I want to invite you to come with me
on a walk inside the mind of,
me,
"The bottomless pit."

I'm the “nothing is ever enough”
The “I always need more”
The person who seems to be unable to hold onto anything
anyone has ever offered.
Who begs you to say something helpful or comforting one day,
but then needs you to say it all over again the following day,
and the next.
And the next.
The person who can’t seem to find a way to use anything you say to them,
anything you give them.
To hold anything.

Ready to put on these shoes
and take a walk with me?

The world, is a really frightening place.
Started out that way.
Mother wasn’t really cut out for mothering.
Didn’t have anything to give to a baby apart from practical care
—given in a no-nonsense kind of way
—because she hadn’t had it herself.
So, inside, she was a bottomless pit too,
hungry for what she never had,
resentful of being required to give what she never had to someone else.

In fact,
truth be told,
mom was even a bit envious of her little girl.
Why should baby girl be the center of the universe when she,
the mother,
had never been given that at all?
Living life as if it owes her.
Believed that I owed her, too.
I was her second chance.
I should give her everything that her own mother had been unable to give.
No blame,
It was as it was.
It’s as it is.

Fairly early on in life,
I learned that I come second.
That I didn’t deserve.
That good things were not for me.
That life was not kind,
or comforting,
or soothing or giving.
Rather, life was punishing,
taking and begrudging.
But something even harder came with that.
I grew up unable to hold anything.
One of the greatest of human pains there is.
Growing up empty.
It feels frightening.
Joyless.

It’s to be untouched by anything good,
to be unable to remember it,
or conjure up the feeling of it.
Everything is fleeting and temporary.
It goes in but it just falls right back out.
Like trying to hold onto water it's,
"The Void."

See, you can only hold onto things if you have been held.
If your life has included being physically,
emotionally or psychologically held.
If you have felt
and known that you were existing in another’s heart and mind.
We only know we exist because we first discovered
that we existed in the heart and mind of another.
And if we haven’t had that,
moments vanish.
Others’ words vanish.
At least, “good” moments and “good” words do.
“Bad” moments stay because there’s no way to soothe them.
And “bad” words stay because they are all we have known,
so familiar and trusted.

Oh and it doesn’t end there.
It gets worse.
As an adult, you continue to feel like a hungry,
needy child.
Just like mother was.
You feel so bad about that,
so ashamed,
so inadequate.
You hate and despise yourself.
A horrible person for being so full of
hurt
and anger
and resentment.

And the worse you feel about yourself,
the more you try to compensate by being
“good.”
Trying hard to meet everyone's every need,
and resent it while believing that you are bad for resenting it.
No one is happy in this arrangement
—there is duty here, not love.
Although most would insist on calling it love
and most believe it is love,
Most don't really know what this thing called love actually is.

I go through periods of the darkest,
most desolate,
depression.
I will catapult between anger and grief.
I will cry for days.
I will walk out.
I will shout and think cruel things.
Then will be overcome by guilt and remorse.
And shame.
Oh, always the shame.

And I try even harder.
When it gets really bad,
I will ask for help in my own way.
I'm clearly in so much distress that others are eager to try and help me.
Giving hugs,
words of encouragement,
practical offers and words of wisdom.
And I will expresses my gratitude
and appear to absorb it all
and feel better.
And the people will feel gratified
and content that their help has made a difference and somehow
filled this "Bottomless Pit."

However, in "The Bottomless Pit",
all it has actually been is a plaster.
It has helped temporarily.
But the void
—the bottomless pit
—remains.
Everything is just as hollow,
empty,
frightening and meaningless as before.

I am still a “bad” person and I still hate myself.
I genuinely try to do the things I have been advised to do.
I read the books.
I write the love letters.
I say words of affirmation as if they are sacred,
magic rituals that will bring about some kind of miraculous healing.
I try to love myself like everyone tells me to do.
But always,
there is the void,
always the bottomless pit.
Always the inability to hold onto.

What is love, and what is love not;
I cannot feel love any more,
I am asleep in my sick conscience,
I feel dead when it can but breathe.

What is a heart, what is it not;
When my sight is but bathed in pain,
In grief, for no more love hath recognised me;
Nor bribed me for the sake of lust.

What is poetry, and what are words;
For I am not seen within their worlds,
What hath caused me to be so weak,
What hath now ceased to be my love.

What is sane, and what is sane not;
For I hath had my story short,
I am insane in a place I cannot see,
Where my steps cannot place their whereabouts.

Ah, I cannot even feel the air;
My lungs are stuck in such unwavering heat,
My heart is devoid of its past midnight bliss;
I am longing for what used to be me again.

Ah, I cannot even feel such love;
There raised a longing for my lost poetry,
All is not settled and I feel but angry,
I cannot smell and taste the summer rose.

Ah, I am now blind to such delight;
The delight that once carried me to moonlight,
And the butterflies that hummed in my dreams
That I saw them live as I writ.

Ah, I am now blind to such joy!
I cannot mime the animated old song,
For all is greed here—and tainted by greed,
For speed is prime, and conscience is vain.

Ah, I feel weary too much now!
For tomorrows are heavy, and lights are violent,
For on the roads are but violent tumults,
And all the cheeky hot breeze they raise,
I cannot live, nor do I see in such rage.

Ah, I feel savage in too many ways!
The green gardens stay but to mock me,
They are a low illusion to my presence,
An image too unreal to reveal my fate.

Ah, I feel distorted in my imagination;
Even my universe cannot keep its way now,
And I cannot feel my feet steady,
Its hysteria spilling all over me.

Ah, I cannot but feel thirsty;
The sun is too bright that I cannot see,
The moon is too vague that I cannot feel,
My destiny lay too briefly in my arms.

Ah, I cannot feel comforted, no more;
For none in t’eir slumbers shalt hear my word,
They are too busy with their talk, and legs,
Aptly storming about with ugly chores.

Ah, I cannot see in such dry moonlight;
I hath not a soul to fight, but read—
And none bears but a piece of word about me,
With too much to say, too many tongues to feed.

Ah, I cannot but remember the forgot;
To endear to thee like my arms did,
To read and lay about the upcoming moors,
To feel the urge to lay still, like an awed child.

Ah, I cannot but remember my dreams;
The ones so wild that the vibrant remain,
A remembrance of which shalt become my character,
And my character thus, shalt stand not in vain.

Ah, I cannot but long for my shore;
A long shore so cold like that in England,
When ‘tis a shore not, aye, but a solitude,
One I am not to find in such hearts unlike mine.

Ah, I cannot but long for my old oak;
In Coventry, that I saw by pitiful daylight,
But oft’ smiled to me during the hazy winter,
Hanging to me like my dear sweet old friend.

Ah, and I cannot help but writ about thee;
And sing the same cheerful song again,
A song of innocence and lethal youth,
That my midnight sleeps in colours again.

Ah, I cannot but miss that wry smile;
That such crooked lips shalt by satiated by none else,
That such mirth is but to lie within thee alone,
That such joy is not present in thy absence.

Ah, so I cannot but long for thee again;
My moonlit light and twilight friend,
My dark poetry as winter began,
I felt it light on my naked hands.

Ah, so I cannot but feel thee here;
On whom are all my guts and verdant desire,
Whom hath I sweetly, and purely loved,
That I hath loved with unknown bareness, and chastity.

Ah, so I cannot but miss t’at season of thine;
Thy blooming cheeks and lush lavenders,
Those we strolled by in the vigilant autumn,
The ones that would soon die, and wake in a daze.

Ah, I cannot but rest in my dreams again;
My slumbers are now about yon blue fall,
Too sophisticated for a sophomore like me,
In that image too, thou wouldst be by my side.

