She is just a bag of bones
A bag of groans, of dirty moans.
She is just an empty plane
Falling with quickened pace to
The encroaching fields that circle on the spinning horizon.
She is just a drip on the easel of a beggars masterpiece, never part of portrait nor philosophical question.
In the morning air she is just the last mosquito who falls to its death as the chill breaks wings of all specie.
She is just the last of the drink in the paper cup which is lukewarm, an unnecessary part of the purchase.
She is just the last laugh before a beheading as there are many undue bursts of uncertainty unruly as an undertakers utterances.
Flash! A burst of light. Perhaps she is at least a floating driftwood for a dignitary to grab and use to save her celebrity and the world it's loss of a pretty face...
Or was that just another headlight from the vehicle smashing her under the bumper again?
The closeness of the engine was warm and real.
She is just sand in a broken hourglass that falls into chaotic atmosphere without stopping.
She is just a test mouse in a maze where the reward for winning is hemlock brie and berries and the penalty for defeat is injected garbage.
He keeps telling her "just once more" for she is just a penny surrounded in a coin jar full of quarters, silver dollars, extra buttons and condoms.
She is just trying once more for at least there is still air in her smoke-filled lungs.
She is just holding hands in tightness hoping for breakthrough. Fucking breakthrough.
She is just today. She is just tomorrow. She is just hoping for tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
That being said...
It will be back and forth that I share my musings. I will begin with my two most recent shorts as these past two weeks have been an avalanche of emotion. Years later my brain has it's good and bad days. Sometimes it's wave after wave of negative thought and no matter how I try to stop my mind's roller coaster the enormous tuba of memory blasts the lowest possible note in my ears and rattles my eyes. Other days I have joy with happy thoughts more glad than Christmas carolers. But it seems that he comes to find those thoughts of hope, and slaughters them with his 20 inch blade. He who? I have yet to name him. He is the pain. He is the one who whispers "Stop smiling bitch you don't deserve it." He is the one who makes me feel uncomfortable when I think something good may happen. He is my worst enemy. He is death to all things glorious in my life and his endurance is inhuman. I digress. My recents:
**********
There she lies, a royal purple & black velvet blanket nearly collapsing upon her for the 999th time. The devious coverlet stops falling and floats inches above her bruised, bloodshot and tear filled eyes. "Here comes death to stop this cursed roller coaster." she thinks to herself with relief and gratitude.
But it is not the Grim Reaper nor the Angel of Death who visits.
He comes softly, tightly grasping the cloth, removing it from it's position of suffocation then grips the back of her neck with tenderness unmatched.
Ripping the jagged heaviness from the atmosphere he reveals the girl.
He holds her there, a frail, naked skeleton. She shivers profusely.
Alone no longer she begins to open her eyes. Her vision is blurred & her heart empty.
Filling the room with volcanic warmth & thunder he soothes her wounds with his heart & his breath, speaking words of depth & love.
"Surely this man jests. " she mutters. She is not ready to give him her nothing, nor her everything. She has already given herself away to the rest of the world.
"You could have rescued me sooner! What more could I have endured?" she begins to cry to him, shoulders shaking, mouth agape as tears stream fast as rapids in the spring after winter's icy grip.
His eyes, azure & sparkling, have a kind glow & his skin wrinkles a bit underneath his eyelids as he smiles and adores her.
His complexion is olive with scruff & a bit of grey upon his jawline.
The girl is so angry with him for waiting until now to aid her. What could her life had been if he had come the 5th time or the 66th? Perhaps serenity could have been her path rather than thorns and blood.
She does like his heartbeat, though.
It almost makes her believe he's real.
Letting go of her elbows she begins to move toward him, hands slightly outstretched.
Everything in her tells her not to believe, not to let go and most definitely not to be free.
Familiarity and doubt are her usual lot. "What makes this time different? Is this actual? How could you say you love me if you've only come to me today, this cursed day?" she sniffs and whines at him.
Not snow nor sword nor flame nor death could have kept him from smiling at her. He pursed his lips and kissed her forehead. She shyly looks towards him in fear he'll disappear.
"I have been here all 999 times my love. Remember when you stood on the edge of the cliff and the sea bellowed, telling you to jump? Do you remember the tympanic winds upon the brush near where you stood and what it said to you?"
The girl paused and thought, though the memory returned instantaneously.
With calm and humility she nodded.
"That was me telling you to try again and to breathe, to laugh once more and to step back from the edge. I was the one who engulfed you with joy when you made an accomplishment, no matter how small. I was the one who you felt breathe you back to life when you were alone and afraid after another overdose. Every time you awoke I was the one by your bedside holding your hand. I was the one who waited by the door as you decided if you should try and come home again. I celebrated when you were born. I celebrated when you discovered your voice. I adore everything about you and I know your fears. I know you don't recognize me. You held my hand when you were lost in the woods, the city and your head. I laugh when you dance when you think no one is looking. Surely you must begin to recall me my love?"
Slowly she allows herself to drift off into a daydream and think of past moments, though flighting, where happiness or hope, bed of down or cloud had given her slumber.
As a marching number belted out in her spinning cranium she felt wave after wave of emotion pull her up, up up into his arms, closer and with more abandon. She fought back with all her might, but she was hurled into his care.
She sat, staring into pasty, white walls. She let him stroke her hair. Though the blackness was gone, so was her will.
A broken mirror painted another pair of red eyes that reflected back at her. "This time will be different." she vomited in a tone of blighted hope.
******
That took a few weeks to complete as I started wanting to leave her in his care but I decided to end it with my ever-present feeling of being unsure of the future.
