sometimes stopping the pain is the end of it all

i see death in your silhouette

no, death is intimate and romantic

i see void

i see vast emptiness

a life where nothing lives

no parasite will feast

fleas, lice and the like scatter

even the most basic of chemical reactions

can speak fluently in survival

and where you linger, life does not

you suck love, light and happiness

from the souls of the pure

leaving them demented, tortured

banging their heads in sanitariums

selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors

anti-psychotics and shock therapy

when all else fails…

drilling holes in proper places and pour the ethanol

the torture you carry drenched in midnight ejaculation

self service, self rise, self satisfy, self depraved

narcissus and his pool of water-a swimming lesson

you are noxious when kind, napalm for the soul

great and mighty, papaver somniferum, the human equalizer

dripping, oozing, squirting madness onto trembling hands

but today your taste does not linger in my mouth

there is no fleeting euphoria of you swimming inside

as beautiful as you can appear, dear poppy,

your delicate petals swirling  lavenders, reds and pinks

springing from pale green pods-breath taking in every way

i now drift to sleep in the arms of true love

and i have never slept so soundly

 

 

erosion of my stone heart

i thought we would hold hands forever

i have fought your demons and monsters

begging and bargaining to keep you safe

processed pressed turkey loaf and instant tea

plastic spoons for everyone’s protection

i walk the memories in the hallway of my mind

i find pictures of who we used to be

the romanticized versions of the you and the me

i have always been able to tell myself lies

i tried to love you sane

i wanted to love you happy

i wished to love you to life

but i am not enough to live for you

i took the belt, the shame, the wrath

when he exploded in blind rage

i wouldn’t eat until you ate first

i was a child raising someone else’s child

i would have gouged my eyes to keep you from crying

i am no saint

i am no pacifist

broken fingers, black eyes, fist fights, name calling

and more and more and more and more

two lifetimes of more

words like carbon monoxide suffocating your kids

phone calls, threats, lies

calculating measurements ensuring scar-tissue:

“it’s taking you so long to die…just do it already!”

red and blue flashing lights men in uniform on my porch

love for a girl and a boy while refusing you access

denying you the ability to steer my life

gives justification for an avant garde war of the roses

i have given up on the illusion of sisterhood

i learned you will never ask how i am doing

i learned i don’t need you to ask

i learned my soul can sing and shine

i can laugh from deep inside without worry or shame

when there is no smog or poison wringing all of me

i hope you find a happiness one day

daddy’s last wish was i take care of you

but i have to say goodbye and i can not say hello again

 

 

 

waiting for the hands on the clock to applaud

i can feel the all of me swinging

the back and forth motion

learning from the past is nice

but living in the now is deadly

just a taste

a tiny little taste

just one

then it can be put away

i am too tired

every bit of me screams

my daily torture and torment

hooded ladies with lips of poppies

velvet and warm and dreaming

forgetting for moments

the tragedy and carnage

no more words of importance

a respite from political correctness

i wish it could be true….

pain dissolved in water

but i am me

i am “aswang”*

 

 

 

*aswang-filipino folklore-a shape-shifter.  the aswang can appear as a shy, innocent human then change into horrible, vampire-like monsters who feed on fetuses, babies and children.

white milky latex of the poppy

there are always screams

day and night every moment

even though they are there

i refuse to listen

i do not hear what they promise

the payment is too high

and the reward too small

there are days i sit

seemingly calm

i am anything but cool or collected

the plotting and flim-flam started without me

the mission was impossible to miss

they tell me i need it

dr’s explain in hurried voices

“healing is not possible with pain”

but living is not possible

when junk is your life

i can tolerate pain

i cannot tolerate the cusp

between life and death

my lungs breathing-barely

my heart beating-barely

and my mind shut off

like the vegas strip

if gambling changed courses

and all bets were done

a ghost town of hard hits and recklessness

the screams from the corners of my mind

screeching howling pleading

“just a bit”

“it will be different this time”

“you know how to control it”

“amy can give you daily doses”

half-truths and full-lies

pretty pills golden, white, blue, speckled, yellow, orange, tan

different shapes and different sizes

sexy and seductive with artistic flare

a smoke-screen, a magic trick, lights and shadows

when it grips the core

when it defines all

life is only infinite tearing of the soul and body

illness, pain, fear, panic, writhing-i will take death

i will never again wear my death shroud while i live

my body is my bondage

inflammation and dementia

what a lovely party

rolling hills of myofascial tissue

blue streams exquisite and romantic

gondolas carrying red corpuscles

a relaxing contradiction

under it all

beneath the surface

a war is raging

me versus me

where disease runs amuck

mamertine prison

short-term limitation of supply and effort

where traitors are stored

coded messages sent in heart beats

it is international mayhem

fires and nuclear waste

napalm factories in nooks and nodes

leaders with plastic surgery smiles

a small reassurance

conference calls

the ‘yes crowd’ gathered and huddled

drafting demands in guise of compromise

george w bushy 2 is runnin the show

commander and chief of immunology

“WE WILL NOT NEGOTIATE WITH TERRORISTS!”

unless…well, some terrorists…depends really….look at mars

leukocytes get drunk and confused

friendly fire rape and pillage

the hell out of their own team

giant groups of terrorist

and could be terrorist

who were never terrorist to begin with

i am a being destroyed by myself

pain agony suffering torment affliction

unimaginable and almost surreal

there is no mercy or relief

there is no sacred place

no sanctuary

those who promised comradery

have become neutral

avoiding eye contact knowing it can’t be too long

but the joyful must not know

all the floral beauty and sanity must remain

there is only one option

paint loveliness and ignore it all

life is loud

the eeriness collected, it’s much too quiet

it’s the quietness of absence, loss, fear

it’s silence left by the dead’s last thought

the sound of tears hitting the hardwood floor

generations of laughter locked in plaster

muted anger and passion in corners

echoed sound of mourners sitting shiva

the happy home now a sarcophagus

pretend and play the role of normal

smile despite the pain and horrors

ghosts wait in whispers and shadows

as boxes fill with symbols of what was life

the relics of the mundane, uninteresting

now holding value beyond comprehension

snatching the last memory of laughter

the last dance of the yellow rose

washing my hands clean

tireless efforts of avoidance

my ego thinning

refusal to use the name

given to me as my first gift

from my father

disgust and fear and loss

fragile and worn

battered by the ocean

of social commentary`

created by goblins

human in appearance

hiding in corners

my eyes forced downward

to the floor

becoming intimate with infamy

that is not mine to bear, to feel, to know

this shame, mistrust, arrogance

belongs to creatures of moonless nights

loss of sanity and sanctity

at the hands of tools and cronies

dolos and apate with claws piercing

despite knowledge

despite honor

despite love

given freely

dipping the cup into the river

splashing through the core of me

the fable was rewritten

in a language foreign and vague

told by false prophets

over ice cold bud light and gin

my retreat solid cold steel

my defeat commemorated in stone

while the victors dance

i will learn

to love the wasteland