Ah, I cannot but resent the sun once more;
But it understands not my resenting,
Like a joyless bud it shimmers no joy,
Like every summer that is void of love.

Ah, I cannot but resent its tears;
For such gurgling tears I am not made of,
I am a being of my immortal poetry,
And so my youthful joy too is eternal.

Ah, I cannot but favour thee again;
I feel too chaste for the absent-minded sun,
Too spirited for its imbecile heat,
Too womanly for its sordid jubilee.

Ah, I cannot but resort to thee once more;
I feel too wasted by the impatient wind,
Horrendous and frivolous in its wake,
Hot and sultry to my conscience.

Ah, so I cannot but seek my sweet fall again;
For t’is heat is too godless to share,
For a youthful maiden like me,
All is blind to me, for I cannot stay awake.

Ah, I cannot but seek my same old love;
My solitude is rigid and tough,
Fake in its meridian and lame singing,
And its heated leaves smelling sour.

Ah, I cannot but yearn for my rhymes;
Filled in fall with sweet grapes and thyme,
I used to write by the old lime tree,
The ice and cold washing all over me.

Ah, I cannot but long for long writ;
By the golden brass and old riverbanks,
Where all goes dark and becomes dusk too soon,
When clean, free air but satiates my mouth.

Ah, I can but feel such love now, and longer;
There exist too many tales to tell,
My heart hath fallen to Coventry’s midnight grass,
And with its existence, cometh again the image of thee.

Ah, I cannot but tame such love, no more;
To spend every word at the same old pace,
Bear my flavour in darkness and haze,
Writ damp poetry by the bashful chest.

BEEP BEEP
The alarm goes off
and I lazily roll over and hit the snooze,
not wanting to let the darkness go.
Snooze again. And again.
Now I'm running late;
I rush through breakfast
and brushing my teeth.
Button my top wrong,
button it again.
I hate the day more with each minute that passes...
resenting it just for existing.
Finishing my careless makeup,
I meet my own eyes in the mirror.
For a moment, I pretend they're yours.
I look into them lovingly and
search for a smile.
I eventually snap out of it.
I meet my eyes again and promise,
"I am not going to cry today".
I always do, and
I'm always wrong.

The hardfaced queen of misadventure
Dressed in a robe of insecurity
Seated on a throne of infidels
Ornate with misled hearts of a thousand men.

The resenting mirror of insidious lies
Confessed all the ugly truth
Of all those swollen eyes and wrinkled cheeks
Concealed behind a facade of smiles.

The incongruous pair of unfortunate heels
Tells a thousand stories of her exploit
In worn out stilettoes of faded red
By the futile resistance of those frozen feet.

Playing god on the hellbound streets
Her thighs bewitching weak and drunken hearts
In a fiery throng of mutilation
For a decisive battle that shall claim no victor.

To whom can I confess a secret?
“It depends on what you tell them,” they say.
They’re scared I might be sent away.
Resenting depression; heart of regret,
If I shut up, would they forget?
Would it sit in their minds and slowly decay?
Look what you’ve done, is there no other way?
You’ve given them everything to misinterpret.

Now they look away, like I have three eyes on my head.
They whisper and they judge.
At home I lie in dread,
I am confined to this bed.
With your mistake, I will hold a grudge.
They avoid me because of that thing you said.

Monosyllables to polysyllabic concerns:
A pittance for pity resenting the night
All is well, or not.
I am the same, though less than gratified;
I am your sexlessness and wandering bestfriend
Faithfully attent to the lovers’ fight
Between the hopes longer than a day,
And the stilted, crude truth
All wonderfully thumping behind plaster and stone
In that I can make my predictions,
Perhaps because I’m a part of that love
I’ve heard it before and watched it float off into space
A repeat has no better outcome,
But we’ll always be wondering their fissures
And openness, when I abandoned care too late;
Where was apathy when I needed it most?

All throughout life we are faced with a choice. A decision that will effect every aspect of every moment we live in. We can either look at life though with a pesimistic mind, or through optomistic eyes.
A pesimistic person will look at those they could not help and feel sorrow.
They will look at missed chances and feel regret, resenting their past selves.
And they will look at the unkown - the questions they cannot possible answer - and feel fear, not knowing what lies beyond.
Even when faced with the same obstacles, an optimistic person will always prevail.
For they will look not as those they could not help, but to the lives they have affected, and feel content.
They will look at missed chances and learn from them, bettering their future.
And they will look to the unknown with intrigue, awaiting what lies ahead.

