I can’t explain this, nor do I have the right to. It’s a slip from reality into the pits of darkness that are ever brewing within myself. It’s flushed cheeks and shimmering green eyes and laughter yet unmatched. It was an escape from myself, from the most horrifying regions of my psyche and you bravely reached your hand under the tumultuous waves to save me from myself.
I gripped tightly because it felt right, it felt safe, it felt like home for the first time within a lover’s gaze. But it was deeper than that. You quickly became one of my deepest and dearest friends. You sat there as I cried assuring me that everything would be fine, but we existed in an alternate reality. This plain was so far from the cement my feet were grounded upon that I couldn’t soar high enough to plant myself by your side.
It’s difficult to exist in three worlds; the world with you, the world with them and the deadly world inside my head. There is something deeply wrong with me and I believe it will never be healed. There are wounds so deep from the life I’ve lived that I can’t simply shut my eyes to it. There are ghosts in my soul that will never find peace because they scream of the pain and refuse to repeat it.
You don’t need to hear it, or maybe you do, but I’m sorry you got caught up in the wasteland I’ve become.
I feel as though I’m nothing but holes and when the wind blows I’m sure I’ll never be whole. I keep losing fragments of myself, each with its own story to tell, and I’m not rebuilding or fortifying to keep myself strong. I grow weaker every day as my insides decay without love, without touch, without a solace to behold.
You were that solace.
Now I simply picture a woman sitting on the porch of the house she longed for. A new city, a new life, but all her hopes and dreams have died as she watches another sunset completely alone.
Every once in awhile I slip under the waves and I would love to simply lay limp and be taken out to sea. Tears tickle at my eyes threatening retreat at any moment, but for what I know not.
I sail on highs and lows and the highs are just as thrilling as the lows are terrifying. Can you feel the pressure of the falling sky squeezing me dry as I pray to die?
Thankfully there is a small part of my logic still intact and I scribble four letters across my flesh until the ink sinks deeply beneath my skin penetrating within until it reaches my heart and wraps ever so tightly to keep me from falling apart.
It is the ever present feeling that I’m on the outside, flushed cheeks pressed against frostbitten glass, looking in on those I love and I’ve loved and I miss and I’ve kissed but I feel as though I was never a part of that cozy winter fire gathering at all.
Buried six feet under distraction to push this ever looming loneliness away, doing whatever it takes to keep the tears and the blade at bay. Focus on the future, focus on something better, focus on some dreamscape fantasy that takes my problems away.
How I long for a summer storm so I can cry myself dry with the raindrops masking my pain.
As I lie in bed, still warm from your touch, I stare at the ceiling replaying the scenes between us. Your tongue caressing every inch of my flesh as I pull at your hair, moaning with eagerness. The bed has grown cold but I can still feel your breath on my neck, your lips against mine as you thrust deep inside. I dissolve into you, every moment that you’re near, absorbing every sensation so you’ll always stay here within my heart, under my skin, tickling at my brain. I curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chin and inhale your scent that has lingered. I imagine that your arms are around me still, our heartbeats aligning, our breath rhythmically syncing.
I wish you could stay so I could awake to your face, but you’ve gone home to your bed where she awaits.
And I wonder if I’ll ever be the one rather than the other woman whom you leave behind with the setting sun.
Quarantine the girl with the infectious kiss before she draws blood with her fanged laughter. She’s wicked, you know, absolutely deadly. One brush of those lips and you’re a dead man. Don’t listen to your heart’s lying pleas. You’re standing with your back to your grave and when you fall in love with her taste, you’ll be falling into your final resting place.
Is there a point to life? I simply don't see the point in living. I'm not suicidal, but still.
I suppose it depends on your religious views. Some would say making it into heaven or securing a higher position in your next life. Others might say you need to make the most out of this one life you have. I think a general rule across all beliefs is that when you’re lying on your deathbed, you want to be able to say you lived a full life. You’ll want to know you achieved your goals, impacted people for the better or left a story worth telling.
If life were a video game, the point would be unlocking as many achievements as possible and dying satisfied.
I scribble and etch these words on the wall, teetering on this ladder, one wobble from falling. But what would it matter in the end if I can’t release this colors that dance within my head. I can’t capture the coral of this passion that’s brewing. I can’t write of the teal that’s peeling my skin away from my skull and for nothing at all - it’s all pain, no escape.
