v V v

Apr 2014

Q

I'll never admit it
If only to spare my own
But somedays I run a knife across my wrist
When I'm alone.
I never break the skin
There's not a drop of blood
But I'm considering, thinking, 'maybe'
And that's normally enough.

But at the bottom of the barrel-
Where the sludge of Earth runs thick
Where I crafted my essence
Where I sometimes hit-
I don't want the knife
And I don't want a gun
I don't want a rope
I don't want to run.

I want to fall asleep.

I want to fall asleep
And simply fade away
And the world would never know me
That I'd gone or that I'd came.
I'd want to leave with a whisper
In the middle of a desert
Where no one is listening
So no one hears.

I'd like to fall asleep
And let it all end there.
There'd be no 'beyond life'
The be nothing, everywhere.
I'd like to simply fade away
As though I never eisted at all
I'd like to forget life and it, me
Like a friend I never called.

#exhausted #tired #done

v V v Apr 2014

Plenilunium Febrim (Full Moon Fever)

There is a certain misery bred
into children of the night,
most notably the 20,000 a month
born under a full moon,
a rare combination of being born
in the dark of night, yet under
bright white moonlight,
a mere 1/100th of the total born
each month.

If you are one of us you know it.

The moon is alive and effeminate,
pulls on us, pushes on us,
at least on us who call her mother,
and though she shines her sweet shine
her soul is as cold and indifferent as
the belly of a black hole,
and we will war with her influence
all the days of our life.

Chaos,
compulsions,
sorrows and sins
our constant companions.

For she alone
knows the effort it takes
for us to live ...

          The anxious tide within my head
           was put there by the moon,
           the ocean too, its waves of blue,
           respond to what she says

All our days a high wire act
where everyone looks on with
eyes wide and mouths agape,

and when the night comes
we are alone,
and in fear,
and the end of us is always near,
and our numbers will not cease,
her bright light will grant no peace.

she is a GRAND MULTIPARA

and INFINITUS GRAVIDA

while we are beggars and thieves,
tired as hell, asleep when awake
and awake when asleep,
swimming in brain matter
madness
and churning recollections
like a duck on a lake,
calm on the surface,
fast as hell underneath.

In the end
it’s the crazy debate
that brings us down,

          To find ourselves we lose our souls,
           to lose our pain we lose control
           to find the norm there is no peace,
           to lose it all she will not cease

The pendulum swings back and forth
and there is no rest,

The ***** is out for blood,

and she pulls on us
and she pushes on us

          The push of truth, the pull of lies,
           the pull of hell that push denies.
           the push of God, the pull of sin,
           the pull of what we push will win

unless of course we break
and bleed out,

but she does not care,

there are many more
to take our place
and they like us
will find no rest.

Of an estimated 11 million people born on Earth each month, a mere 20,000 of them are born under a full moon....
GRAND MULTIPARA, (a woman having birthed 5 or more children)
INFINITUS GRAVIDA (infinitely pregnant)

Apr 2014

Charles Bukowski

Cut While Shaving

It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.

don't I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.

Apr 2014

eunsung aka Silas

a letter to my younger self

Hello me,

I'm you. I'm the older you after multiple suicide attempts, and lost in a haze of ***** and drugs. I am also you who sought and searched for some meaning and belonging, only to find hypocrisy and pain. But all that aside, I wanted to thank you for not giving up on life even though you wanted to. Finally asking for help when you did, even though a part of you didn't care anymore. Thank you for letting hope grow in you one day at a time. Thank you for letting me love you, so I can love me today. Life is pretty amazing today, and we would have missed out on this beautiful journey because we were so locked in our pain. Now, you and I can share our story of pain and suffering to help someone else. We don't have to stay in a hopeless state of mind and body. Thank you for having the courage to surrender and admit you couldn't do it alone anymore. I love you very much.

Love,

I'm You

This is a reminder to myself that I am not alone, and a love letter to myself , to my friends, and strangers yet to be friends who are struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts.

#love #suicide #hope #courage #search #surrender #thank

v V v Apr 2014

Feral Hogs

The world may end tomorrow  but  tonight will  not
you keep shifting and kicking and snorting and  if  I
could see  in  the dark I might confirm it  is you  and
not  that  thing in the attic that  I saw earlier  the one
of the three lying flat on its belly with the elongated
snout and tusks,  I know I don’t see very well  and I
need to be  fitted  for  glasses   so  I  tell  myself  that
what I see is bigger  than what you see  I  believe its
called an  “Ames  Room”  an   optical   illusion   that
makes a big person small  and a small person big its
just the  angle  of the view  so maybe  what  I  see  is
what  you see  just bigger  and in fact your view just
recently   changed when you     started   wearing
prescription  glasses  remember  the day you picked
them  up   you  backed   your  car into  another  car
another  trick  of  "angulated" vision  I  suppose  but
vision  isn’t  my  main  concern  right  now   I  mean
partially  but  more  important  I  wish  your  noises
would  cease  being   noises   and  sound  more like
breathing so I might see that you are still you  in the
creeping light of dawn and smile and close my eyes
and rest for maybe 30 minutes more before  its  time
to rise and make the coffee.

Recently published in print on April 3rd by A Kind of a Hurricane Press in their anthology, "Something's Brewing" editors A J Huffman and April Salzano, available at Amazon.com.

Apr 2014

J

The Tom Riddle Theory

Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.

^^^let us live through our poetry