1-Establish Lux as a farmer with his brother, father, mother. Show dissatisfaction at a lot in life, yearning for more, however Lux feels compelled to stay with family and help them. Establish a close relationship between the brothers, a good mother/son relationship, though a testy relationship with his father. Strange symbol branded on Lux’s chest, been there since he was a baby, no one is sure what it means- or no one is telling him. This is Lux’s L.S. beginning. Establish also is the world Lux is in, the facts of the ministry and the church, the knights and wars of before.
2-Introduce a festival in town with knights from “The Brotherhood” being present, establish them as knights capable of magic and swordplay, “The Brotherhood” knights are taking new recruits at the festival. Wanting to join, Lux goes through the trials and passes, though after a harsh reaction from his father, Lux does not leave with the knights. With Lux out of scene, a conversation between the mother and father should reveal the man is not in actuality Lux’s father, but his uncle, and his brother had been married to Lux’s mother (now his wife) though died fighting in a war between “The Brotherhood” as a member of their ranks, against a rival faction known as “The Order”  peak lux’s curiosity and focus on the desire to leave as established in the previous chapter. This and the next chapter are Lux’s “Go The Distance”
3-The end of the week long festival nears, and Lux is on a hunting trip with his younger brother, returns and is questioned by his father why he wants to leave so much. The truth of Lux’s true father is revealed, and though Lux’s uncle expected this to convince Lux to stay and not go into danger, Lux is angered rather, and leaves in a hurry to catch “The Brotherhood” knights before they leave. Lux is put under the tutelage of a man who claims to have known Lux’s father, though it is revealed Lux’s little brother followed him, and is taken into the recruit pool as well, despite never going through the testing. Note- perhaps have Lux refuse to go with the knights if his brother is not also offered a spot? Hero’s journey, he needs a moment of hesitation and refusal to go. This should be reflected like Lukes refusal to join ben, or Bilbos refusal of gandalf, but quickly change their minds.
4-Training begins the moment they arrive at a camp. Lux and his brother are immediately outfitted with leather armor, dark and gritty in contrast of the shining metal of the rest of the knights. Lux is doing well in training, sword play coming natural, shakey with a bow, and ofcourse a natural talent at magic, (though make a point that in fire spells Lux only manages to start small flames that he can throw, and struggles with healing magic) though his brother is struggling in all aspects and is beat by his trainer. Lux’s trainer urges Lux to ignore it,though Lux finally snaps and challenges the man. The two enter a circle made in the dirt with training swords, and though Lux appears to have the advantage at first, he is quickly beaten and left gasping and ****** on the floor. The trainer leaves Lux there, and soon a hand reaches down to Lux. A female trainee named Ciara picks up Lux and, joined by his brother, the three wander off for more training for the instructors. Introduce Peter, a man deeply infatuated by Ciara, rather than a knight Peter is a Father to the holy church, unable to fall in love and forbidden to marry. Subtle on Peter’s infatuation with Ciara, should really build Peter as a good friend to Ciara,
5. Lux, his trainer, CIara, and her trainer are all out in the forest doing patrol after reports that remnants of “The Order” have picked up their pace in activity in the surrounding areas, raiding small towns and taking young men and women as recruits. Lux and Ciara are separated for a time and grow closer through talk and laughter when they see two knights in armor that is shining silver on almost the entire body though the right arm and pec are a scarlet red, drinking water from a stream. Confirming with each other that is the description of “The Order” Ciara says they should find their trainers though Lux charges. Ciara is close behind, catching the two off guard. Both are quickly overpowered through the use of advanced magic from “The Order” but Ciara’s trainer jumps in, kills one, but is killed by the second. As he turns, Lux throws his dagger and hits the man in the eye, killing him. Lux and Ciara carry her trainers body back to camp. Ciara refuses to speak and when greeted at the gate by Peter, she embraces him and cries into his shoulder. Have both Lux and Ciara attempt healing magic to no avail. Have Lux grow frustrated at feeling the ABILITY to heal, but unable to do so.
6. Lux is punished for charging, while his trainer is taken to a secret meeting where they discuss what to do with Lux, but out of respect for his father, they keep him in “The Brotherhood”. Lux has not seen Ciara since the incident, though he can see her in the crowd when he is being taken to be whipped, and receives 10 lashes, to Peter’s dismay who recommends either banishment or death. After the punishment, he is cut loose from the posts holding him up and Lux’s brother charges the ground, picking his brother up and taking him to his bed. As they pass Lux manages an apology, but is unsure if she accepts it. Lux is informed she will be trained alongside him. Make Peter do some ******* **** idk. Resenting “The Brotherhood” Lux should vent to his brother about his growing distrust of the situation, asking if his brother has felt the growing gap between what they feel they can do, and what they can do.
7. Show training between Lux, Ciara, and brother, distinguish a growing connection between Lux and Ciara, much to Ciara’s surprise and reluctance. Show Lux go into his trainers room while he is absent, and sees a sword on the wall, bearing a strange symbol. Lux trainer will explain that the sword should belong to Lux as it was his fathers, and when it is time he will inherit the blade but for now he must leave the blade alone. Lux asks about the situation behind his father's death. Explain the following: The Brotherhood were not always the knights guarding the royal family, before his birth the royal family was guarded by The Order, who are the reason The Brotherhood practice both swordplay and magic, as the Order are master swordsman and powerful wizards, prolific in blood magic and necromancy. When one member of The Order desired the throne for himself, he split The Order in 2. The Brotherhood worship the Gods, but in his desire and lust for power, the man struck a deal with the old gods, evil barbaric entities who require blood and death as sacrifices for their eternal power. This is Nero, a man that Lux’s father took in and treated as a brother, both being trained as knights for The Order. During the civil war, Nero attacked the Royal Palace and though he was badly defeated, he did **** Lux’s father in the battle. End chapter on this story. This chapter should be shows as Lux is uncertain of The Brotherhood and his trainer, but with the story of his father, he is conflicted. If it is true, then they are just. If it is wrong, how many more lies has he been told?
8. Show Lux becoming prolific with a blade and very intimidating magically. When he, Ciara, and his brother are sent on a mission with no trainers for the first time, Lux naturally takes charge. They track knights of The Order down to a cave, where they are tested both physically and magically. Ciara and Lux both protect brother as much as they can, though brother is able to hold his own. They manage to corner one who instead of being taken prisoner, stabbed himself in the stomach after giving an ominous warning. As Lux approaches the body, he sees on the cave wall a crude drawing of a man with the same symbol on his chest as Lux’s, holding a sword with the same symbol as Lux’s fathers, a figure resembling a large black and red dragon behind the man. Dismissing it, Lux tells Ciara and brother to not bother approaching, and the last of the knights are dead. The report back to base, and Lux informs trainer of what happened, leaving out the symbol.
9. Word carries out on base that more and more caves are being found with members of The Order, all with strange paintings on the walls. Peter speaks with the knights, explaining he has been praying and granted visions of a large scale battle. Have Ciara grab Lux’s arm at the sound of war, which Peter will notice (important for later) and in a hesitation to prepare for a battle that may or may not come, the commander of the camp demands the trainees be knighted, their proper gear be made, and to meet with the main force.
Cut from Lux to Peter alone in a church, praying to the Holy Mother begging for guidance away from the desires of his heart, and in his prayers Peter slowly realizes that he will not give up his desire for Ciara and decides to betray the Brotherhood in hopes Lux may die and he may be able to gain Ciara’s affection. Peter is seen leaving by Lux, though when questioned says he is going for more Fathers to pray and meditate on the matter.
10. Peter tracks down members of The Order, informing them that he wishes to give them valuable information, surrendering to them. Peter is taken to the leader of the knights operating in the area, and in exchange for one thing, is willing to tell The Order where The Brotherhood is, where they are going, their numbers, and anything else that will be of use. All he wants is them to make Ciara fall in love with him./ While Peter is doing this, Lux is kneeling in front of his trainer who knights him with fathers sword. (maybe do a crusader knight knighting, this is oath/this is how you remember it) When Lux is handed his father's sword, the cold metal instantly feels warm and the grip adjusts to his fingers and though it looks heavy, appears just the right weight to Lux. Lux is given armor, though when he takes his shirt off he sees the symbol on his chest glowing, same as the symbol on the sword. Trainer only says “magic is a strange thing, boy” and Lux is put into armor and finally leaves the shed a knight after only 2 months of training./back to Peter who is given a potion, told to have Ciara drink it and leave with her before they make their move. As Peter leaves, the leader barks orders to men who address him as Nero. Perhaps instead of Peter getting the potion straight from Nero, have him get it on a witch in the woods who is secretly affiliated with Nero, have to work out how she gets the information from Peter, but she could use magic to contact Nero after. Perhaps part of the agreement is Peter must turn his back on his abandoned faith and be her student and as a test of loyalty he must tell her everything he knows.
11. As The Order masses its numbers, knights of the Brotherhood are entering the giant city dedicated to The Brotherhood(Remulus? Romulus?) and Lux is in awe as he sees the a giant palace, and near it a graveyard with tombs. The tombs are the resting place of knights of The Order who gave their lives in service to the royal family, and now knights of The Brotherhood join their numbers. A newly marked grave is standing as a monument to Ciara’s trainer. The day is given to them to explore the city, and Lux/Ciara are alone together. Share a kiss. Witnessing the kiss, Peter comes from the shadows and informs them that curfew is near, and they should be heading back to the castle/as Peter watches the two make way to the castle laughing/holding hands, he heads to a monastery. He kneels before a picture of his god, praying asking to be told what to do. He knows he is a man of faith, so why are lust and desire even capable of entering his heart? He begs for pardon from sin as he sets his heart on giving Ciara the potion.