Let me write. Let it out. As I scream and I shout I can’t make sense of it all. And when I write on these walls it’s cluttered and strewn from corner to corner with no order to behold. No form to slip in to. No frame to break free from.
Remember when I could write the thoughts of others and steal their breath along with them? Render them speechless and awed. They’d pause and wonder what witchcraft I held in the palm of my hands to make this pen dance so gracefully before them.
And now I can feel the rats scratching on my left hemisphere as I paint over the words I’ve written yet again. I run against the padded walls hoping to fall into a deep sleep that will last for weeks and maybe I’ll wake up with something to write about. But it didn’t happen last time…
The written word evades me as the colors of myself fade to grey then blink away.
I am nothing.
Nothing but a book filled with eraser-marked pages.
She leaned close to his ear, one foot propped on his bar stool. “Just being this close to you has started passion’s water flowing,” she whispered, taking his hand and burying it under the waves of her dress.
The words echoed in my mind as I sat at the hotel bar awaiting her arrival. I only had one objective: maintain control, but images of taught skin and parted lips kept flashing in my vision and I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
Suddenly the clicking of stilettos approached the bar. I didn’t turn to see her, knowing I’d instantly jump out of my skin and into hers after lusting for her flesh for so long. My heart began racing, blood rushing south and I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
My peripheral vision focused on her form, perfect breasts restrained in a tight red dress pressed against the bar. She crossed one bare leg behind the other, pushing her supple ass out as her back arched. Her lips parted slightly as she smiled at the bartender but the room faded away as I imaged those lips exploring, kissing, sucking, moaning and I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
"Well, hello." Her fragrance was sugar and honey. "Fancy meeting you here." Her voice was lust and passion. She bent down, kissing my cheek lightly, pressing her breasts against my chest, one hand resting just below my waist. She made small talk, though I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I must have been responding, because she laughed and smiled and sipped her drink, but I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
Several drinks down and several hours past, she leans into me again, placing her hand on my thigh, close enough to know what I’d been thinking but far enough to only make my yearning stronger. “I’m glad we did this,” sugar and honey brushing my face as she kissed my cheek again. She pulled back slightly, biting her lip as she ran her fingers through my stubble. I breathed deeply, but the hope for control was gone.
"I’ll walk you up to your room."
The elevator doors had only just closed, when I turned my eyes on her, leaning against the railing, still biting her lip. I took a step toward her and hesitated. “Do it,” she breathed, one single exhale of wanting. She tasted just as sweet as she smelled.
There are words clawing and scratching at my skull screaming of all the things I can never say aloud. Once I speak it, once I say it, once the air has time to carry it far away from my mouth, then the word will be out and I cannot stop the hurricane it will create, swirling with the wind - my fiery words, my icy heart - a storm that will destroy me.
It’s not that I don’t love you, no. I’m sure I do, I must.
But when I look into your eyes that puhrump is gone, my heart’s song silenced and we just sit in a quiet that I cannot wait to escape. And I tremble on how we once blamed fate for bringing us together, when perhaps it may have been desperation instead. So lonely and cold were the nights before you and now I find I cannot breathe with you so close.
Now, I’m not so sure, not so sure what I’m feeling, staring at the ceiling trying to piece the pieces together. But nothing fits anymore, I’m lost.
And I’m no longer sure if I fell in love with you or the idea of us.
These bars fit so neatly in the palms of my hands like crayons to a child drawing the world how they see it. If it wasn’t for the bitter sting of the cold metal, it might not feel like prison as I sit here waiting for the inevitable.
Love like waves in blackened caves without a heartbeat to fade the resounding shades of crimson. The waves pulse against the ridged walls and echo. They echo (echo) and echo along with a thump (thump) thump against my rib bones. I shudder. Ice water warming my veins and the pain pierces like a coral reef sinking deeply into my flesh, painting my sin in reds on my untouched skin.
Do you remember those moments of quiet when the world seemed to stop just like my heart’s melody and there was nothing between you and me except a stuttered breath of recompense and a burning passion for something more. You’d hold me closely wishing I was someone else and as I inhaled your fragrance I only dreamed of him. It was our mutual understanding - we were the best we could get. Two lost ghosts hanging from ropes in the den of a forgotten dream.