**********
There she lies, a royal purple & black velvet blanket nearly collapsing upon her for the 999th time. The devious coverlet stops falling and floats inches above her bruised, bloodshot and tear filled eyes. "Here comes death to stop this cursed roller coaster." she thinks to herself with relief and gratitude.
But it is not the Grim Reaper nor the Angel of Death who visits.
He comes softly, tightly grasping the cloth, removing it from it's position of suffocation then grips the back of her neck with tenderness unmatched.
Ripping the jagged heaviness from the atmosphere he reveals the girl.
He holds her there, a frail, naked skeleton. She shivers profusely.
Alone no longer she begins to open her eyes. Her vision is blurred & her heart empty.
Filling the room with volcanic warmth & thunder he soothes her wounds with his heart & his breath, speaking words of depth & love.
"Surely this man jests. " she mutters. She is not ready to give him her nothing, nor her everything. She has already given herself away to the rest of the world.
"You could have rescued me sooner! What more could I have endured?" she begins to cry to him, shoulders shaking, mouth agape as tears stream fast as rapids in the spring after winter's icy grip.
His eyes, azure & sparkling, have a kind glow & his skin wrinkles a bit underneath his eyelids as he smiles and adores her.
His complexion is olive with scruff & a bit of grey upon his jawline.
The girl is so angry with him for waiting until now to aid her. What could her life had been if he had come the 5th time or the 66th? Perhaps serenity could have been her path rather than thorns and blood.
She does like his heartbeat, though.
It almost makes her believe he's real.
Letting go of her elbows she begins to move toward him, hands slightly outstretched.
Everything in her tells her not to believe, not to let go and most definitely not to be free.
Familiarity and doubt are her usual lot. "What makes this time different? Is this actual? How could you say you love me if you've only come to me today, this cursed day?" she sniffs and whines at him.
Not snow nor sword nor flame nor death could have kept him from smiling at her. He pursed his lips and kissed her forehead. She shyly looks towards him in fear he'll disappear.
"I have been here all 999 times my love. Remember when you stood on the edge of the cliff and the sea bellowed, telling you to jump? Do you remember the tympanic winds upon the brush near where you stood and what it said to you?"
The girl paused and thought, though the memory returned instantaneously.
With calm and humility she nodded.
"That was me telling you to try again and to breathe, to laugh once more and to step back from the edge. I was the one who engulfed you with joy when you made an accomplishment, no matter how small. I was the one who you felt breathe you back to life when you were alone and afraid after another overdose. Every time you awoke I was the one by your bedside holding your hand. I was the one who waited by the door as you decided if you should try and come home again. I celebrated when you were born. I celebrated when you discovered your voice. I adore everything about you and I know your fears. I know you don't recognize me. You held my hand when you were lost in the woods, the city and your head. I laugh when you dance when you think no one is looking. Surely you must begin to recall me my love?"
Slowly she allows herself to drift off into a daydream and think of past moments, though flighting, where happiness or hope, bed of down or cloud had given her slumber.
As a marching number belted out in her spinning cranium she felt wave after wave of emotion pull her up, up up into his arms, closer and with more abandon. She fought back with all her might, but she was hurled into his care.
She sat, staring into pasty, white walls. She let him stroke her hair. Though the blackness was gone, so was her will.
A broken mirror painted another pair of red eyes that reflected back at her. "This time will be different." she vomited in a tone of blighted hope.
******
That took a few weeks to complete as I started wanting to leave her in his care but I decided to end it with my ever-present feeling of being unsure of the future.
Again with Genesis
Life. Yes, it begins again. I try to compose my thoughts as they race across my eyes and into the back of my head. If only I had chopsticks I could snatch them, the damned, quick flies, as Mr. Miyagi had done with unmatched skill back in the day. Beginning this blog is scarier to me than having my blood drawn with the phlebotomist who admitted it was her 3rd day (lest I forget to mention, I am TERRIFIED of needles) when I was pregnant with Karis. What makes this a terrifying experience? I have wanted to write my entire life. I do write, but I've never done it with the intent of actually making it go somewhere for fear of failure. I will soon be attending creative writing classes and will hopefully have my own "Josephine March" type of penn name one day. But for today, a genesis. I would like to begin with something unpleasant. Every single day of my life my behavior, my thoughts, my hopes or void of any future, my smiles or lack thereof are due to what I believe is a life-altering evil I experienced not once, not twice but mulitple times over the course of my life. The pain creates cycles, the cycles create cycles... but I am getting ahead of myself. Before I spill it I will mention that I dedicate this blog to all others who have been through things like what I am about to share, as well as those who are no longer with us as the pain got to them before sanity was found. I was five when it first happened. I remember the tree house. My friend's yard was amazing, green and gigantic. Her tree house was centered in the middle of the field, or at least it seemed it to me, and the ladder was a difficult climb. I was in charge of bringing the juice boxes to the indoor picnic as she and I called it. She was in the kitchen with her mom when I decided to be productive and start climbing. When I arrived at the top I was surprised to find her brother, who I did not know was home, waiting for me with an odd look on his face. He was 16. I remember it was awful. I remember it was unfair. He grabbed me and instantaneously began to remove what he could from my attire. I remember my mouth quivering and asking him "Can I go home please?" He declined my idea. My friend never did come up. But her brothers friend did. Their hands appeared larger than life and dirtier than a cole miner's grimace. I can never say for sure how long it was but indefinitely, it was an eternity. I left that tree house knowing a few things. I was not worth my friend's time. I was apparently only worth their time. I guessed that's all I was worth.
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