12. Now that the trainees have been knighted and the generals have been informed of Peter’s vision, prepare for war. The inhabitants of the city and many villages around are all pulled into the Castle’s walls, able bodied men and boys are given swords, women and girls find refuge in the newly emptied dungeons (all criminals hung/drafted?) Lux is witness to a battle plan, and overhears that during the last battle at the capitol city, The Order had used dragons to its aid, and though there were no confirmed sightings of dragons now, The Brotherhood should still set up catapults and bastilles on the off chance. Lux finds his brother and Ciara and informs them of what he has heard, though Peter comes and informs them that Lux must just be tired from nerves, and no one has seen a dragon in a generation. End with Ciara stopping a near brawl between the two, and Lux heading to his bed alone, and Peter now with Ciara, when a sound fills the halls. Scouts are reporting a massive army on the outskirts of the city.
13. Rain. Silence. Lux, Ciara, and his brother are among the numbers at the front gate. Rain hitting the ground. Hitting armor. Men are vomiting. Peter along with other priests are swinging burning incense between the rows of men, chanting prayers and songs of their god. Pounding. Pounding so hard that when it hits the front gate, the rain flies off the door and hits Lux’s face. Lux looks to his brother. The two nod. Lux looks into Ciara’s eyes. The two kiss. Confess love. The gate is broken open and the war begins with a thunderous roar in the sky, a dragon spewing fire on archers perched on castle walls as troops charge. Lux and the other knights hold their positions with a great clash the two armies finally meet. In screaming and fighting, Lux loses his brother, and The Brotherhood are pushed back, further and further. Lux manages to grab Ciara’s arm and the two run to a set of stairs going down to one of the dungeon entrances to warn the others that they are losing, when the dragon knocks over a giant pillar, stones hitting the two. Lux stays conscious from the first hit, and sees Peter approaching an unconscious Ciara with the potion in hand. Stuck beneath rubble, Lux watches as Peter pours it in her mouth and wakes her with a kiss. Begging Ciara for help frantically, she walks away with Peter, and as Lux cries out for his brother, more stones hit, causing him to go unconscious.
14. Lux awakens in an unfamiliar setting, on his knees. His hands shackled to the wall, his armor and sword feet in front of him, a man standing behind them. The man asks if Lux knows who he is. Looking up, Lux can see from the torches a tired face. Shaking his head, the man informs Lux, “I am Nero, commander of The Order, Captain of the Conquered Reaches, and rightful heir to the throne. And you are Lux. My nephew,” Nero smiles, touching Lux’s face. Accusing Nero of killing his father, Nero softens his eyes at Lux and stops moving. A look of sadness. “Your father's mistake is the single most regrettable accident in my life,” tells Lux more and more about his father. Informs Lux why the symbol is on his chest. Its magically bonded to the blade. It makes blood magic more powerful. Nero then informs Lux that his father had found a dragon egg just like Nero did, as Nero pulls the egg from his robes, shiney and black with streaks of scarlet. Nero offers Lux out of this cell, and he will gladly show him the ways of blood magic and make sure that Peter pays for his betrayal of the other knights. “I do not find The Brotherhoods newest members traitors, how can they betray a cause they never were offered? But how do you think we knew you were going to be there when we did? All of this has been for you, Lux.” with a wave of his hand, the shackles fall off Lux’s wrists and he falls forward. Reaching to the egg, Lux hesitates slightly, looking down and seeing his reflection in the water. With a wave of his hand, Nero projects the image of Peter kissing Ciara deeply. “That passion she gives him should be yours. I cannot create love. Only transfer it with a potion. When peter described the man who took his beloved, I should have realized. But together, I can rid the potions course and Peter will pay, Lux,” and as Lux watch Ciara enter Peter’s bed, he firmly grabs the egg, which begins to shake and crack in his hand, emerging a tiny dragon. Nero’s past: Nero will portray his story as such: He discovered that Lux’s mother is the illegitimate daughter of the queen. When Nero went to tell Lux’s father, he was stopped by the queen who attempted to have him killed, for if it was discovered that her late husband had an offspring, she would have a claim to the throne. In the ongoing fight, Nero claims he accidentally killed the queen and was discovered by Lux’s father. The fight was a misunderstanding and he was never able to tell him the truth of his soon to be (pregnant) wife. The split of The Order were those who believed Nero and those horrified at the death of the queen. Nero claims the royals betrayed him and those who followed the truth. Show a refusal to believe at first, though as his imprisonment lasts, and he goes over it again and again in his head, for weeks as Peter gets further away with Ciara, left with visions of Peter and Ciara making love, his Nero pleading with Lux’s father, and the conflict. Ambiguous if this is actually true or just indoctrination.
15. Lux’s training begins immediately. He is placed in the middle of a circle, men attacking from all directions and must fight them off with his blade and newly learned blood magic. Slicing his palm before gripping his blade, the warm metal now burns hot in Lux’s hands, and he drops the blade. Scolded with beatings and lashings, Lux learns how to embrace the pain. Magic flows through him stronger than ever as he adapts. Fire flows from his tips when before he could only manage an ember. He heals fatal wounds when before he could hardly manage a small cuts and broken bones. Lux is routinely beaten and whipped, his dragon growing and watching all the while. Weeks go by. Lux concentrates only on killing Peter and revenge. Pain, anger, and of course blood fuel blood magic to its extremes.
16. Lux’s brother is brought into a small room with other generals who managed to escape the battle of the capitol. He is questioned if he has heard from Lux, Peter, or Ciara as their bodies were never found. All the remaining forces are falling back to the capital, where a final stand will once again be made. Lux’s brother is told he may visit home one last time and must report to the capital in no more than 5 days, and his trainer will accompanying him/Lux is kneeling once again before Nero, though he feels the sword tap either shoulder as he is knighted into the brotherhood. He is given shiney armor and as he puts it on, is instructed to place his sliced palm on the opposite shoulder and watches as his blood flows into the metal, turning that arm and shoulder scarlet red. He is officially in The Order. Lux is tasked with one task to prove his loyalty. **** his stepfather and attempt to convince his mother to come swear loyalty to nero if she refuses, **** her too. If he does that, when he returns his dragon will feed on the personal sacrifice and be ready for battle, and in return Nero will make sure both Peter and Ciara are waiting for him. “It will be done, Lord Nero.” show conflict in Lux if he is truly willing to do all of this, and conflict on loyalty to Nero. The Dragons growth and power is connected to Lux’s ability in blood magic. The more anger, hate, and pain he puts into his abilities, the stronger the dragon will become.
17. Chapter starts with Lux standing outside his old house in the early hours of the morning, the sun peeking out of the mountains but being quickly covered by storm clouds. As darkness settles over the brief light illuminating the house. Lux enters the house. His stepfather enters the room hearing the door open but is grabbed by the throat.during the fighting, Lux manages to strangle his step father and throws his body to the door as his mother is running into the room. As she surveys the situation, there is a cry from the door, and Lux’s brother and trainer are standing in the door, sword in hand. Lux begins to unsheathe his sword but his mother moves between them, talking to the brothers. Lux demands to know from his trainer if what Nero said is true and that his mother is the rightful heir. Confirming Nero’s story partially, though claims that Nero attempted to blackmail the queen with the knowledge of the heir to gain more power. Lux tries to persuade his mother to join him and come be with Nero, that his father would have wanted this. When she refuses, he explains that she would not understand what he HAS to do to end this war, and when he is done the conflict will be resolved and order restored. Argument between lux and brother over oaths broken. Mother approaches Lux, touching his face tenderly speaking softly watching as her son is breaking. She offers him to leave the conflict entirely and to just live home with her, though as she turns to face Lux’s brother, Lux stabs her. Gasping she looks back to Lux, touching his face once more, “You look so much like your father in that armor” Lux , trainer and brother fight, Lux leaves his brother unconscious in the house quickly, though he kills his trainer outside, taking the bodies with him back to Nero.
18.Lux returns to the agreed upon spot to meet Nero, but is instead met by Ciara, who in his confusion and hesitation desperately tries to convince her to leave with him when out steps Peter with a staff in hand, who has now learned the magic of the old gods. When Lux raises his hand, his dragon lands behind him with a mighty roar. With a smirk, peter does the same, and a white and blue dragon lands behind him, a roar just as mighty. The dragons take to the air, circling and roaring, spitting blue and black flames at one another as Lux and Peter fight to the death. Just as Lux manages to defeat Peter after taunting and back and forth, there is a loud crash as Lux’s dragon lands on the other teeth in its neck, ripping its head off entirely. Ciara comes to her senses immediately, seeing Lux in armor of The Order standing over a wounded and ****** Peter, the blood spraying on them. Stepping toward Ciara, Lux is surprised when she steps back in fear. Allowing her to leave, Lux watches as she sprints away. The conversation between Lux and Ciara should be that of both trying to convert the other. When no understanding is made between the two, it is Lux’s love for Ciara that allows her to leave, she sprints to the horses and makes her way back to The Brotherhood. Turning back to a wounded Peter, Lux raises his sword when his eye catches sight of a faint glow on Peter’s chest. Kneeling to rip the man's shirt out of the way, Lux finds the same symbol that is on his sword and own chest. Peter is Lux’s lost twin.