I picked my splintered body off the floor, the cracks and snaps of tired joints louder than the waves’ crashing claps. It echos like thunder without the flash of lightning because there is no light left in this place. There is no life left in your face as I see you lying there still, unmoving. I touch your marble skin, colder than your heart within and as I fall into the welcoming waves I pray death with take me swiftly away.
Oh, how I loved you, forest eyes and blinding smile. You’d melt my defenses and warm my heart with no effort on your part other than parting those lips so sweetly and serenely as I dissolved into putty you held in your rough hands, easily mailable, wholly yours.
Oh, how I loved you, kerosine and ketamine. You’d dip me in poison before setting your fire upon me. Oh, how I’d burn for you, blazing flames, inexhaustible, unwavering, all consuming. Passion and sweat, touches to forget, fingering scars that will last a lifetime and an ache that will reach into my grave.
Oh, how I loved you, gunshots and incisions. Cutting me deeply and filling the wound with cigarette ash, you’d vanish only to make me long for your healing return. Clandestine kiss and ferocious fist, one last wish to remain in your bliss. Bruises unseen, unnoticed, ignored, but outside of your pain was a life I abhorred.
Oh, how I loved you, chaotic highs and suicidal lows. I’d lay within your presence without fear of what danced behind your eyelids. All I remember now is a fragile creature crying, quivering with sadness as I sat in panic unable to reach out. Broken promises are tattooed on my heartbeats, wondering which regret is caging me in this sorrow.
Echoed whispers infiltrate my dreams like submarines, undetected, unnoticed. I awake in cold sweats as the ghosts of your touch disappear and I’m greeted with my fear that you are not here. Cold and dark room, empty bed with tear stained sheets and monsters dancing on the walls, celebrating my defeat.
How many more sleepless nights can I lie in before the crying will cease and leave me to rest in peace?
How I yearn to sleep like the dead. Bury me six feet under and upside down, stone in my mouth to keep me from rising. Might as well tie me down so I can feel as bound as I do right now.
Echoed whispers infiltrate my dreams and it seems the sound sleep of yesterday is no where to be found.
How many more mason jars must I fill before my heart stops pumping the poison into my veins? Won’t the reels of film wear already so the movie clips stop repeating? I find myself pulled under by the currents of heartache long ago. The stitches are holding, the wounds since scarred and healed yet the pin pricks still pick at the pain like it was only yesterday, the image of you walking away replayed.
I remember starry night poetry and moonlit laughter, dewy rouged cheeks and a smile that could outshine the sun.
More potently, I remember the tears and crimson arcs, the bloodied knees and echoed sobs, the void of everything and absent goodbye.
I never got to say goodbye and perhaps that’s why I still cry as the clouds rain down to mask my tears for the year of unanswered questions and broken promises.
Despite the brighter tomorrow, yesterday won’t release its talons of sorrow.
Day wasted as I’m wasting away, fading into the drizzle as my head spins dizzy fleeting falling nothingness - I crack. Unable to look back as the cacophony of angry diatribes echoes off the corridors of my mind, hemispheres screaming and shrieking in pain and I placate the talking heads that bobble past my doorway. Frontal cortex vortex highlighting important information in black ink and I sink deeper into this insanity that comes with monotony of day to day wasting away until I fall to my knees and pray. No air. No sound. Only the resounding pound of frustration beating the life from my temples outside of the temple that could redeem inner light. Flight failing as I fall into the depths of it all and as I drift I wonder if I’ll ever see the light again.
And I hear a soft hum. Humdrum vertigo pulls me off balance, tipping - teetering over and over and over again.
I remember a time when I felt fine but it was so long ago I’m starting to wonder if it was a dream, a hallucination, or if this is a nightmare that I cannot wake from. Let me wake from this.
Do you ever wish you could record a feeling and play it back to remember every sensation, every scent, every awe inspiring detail?
Like sitting on the porch in the rain where the breeze is crisp and refreshing and the air smells alive. The pitter patter of falling drops releases and calming cacophony and for a moment the entire world feels at peace.
Or when you accomplish something great and it feels like the fire that’s been burning in the pit of your stomach erupts and runs rampant through your veins. The blood, sweat and tears are solidified before you and for a moment the entire world feels at peace.
Or a first kiss when the anticipation reaches a breaking point until lips meet lips and your heart skips and the butterflies flutter a hurricane sputter and everything stops