Despair

Paint your face for me. Paint it crimson. Arm in arm across the way. Sprinting towards the edge. Falling into fire ; swim in my eyes. Doused in blackness and gasoline. Torment and tension stitched to and thru skin. Razor wire , bone , sinew , and blood. It’s rising up in me and I can’t stop it. I write on the walls trying to keep it at bay. I don’t want to again. I don’t want to. But I can feel it clawing at me; biting at me. Little teeth. Gleaming chompers. Dumping lava into my veins. I squeeze tight, curl into a ball trying to crush the snake in my belly. It starts small…little sparks ; then the bigger logs begin to catch light and I’m up and away. Blazing like an inferno I’m gone outta sight. Running to the brink I can feel the heat under my feet and the wind on my face. I wish I could burn right up…I need relief then it’ll be gone. Something anything to clear away the slate of my heart and make me blank inside. I close my eyes and demons of love and loss cavort across the darkness. There is no peace. There is no peace and I wish the earth would open and swallow me. The urn of my soul is broken and all of me is gushing out. The sand drinks it up greedily begging for more and I wish I had none left to give. But more and more and more keeps flowing out. Like a finger in an open sore. Like that infected tooth that you can’t keep from touching with your tongue. The scab you can’t help but pick. I’m hurting and I wish I could force myself to end it. I want to smear blood across my forehead and rub my face with ash. I want to sit under a moon black as sack cloth and lament loss , despair against finality , and rage indiscriminately against anyone and everything till my fingers are worn down to the bone and I cough blood in vivid gaudy streams. To hear the sound of anyone screaming except me would give me peace. Instead of sitting inside this tomb to lost love and rehashing everything…going over the words and the days and the years again and again. I run my fingers over it studying the crevices and crannies looking for an imperfection. Some indication...something to tell me I could have seen this all coming. I’m at ground zero…a pillar of ash...stark and alone, oblivious that the world around me has drastically changed and the road ahead is dark , lonely and uncertain. I feel spent and all that’s left is this quiet agony. I’m at the edge of the abyss; one good shove is all I need. Then I could escape into the black...falling forever…and finally have peace…instead of looking at scattered pictures and shattered glass…Instead of praying for my love to come back…instead of waiting for the joy in my eyes to return…I miss her

A Whisper

There is no voice...Have you ever noticed that? No one can hear you. You can scream and scream and scream until your voice is raw and you are coughing blood and still...no one can hear you. There are too many things wrong and even worse too many people willing to close their eyes. And even worse there are so many other people who knowing , that afore mentioned eyes are closed , elect to follow anyway. I'm fucking sick of it all. Too much corruption..too many people worried about their own petty bullshit..too much motherfucking drama..its enough already..a change is coming. Big things are happening..big things that effect everybody , but evidently none of that stuff is important enough. There are a few people that care. Too few , and that's very unfortunate. As I write I know nothing will change. Then why write? Well , If I know that the house is burning down , its not in me to go from room to room just whispering "fire". There are a few people , however , who have found a way to break through..and get to a platform where they can , shout. Loud and clear for the whole world to hear. And that , reader is the saddest bit of all..the ugly despicable truth ; because , if you ever get up there to the podium to talk ,you suddenly become aware that its your first real chance to see..to really see. And you do see... your audience , that is. And they have their fingers in their fucking ears , eyes tightly shut , and big vacuous grins plastered on their high pristine faces. Its not that they can't hear your voice. They don't want to listen. Wondrous fucking oblivion I suppose. That's enough reflection for now.