She takes notice, she takes focus,
She takes more than me back home,
We're flipping up and upside down,
Twisting out loud our frowns are turned around
and I'm falling,
I'm Face to face with her after
such a long stalling,

But I hear you wonder till there's thunder
with our knot-be-noose in said tangled lies,
Let me notify you that your hot and cold lenses
are making this fight,
That far away I'm noticing your ear's are just
cotton shut tight,

See,
you push the prone as I need her by my side,
Resenting to let go of possessive love
Though you know that I'm right,
Know this,
That I'll pull tight what you've towed until you detach,
You'll fall back into night without a single flash,

But like child you cut till you craft blood,
A big red stain that will wash out in rain and separate mud,
I still hear your pathetic voice
in it's low and screeching highs,
I tell you,
don't take it to my home, it's horrid,
Alone you should sing or cry
or just get over it,

But here again you're needing a loan
Though you never owed or owned,
Nevertheless I'll leave a last help
And pray it should lay like a stone,

Hear that what you needed was a backbone
Every time you hunched and never tried,
Every time you plunged blind
With no stable step in your life,

So I say good riddance and bare well,
A last goodbye and farewell,
You've poisoned your own time and mine,
Now finally let it be good,
I'll finally let it be right.

Resenting the light,
from the Olympian,
that warms my wool.

It cowards behind holly,
that grows in the pine grove.
Retreats to shaded cold,
below timber arms.

It is disgusted to the sight,
of white, yellow and orange.
Prefers the blue of night.

As it fades, flows and steeps.
It becomes clear,
pillaged of its white veneer.

Though, it carries forward,
like a grudge that won’t melt away.
Or is it more like love,
ever changing.

Or even as stubborn,
as a cold bedded love.
That brings life to you,
at least once a year.

But, in the end
it recedes.
Into the wood,
from under the holly.

Then waits,
until you’ve almost forgotten.

Reality
False galaxies
Accepting so is rather challenging
Resenting though, is rather cowardly
Our dimensions stack unto this universe and creates what is real
Soft, hard, wet, rough are all unique realities of what one feels
No evil, no good, only what one makes of the subject
I may love, others may hate, few must ****
The converging of realities with others makes the original heal
What my reality makes of love reveals others to see energy that turns one ill
My eyes, your eyes
They meet and dilate
Do they see each other's reality?
Do they meet our beautiful perceptions of what is a light?
Move into one another's mind to make yours entice
Life is making something of nothing
Coming a long journey from our ancestors who have made the 'reality' we have now
We have forgot to think for ourselves, mind controlled by the past, by the dead, by minds like ours
Awe and wow
We are all ignorant only fueled by the ignorance before us
******* gazing upon what seems to be higher
Though all they are is a higher form of ******
The wiser one is, the more one is a ******
None of was truly know reality as a glimpse that slithers
It slithers shortly giving each one of us a piece of the puzzle
Later, the puzzle will become completely gone
Our realities will become bigger through the  art of believing
The puzzle will wither
What is truly real will be gone
There only be false
Others that are longed
You see a false, but a real design through your eyes
As one reality has taught me this, I made his realer
Thus what we have is bliss
******* formed by a real master
In my false reality, as this is the beauty of life
Every one of us need our realities to be heard
They need to merge
Though, one mustn't let other realities limit theirs

Father can you listen to me
Will you listen to me for a minute
I don't feel loved by you anymore
You were never home
Mom practically raised me
Everything I learned as a man
I learned by another man
Who took me under their wing
You didn't even talk to me about ***
I learned what I was doing as I kept on having it
I didn't know what an STD or *** was
I learned that in *** Ed
I had no idea on how to change the oil in a car
My boyscout leader taught me
Father we never spend anytime together
I wish we could play catch
I wish you could teach me how to ride a bike
But wait I forgot Rafial's dad did
You were always gone
No wonder I'm half a man
No wonder I'm emotionally distant
I have nothing to offer anybody
But half dead poetry
Based on killing myself
Because secretly I don't have a father
Even though he sits right next to me
I wish you would listen to me
But you're not here for me to tell you this
I hope you can forgive me
For resenting you all this time
I'm leaving in a year
And you still make no effort
In being here to see me off
Fine
I made it this far without you
I will make it farther without you
Hello father nice to see you
Goodbye father sorry you just got home
But I'm leaving

That tragic moment
when I finally settle down
and realize...
I am upset over the idea
of our relationship ending...
rather than the suffocation  of it.
We both had become
tired and lazy
and selfish with our
understanding
and withholding...everything
resenting...everything
It had been way too long...
since we kissed...
circumstances...
were extraordinarily difficult
from the very beginning...
never really letting up for very long
and they took a heavy toll...
eventually we each
spun inward
unable to communicate
without offences.
So...
We each began letting go
insecurities ran rampant
it became too hard too hold on
so we let go...
a little bit at a time
first, of our desire
then
our ability to believe.
..in Us
and  what we had
was special to be real.
No one got what they wanted
No one is solely to blame
To  me...
that is the true tragedy..
what we could have...
should have been
That is where
my true sadness lies.
jammed between
the should haves and could haves
I hope we each
find our comforts.
I wished SO much...
Believed so hard...
That someday I would find you...
That when I did
I didn't see all the cracks...
Now it seems
the search begins again...
I am left to find
someone like you.

Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again

~ Umi

Broad eyebrows,
porcelain foundation,
pursed lips,
distain flying from painted digits,
resenting the imposed ****** proximity.

Then her eyes met her twin's
and both faces cracked wide in smiles and laughter,
her pose was momentarily forgotten,
as she was reunited once more with her tribe.

Does he take care of you?
Does he ever make you feel like you want to go home?
Does he undress you on the page?
Does he undress you in the black of an empty room?
Does his kiss make you overdose at night?
Does he make you feel high even when you're dying to be sober again?
When he puts his fingers to your lips, does it make want more of him before he goes?
Does the need for his lips make you put out the cig that's always been bad for your health?
Does he make you feel full even aftter your parents split and you've felt empty since?
Does he make you feel like you can talk about you parents?
Does he calm your neurosis, even when you can't stop organizing your house and degrading your own body?
Does he talk about each part of your body as if each piece is their own Frida painting?
Does he say how beautiful your mocha colored birth mark on the lower part of your neck is?
Does he know how much you hate your mocha colored birth mark on the lower part of your neck?
Does he know how much you can't stand being up before 2 pm on at day of the week?
Does he know how much you wanted to **** yourself in 2012?
Does he know that was the year your parents started resenting each other and you blamed it on your never being home?

Does he know about me?
Does he know about how much I call you at 3 am?
Does he know I still love you?
Does he know you used to love me?
Does he know I know everything about you?
Does he know I know nothing about you?

