Calling from night
And tradition calling from artificial light

As I run through scorched barren
                          Fields of doubt.

Walking barefoot over these coals
    Crouching low
                   To hide my eyes

As I run    
         And as I hide    
  From what has already been revealed--
The tombstone says it all.

When I am out on the water
Lost in the Channel fog
I often see fleeting glimpses of
                White cliffs of hope
Like the white cliffs of Dover
Shining on the edge of Melancholy Sea. 
But they often turn out to be
Withered white
     Seeds of religious platitudes.

      And then there is the ready reflection
Of the looking glass
        That often tricks the beholder.
For in it truth is not seen.
What is seen is graffiti of soul
       Hiding the crumbling
                         Cracks of age–

The threshold where
         Sanity meets its end.

Isolation has become
       A shining steel blade
Cutting deep
    Into the heart of hearts.

Nothing lives after amputation.
Depending on emotional prosthetics--
Phantom pain
                  When nothing is there.

But in the midst of these devastations
I am learning to take--

     Howbeit reluctantly--

The hand of trust and grace.
Allowing
            Hope to build
      A fortress for dreams…
Set boundaries better
       Than no control at all.

His love is like a unknown depth, that strangles till she's blind. The truth that he hides in glass and nails, is embedded in her mind.

It chokes her essence, cages her sanity, as his lovers come into view. Now when she sees her reflection, it's of someone she once knew.

His wicked games of dark deceit, truly drive her mad. Why it is she chooses to stay, the answer seems so sad.

They lay intertwined and intimate, on sheets of silky blue. He whispers words of loyalty and love, that she knows in her heart aren't true.

His love is like a demon she craves, it draws in every breath. Even though he breaks her so, to leave him would mean death.