I know nothing about you.

love me when it's convenient
love me when it is useful
love me when love is necessary
on the terms that
i stay simple, i stay beautiful

love me because your mother thought
i was pretty, i was quiet
love me because your father looks at me
like a *****, successful diet
love me until i’m not always sweet
love me until it’s not easy enough
leave me at the station
kiss me like your lips
have become strangers
just for me
and wish me luck

love me until somebody else better comes along
love me until i misstep to the words of the song
love me until those nights
you see me when i’m not strong
love me until it’s not profitable
until it rubs you wrong

my words are no longer useful
when they are not lucrative
your eyes are no longer protective
they are punitive

i am no longer a friend
just the tail end of another
distended friendship ready to
split hairs and end it
not a person but a thing
not a person but a problem
you’ve been dissecting

you don’t want to bend back
and mend, it’s easier to
wait it out, pretend away the tension
show your teeth, your venom’s condescesion
not so lost in your eyes
so resenting my mention

and i’ve been taught
not to stop giving
until you’re ready
for me to stop

and i’ve been trained
to drink up the blood when it puddles in
to treat people i attach love to
like my king pins
no one is just a lapsed vein

and i’ve been told
i’m not allowed to pull the plug
once i open my body
and let you dig into my love
so here i am, watch me now

to keep my ugly hidden
to keep my thoughts restrained
to keep the stains upon myself
cloistered and contained

by nature we are greedy
and you can’t seem to stop taking
because you’ve grown bitter dancing feet
and i'm aching, you say i'm not grounded
yet i’m a burden underfoot
and you wish i’d just break life
or break life in
and forget what it took

you want me to be punished
or you want me to go
you think i don’t know
oh you think i don’t know
you wish i’d just open,
then you wish that i’d fold
i don’t melt in the heat,
but i crack from the cold

your affection is grotesque
and my voice has a certain note
that makes you want to wrap each finger
tightly around my throat
you hate me, more than you love me
but i don’t want to be loved
if love barely stays afloat
you hate me, much more than you love me
and i was never told love
was so naturally cutthroat

My father, gone fifty years,
A transplanted German,
Arrived early, in the 1920's,
Fleeing the worldwide depression,
That decided to follow him to America.

Traveling salesman, raconteur,
A busy man who decided he
Found the right girl at age forty,
But by the time I was teen,
He was, then uncommon,
An older man, an older father.

Raised three kids,
Working six days a week.
Unlike the other fathers,
White shirt and tie every day
Even Sunday.

No backyard in the city,
To toss a base or football to his son,
Though he wouldn't, couldn't,
While his son grew,
Grew up worshipping
Three Gods:
Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, and
The bold, the bald Y.A. Tittle,
Heroic sports figures.

The son who went to Yankee Stadium
For the first time,
There he saw the color
Emerald  Green in the Bronx,
In The House Ruth Built,
Whispered Hallelujah,
There, courtesy of someone else's dad.

Goatee he wore, and on Saturdays,
Wore a black jacket, striped pants
And Homburg hat to the synagogue.
Custom of his Hamburg upbringing.
The only one, the only dad,
Of course, dressed that way.
Proud of his style, his heritage,
Helping me not to fit right in.

Yet twinkle twinkle did his eyes sparkle,
Such that all the other children loved him,
Better and best.

But I was the son with the unlike,
The father, unlike any others.
Age thirteen, he's asked me this:
Now you are a man, I wish of thee this,
Accompany me to synagogue every day,
As is my custom, and all your father's,
Twenty generations before me.

When he passed, the stories of
His saintly deeds, his help,
How he saved, brought many to
The United States of America,
Including his five sisters and their families.
During, after WWII, became legends,
all the while, trying to make a living.

One time, I was listening to
Rock n' Roll, on the radio,
In the den, study, his home office,
Where
The Stereo,
proudly sat.

Chased me out,
Paperwork to do,
But stopped me first,
Listening to the song.
That happened to be next.

When this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just drift right into space

On the roof, the only place I know
Where you just have to wish to make it so
Let me tell you now

When I come home feelin' tired and beat
I go up where the air is fresh and sweet
Up on the roof
I get away from the hustling crowd
And all that rat race noise down in the street
Up on the roof

On the roof, the only place I know
Where you just have to wish to make it so
Let's go up on the roof
Up on the roof

At night the stars put on a show for free
And darling, you can share it all with me
I keep a tellin' you

Right smack dab in the middle of town
I've found a paradise that's trouble proof
Up on the roof
And if this world starts getting you down
There's room enough for two, up on the roof
Up on the roof

Up on the roof
Up on the roof
Oh, come on, baby
Up on the roof
Oh, come on, honey
Up on the roof
Everything is all right
Up on the roof
Say that, "It's alright"
Up on the roof
Oh, we gotta go up on the roof
Up on the roof
The Drifters - Up On The Roof

He listened carefully,
Pronouncing with an austere smile,
"That I like, now go."

Now fifty years later,
Having failed spectacularly as a
Father, family man, having never saved a
Soul or life, I remember the outcast days
Of my growing up years,
With a different kind of father
Than all the kids who
Played catch, had big suburban homes.

I never understood much,
Always struggled to be one
Unsuccessful in fitting in,
In my high school yearbook,
They outed my anomie,
"Either apart or ahead of us,
Nat stands, uniquely individual."

So here is a poem, an apology,
No, more an anthology, an anthem,
Of, and,
To my pop, for resenting, misunderstanding,
How
You were more than unique,
How you were special, in ways
No teenager could see.

I am have written some of this before.
Tender apologies, but when I awoke this
Post Thanksgiving Day, at
6:00 Ante Meridiem,
In not my bed,
In not my city,
Pandora surprised me
Real Good,
With an old song,
Up on the Roof.

These words,
The ones you are reading did not drift,
Nay, they spilled out in shades of
Tearful regretful guilt-filled,
Pooling tears that cannot n'ere erase
Prior youthful errors, grievous sins.

Of course,
They like to surprise you,
At the end of their song,
Twisty surprise ending.

I will say it, not you,
In some ways, not all,
I grew up to be just like him,

And for that,
I will give thanks,
Not just one day, every day,
Until it is among,
My last thoughts passing,
Proceeding me,
Preceding me,
As I depart this globe.

this watch strap
was meant to be
made of genuine leather
the highest quality
chocolate brown with
a steel pin buckle
alligator patterned
finished in matte
though whether cut
from that soft yet durable
popular reptilian hide
as was "guaranteed"
questions will remain
it was not after all
purchased from one
of the authentic
branded sellers
so would appear that
i may have been
caught out by one of those
virally pervasive
regrettably persuasive
and ever-prevailing
peddlers of ****
once again
instead of the promised
"many years of enjoyment"
that were blindly expected
i am left resenting
those moments between
glances at that glassy face
futilely aware of the seconds
minutes and hours
that each split and crack
grows wider and deepens
beyond repair

She said
"If we're meant to be together
he'll come around whenever"
and I think that if she were clever
she'd know him a little better,
I can't believe
she didn't see
the tricks wedged sloppily
up his sleeve
and it seems to me
he should be a little more careful
of who he's trying to be.

Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My  food is fresh

I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe

I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed

I confess I pull  frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes

I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way

Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food

As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite

As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim

As long as I attend quickly to your
Every ***** command
The craving of your ******
Insatiable
Demand

Then  I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief

I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like

Until then

Leave me alone

I’m shopping.

You know what I think is sad
I used to miss the way you would curse
I missed every lie you said,
even though your lying was the worst

The tapes in your bag said it all;
the discs you spun said 'whatevs'
or 'I'm deep and loving'
I betcha you thought people heard The Smiths
and didn't think you were bluffing.

Your poetry was garbage, too --
I don't blame you for scrapping your work.
You lied about cutting your legs,
the pain under your pale skin,
you exhausted every quirk,
and wished for more within.

I betcha you're sitting somewhere
twenty-something and super-bored.
Probably still choking on your cigarettes
against your matress board,
criticizing people thinking differently
I hope one day you read a book
and ask who would publish me

You're probably the words
stuck in some other's throat;
resenting you and the
****** Mountain Goats.
I never liked to criticize
the way you looked,
but your teeth are the
second most crooked
thing about you

"So what can we do for you today?" he asks
My expression unwaveringly content as if wearing a mask
"A lobotomy!" I say with a half-subdued smile
The doctor says he hasn't "heard that one in a while"

Little does he know I am completely serious
And in just a few minutes we being to discuss
"Now why would you want a lobotomy?" he asks leaning in
After a deep breath, I'm all too eager to begin

No bills, no job, no expectations
No depressing lack of motivation
No world hunger, no homeless men
No fear, no stress, no depression

"No love" doc says, sensing I'm the romantic sort
"No heartbreak, cheating, or divorce" I snarkily retort
No lies, no betrayal, no used-to-be friends
No mortgages, no insurance, no trying to meet ends
No hopelessness, no emptiness, no what-ifs or regrets
No innocence or loss of it, no piling up debts
No 8 A.M. alarm, no "what's the point?"
No recurring pain in my left shoulder joint
No waking up from a dream and facing reality
No resenting myself, no one taking advantage of me
No broken sink, no "I'll deal with it later"
No bug problem, no blasting-bad-music neighbor
No thoughts, no feelings, no doing a thing
Just sit, breathe, and eat what the nurses bring
No voice in my head, no have to eat healthy
No "rest when I'm dead" or work 'til I'm wealthy
No final straw in my constant fight
To try to find reasons to keep living life
No fear of the future, no lies from the past
No more constant sadness, I finish at last

An empty silence falls over the moment
The doctor is thinking and his face starts to show it
And then he said something I'll never forget
"I guess you're right, let's get a date for it set"
Doc so strangely agreeing I suddenly hesitate
And before he says more, I can only say "wait…"
"Maybe not yet," I sheepishly say
Maybe there's hope, if even just a ray

I think about life then say "what the hell, why not?"
There may still be hope even if it's impossible to spot
But hoping for hope might be enough for me
To save my brain from a lobotomy
And if in a few years things still aren't going well
I guess I'll still just keep living because eh, what the hell

when you were younger
and still cute
I was so excited for you to grow up
and be my best friend
looking back
I don't know what I was thinking

maybe back then
I was too young to see
the monster that you would grow to be
My Bad

now you're older
and like wet bread
you got moldy with age
heaven knows what you will be like ten years from now

your hands are sticky
you feel no remorse for the things you rob
your once platinum hair has turned the color of watery beef stew
like a living metaphor

you shed so many tears
you could give water to every thirsty soul on earth
if only they were made of water
and your cheeks weren't dry
when you finished your show

you stubby little body
hold so much evil
your chubby little hands
carry to many things that are not yours

people say I am crazy
for resenting a little angle
but they can’t see
past the glinting chocolate eyes
that hide your uglyness

The first raindrop tapped the top of my bald head
Like a tiny drop of bird ****
I wiped it off, unthinking, and went back to the sheep

The clouds were gray, as gray as I'd ever seen them
A hue that threatened total, complete darkness
Yet still enough sunlight peeking through
To keep me from being discouraged when it began to sprinkle
A few hundred birds
The sheep needed tending
I'd already lost one in the last week
I'd given up on ever finding it
To slaughter, sacrifice and eat
Lucky sheep, lost in the darkness, waiting for the wolves
I was sure it had no feelings and that it could care less
When the sprinkling turned to rain

When the sprinkling turned to rain
I said, "To hell with it"
Turned and left the fields, ******* at the sky
Cursing the Deity that had ruined my day

The woman I called "wife" stood with me at the window
Watching the rain come down in sheets
In torrents
I'd seen worse
But those clouds...
The dirt had long since turned to mud
A thick, deep, gelatinous mud
Quicksand...we stayed in the house
For fear it would **** us down to Sheol

Still a ray of sunshine
Just enough that we could see what we had done

Hours passed, and my sons joined us
Congregated at the window to witness the spectacle
A rarity, a flood, seeping into our home, soaking the stone floor
We lived in the valley
So we'd seen them before
We knew what it was like to get our feet wet
Up to the ankles
But the water kept rising

The water kept rising

We didn't really begin to worry until
Adam's ale reached our bellies
Until we could feel it swirling and tugging
Rising even still, so deep a current
My wife began to cry, unsure what to think
My sons tried hard
To show no fear
Failing
Me?
All I could think about was the sheep
Each and every one
Floating on the surface of a pond
That hadn't been there yesterday
When they had roamed, mindless, without feeling
Caring only for sustenance

I couldn't help but wonder
The realization terrified me
Struck me with dumb fear
Is this our fate?
A thought too incredible to contemplate
Or entertain for even a moment
Though it had occurred to my wife
My sons' quiet resolve had been shattered by it

I used to love the sound of rain
Falling into puddles outside my door
I don't know why
But it was comforting
Soothing
Relaxing
Delivering me to deep, dreamless sleep
I'd wake up in the morning completely  
Rested
And
Ready
For another day
To work the cursed ground
Resenting my lot
And the God who cursed it

The rainwater reached our necks
The screams were loud and desperate
I recognized each one
Though never so desperate
My wife clung to me like rotten seaweed
Her shrieking brittle and annoying against the side of my head
It hurt my ears and I would have told her to shut up
Had I not understood exactly why she was yelling
Yet I kept my resolve
Barely and likely to break before long
When the water reached my nose
My sons had floated to the other side of the house
I could hear them, too
But I could hardly see them
Because the sunlight
The terrible, cruel sunshine that so selfishly illuminated this ungodly scene
Was beginning to fade into the black clouds
Yesterday I would have closed my eyes to block it out
Burning annoyance
Now I knew it made no difference
A prayer for the rain
To stop
Would fall
On deaf ears

My sons, my pride and joy, my legacy
Both floating, dead, not 10 feet away
Rivulets of water dripped down their upturned faces
So much like sweat from a hard days work
I wanted to wipe them dry and tell them I was sorry
For bringing them into this world
This awful world
This hateful world
I wanted to somehow bring them back to life
Together we would **** the God who would do something like this to us

My wife, the apple of my eye
My helpmate
Friend, lover, the one person I could not live without
Her screams were muted, aquatic glosollolia
I could almost hear the sound of my name
Muffled as water found it's way down her throat
The look in her eyes was chilling
Despair, hope slowly draining away as she drank, unwilling
She begged me to stop it
STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!!!!!!!!

The rain kept falling
The sunlight vanished
I was in the dark
I felt the world flow in
A new atmosphere to get used to
Alone...alone
No more reason to worry about a lost sheep
I'm sure wrathful God had more important things on His Mind

Days later the rain still had not abated
But I was no longer alone
A nation, a race, a species
Floated at the top of an ocean that covered the globe
Corpses bumping into each other, dragged by the undertow
Flushed down by eddies
A macabre soup of carcasses
United
All but Eight to find and bury us

.............................................................­.

From the heights of a clear blue sky
In the bright, clean light of the sun
Heaven opens
A dove descends

his heart bled into the ground
he held me and whispered
in ****** liquor sighs

go on guapa
as long as there’s one of us
there’s both of us

and I shook like a rabbit
in twilight’s snare
and begged him

don’t go
don’t go

a chant as old
as old
as my bones

together,
once we felt the
earth move

it shook in the late spring morning
and I he warmed my feet
in the sack
when the night was a vacuum

he spilled his seed
on the ground
like some biblical
walk on

and we lived an entire
life
an entire life
in three days

three days of coughing
and struggling to stay still
in the winters dull
and stingy light
from a pale pale
pane in
Indiana

is it safe to
give my _ to you?

It’s never safe,
I roughly handed it to you
and you felt it’s
shadow every since

with your busted femur
and long trailing stain
resenting the self-made
patricide
bleeding out

on the gray beast
I’m taken
the little rabbit
with a black scar

saving myself from
the tangled
mar that you now
have fallen

If I go on
we both go on

The itch of a sunburn on my skin, being home is slightly bittersweet.
A reminder that problems which trouble your mind follow you everywhere.
I'm constantly caught up in the everyday battle of deciphering what's really there and what isn't
In the sense of real ailments and anxiety.
A trouble of the mind and body, plaguing me
Making me feel like some reject, unable to live a normal life.

But it started because of something I did to myself. Underlying feelings my entire life let loose by some rampant act of idiocy. (All to impress a dumb boy. )
Irrevocable and for years now it's been an ongoing struggle.
Trying to feel normal, when I can barely remember what normal is.
Constantly feeling like I have to explain every ******* symptom to someone so I don't feel like I'm dying.
It's exhausting.
It doesn't happen every day and I thank whoever for that, because if it was....
I don't know what I would do.

Sick and tired of feeling sick and tired with all these unexplained questions. Always searching for an answer. Hypochondriac tendencies, introverted so deeply without a reason.
And the entire time I've just wanted to feel like I'm not coming undone at my seams.
That I have more of a ******* purpose than over analyzing every single feeling I have in my body on a day-to-day basis. Somehow in all of the disarray, I found someone who loves me, my gigantic flaws and all, and despite all the trouble I have, sometimes I feel like if I don't keep it to myself that he's going to leave me.
Because who wants to be with someone who doesn't work at all?

A child of a mother who was severely schizophrenic. A father who was gone for too **** long, but not by his own fault.
Resentment towards a woman who despite her problems did everything in her power to keep her two children alive, when she probably wasn't feeling so alive inside. Raised by myself, with her guidance and having to come to terms with the fact that you spent your entire young-life knowing you didn't have a dad. To having him save you in the midst of a war you didn't want to have, and that was a miracle. Realizing all you knew in your life to that point was a struggle and not the way things were supposed to be. You were freed.
Spending the next few years trying to live up to my fathers seemingly unrealistic expectations, never quite understanding that was all that he was given. Trying to make the most of what he felt was slipping through his hands, and *******. To know then what I know now.
I wasted so much time just wanting to feel loved, because I was lacking what vital fundamentals I didn't have. Thinking that's what made life worthwhile.
Years passed, and I always told myself, diminishing my life struggles because someone has had it worse. But my struggles were real, and they mattered.

Never allowing myself to say "yes, you've been through hell" and it's ****** that I have to pay for it now. A few wrong choices can ******* up real nicely. How long do I keep resenting myself instead of accepting and moving on? My life has been filled with good intentions and wrong choices. Looking back at all the things that I've seen and all the people who have come and gone, I'm absolutely joyed I have who I have now.  The few who stuck around.

The hardest part of it all is telling yourself that you're okay, that you're going to be okay. Watching the city come alive on the balcony cause you're afraid to fall back asleep. Anxiety comes with a price. You lose pieces of your sanity.

Ultimately in life's big write your own song- you learn a few things. Feeling the cold air making my hair stand on end, causing a shiver reminding me that I am alive. Without my struggles and problems I've experienced there is no way I could've shaped into the individual I am. Something to say thanks to.

A deep breath, a longer than usual exhale.  Acknowledge these feelings for what they are. I hope they won't be here forever.


-spoken word.

You were supposed to protect me
Your little girl
Your little angel
Your only child

You might've loved me
At one time
I think you ended up resenting me
But that's fine

Subjected to your selfish tirades
Put through your gruesome facades
Held up on a pedestal
Only to be pushed down
Your once endearing smile
Now causes me to frown

Everytime the bottle went up
My heart sank down
I begged you
I pleaded you
You weren't there
Not even when I needed you

Sure, you were physically there
But mentally, you were so unaware
Or maybe you were
And just didn't care

You got in your car
Went out for smokes
You were hazy
And at this point, I went crazy
Who were you to risk a life?
Not your own
But maybe somebody's wife?
Somebody's husband?
Somebody's kid?

You don't even care about your own
And I don't think you ever did

Today she wrapped her arms around her fear, and she thanked it

Yesterday, as she lay in bed, and during a new meditation she'd found, she was reminded of her fear.
This fear, is of not being good enough for people to love.

She craves for love, like many of us do.
A lost but familiar drug.
It haunts her, yet she is unable to fully accept it when it appears.

To the outside, all looks great.
She has a new man, or a new friend.
And immediately, crashing waves of love, she hurls at these people.

She pushes them way up high, and fills them with pressure.
The pressure of healing her.
Of gathering up her pieces and gluing her together with their love.

There is a pattern. It's rooted as deep as the memories of an old spirited tree. A tree rooted over too many years. Struggling to stand with the knowledge embedded within itself.

Then once again, she meets someone. And she falls in love ❤️

Her ego dances with joy. Her heart somersaults in ecstasy.
Her fear is gone? Or so she feels. And all in her magic kingdom is beautiful again.
The grey walls of her life are a dazzling bright white. And she is free.
This person she then fills with her desperate love, her hopes and dreams, and her need to quieten the fear, until they can't breathe, bursting at their seams.

This 'filling up' of people, wears them down. The relationship rips at the edges. She senses this and her fear applies more pressure within this filling up.
The torn seams become gaping black holes.
And she has lost.

The pattern needs to be broken.
The fear wants her to hear it, to take notice. And so it sends her love after love followed by rejection after rejection.
Until she hears it banging on her soul.

So she is teaching herself to love this fear. To read it as an old book and to learn from its pages.
As each time her heart is broken, rejected. It is fear teaching her that she doesn't yet love herself fully.

The heartache is there to remind her that there is still much work to be done.
That there has to be this darkness, to let the light in.
That trying to hide from the pain, resenting it, or getting angry with it. Does not serve her.

She will have love; she will find her magic and she will let in the light.

Today she wrapped her arms around her fear, and she thanked it.

Love is the answer ❤

Im irritable
And volatile
I can't help but notice
Nothing feels right anymore
And when I start to feel
Happy
Something in me says STOP
You aren't allowed to
Feel that way.
I cringe at your touch
But I find myself
Resenting you when you
Turn the other way
To sleep without
Me in your arms
And when you smile and say
I'm beautiful
It makes me want to
Slap the grin off your
Hideous face
The face I love
To hate.
This bitterness has made my mouth
Numb
From swallowing all these
Feelings for so long
And I noticed that you don't
Smile like you
Used to
Because you know what goes on
In the darkest corners
Of my mind
Even when I don't.
You know me better than
I know myself
But you really don't
Know me
At all...

I longed for your return;
Waiting patiently by the window, I forgot how to live.
With a kiss you were gone; sent away to fight a noble cause;
You said the only noble cause in life was loving me, if anything.
Watching you fade into a cloud of smoke, right then I knew this day would come.
You said: “Curse the Gods! A moment without you is a moment without breath.”
I lost count of the moments, and of the breaths.
In a distant memory, you hold me close;
Now, all that holds me close was the beckoning gloom.

Cold in bed, I turn to where you should be;
I shun the emptiness, resenting it for your absence.
The apparent expansion of time torments me;
You’ve been gone but a month; but really a life has passed.
I’m sure the window has grown tired of the hours spent upon his fading frame,
The shuddering breaths fogging up the panes that now rarely boast the sunlight.

The carnations tossed a sorry, red sight across the hall
As you came through the door;
The languid form before me bore no resemblance to the man who left.
A tear escaped your eye as you recognised my loss of faith.
I shivered at your touch; your kiss was unfamiliar.
I closed my eyes,
And I knew that you had gone.