Fueled Flame

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Jan 312019
 

The Realm of the Dead

I beg the world to just let me be numb, to make the pain from yesterday and tomorrow roll off of me. Like a tsunami that pulls the water away the pain always rolls back in, deeper and harder than it had ever been before.

I try and see the good in life. Maybe I’ve gone blind.

What is the point in all of this hurt? What kind of god or deity says that this is okay. That free will is acceptable when it comes to damaging others. The scars in my brain are lesions that can’t be fixed. Not in this world. Probably not in the next.

I am angry. Angry at God, angry at myself for having faith in the greater good when the reality is that there is no good. It is a falsity, a bald-faced lie that we all look to as some sort of guide to having the best life, when none of us really do.

I hate.

I hate the happy people. The rich people. The people who got to die when I can’t. The people who laid there looking like they were sleeping peacefully ready for their grave with their mouths stitched shut to avoid the look of a screaming slack jaw staring up at the mourners. I envy that person. The person in the pine box, preparing for the flame.

All of this life, all of this hurt, this broken-ugly is hell. The good die young because they are too good for this inferno.

And today, like in years before, I watched the sunrise as if it were my first, and then I said goodbye to the light, knowing it was my last.

I cut myself just to feel the pain.

I bleed just to know I am alive.

I am sorry, every single day.

If God was my tourniquet, what will save my soul now that he has abandoned me?

“No” comes from my mouth so loudly in the darkness of the winters night that I wonder how it’s not heard around the world, I wake myself. The rapist’s in my head alive and well. I am the zombie that can’t get them to go away.

Crazy… I was crazy once…

Then, the brutal hit of life stole the wind from my lungs and snuffed out the flame that I had glowing inside.

Perhaps, I am numb, the pain is so bad I can barely recognize it. Is this a part of the show? This evil game where I am the mouse and I can’t tell who the cat is, so I have to trust no one? Don’t inhale the toxic fumes called air, Marisa. Hold your breath until the darkness creeps in and you close your eyes.

And if you don’t love me now…

Well, you probably never did.

Time…

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Dec 252018
 

I told you I would break.
I didn’t know when.
The tsunami that was coming finally arrived.
The waves are drowning me.
I don’t know if I survived.

The dripping crimson I don’t regret.
All of this time and I feel nothing yet.
Scars rough and tough unlike my soul.
You are the hole that has no light.
I don’t want to fight when it’s not me that’s alive.

Dec 192018
 

I look down and see the moon
Reaching to the window
I will be close soon.

Grabbed back from that innocently selfish step
I’m wondering why the sky is below
Where am I that it’s all upside down?

Tenderness, pain, and emotion without sound
Living life while begging to die
How am I swimming in the sky?

My faith is real yet I fear I am not
A mass of carbon without any thought
Just one step and it’s do or die.

Why won’t you release the shackles
Please, just let me try
Forever I’ll be yours, here or there.

If it doesn’t work what will you care?
And if I float into the Heavenly abyss
I’ll come to you and tell you what you’ve missed.

Dec 032018
 

It has been a good long time since I have put words to the blinking cursor. I don’t know why exactly I stopped writing, or rather, why the words stopped flowing, but I think it has to do with loss.

I just keep losing in this game called life. I keep feeling the slashing pain of being gutted by the insides that are supposed to hold onto life and grow the future. What will the future hold when it cannot manifest within the womb that is meant to nurture it?

What will stem from a society run by people largely created in labs? Where our mothers and fathers spend their life savings just to get us here. Will it go to our heads? Will the race to become superior start and end with that money saved and raised to ensure our creation?

Where is God in all of this? Am I God? Is the Dr. God? Is God really the currency we pay that decides life and death for us?

How much money does someone hand to the God that has stopped the blade from slicing too deep, who has stopped an infection from setting in and who has stopped the blood from flowing out before it was too late? How much was that worth?

Is the currency for the numbness that allows me to bleed just to know I am alive the pain and torture I have experienced? The chain that held me all those nights has become the ties that bind me to the past and the past to me, forever.

I don’t know what it is I want. Or what it is I actually feel. I just know that most of the time I am in a stoic place and the other times my heart is racing out of my chest and my anxiety is through the roof. There is nothing predictable about how I will respond, psychologically or physically, to the same thing twice.

Tonight, I have peace in knowing I am not God. I am not the one with the control. I am simply a piece of the puzzle. I can find comfort in that.

Dot With A Heart

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Mar 282018
 

Floating freely and laying high
It was the end of the beginning
Who was I to try?

The flickering beat in a tiny sac
A light now dim
Shattered, I want you back.

Smashed head-first into the solid below
Love is scary and carries a hefty weight
Dreams are just dreams of a life I’ll never know

Oh, to be naive and in blissful joy
I am the lost one, attempting Neverland
An insufficient decoy

Head up as the tears pour down
I am the frazzled mess with too many words
No air, fear I will drown.

Mar 052017
 

I’m all alone, when the sun, goes down
What I wouldn’t give, to have someone around
The nights are endless, and dreams, are few
But when they come, well they never come true
And so it goes
No one even knows, the pain behind the smile
How all the while I’m cryin’
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
‘CAUSE I’VE BEEN SAVIN’ MYSELF FOR HER TOO LONG’
IT’S TIME I’M MOVIN’ ON
Won’t you save me?
Too many memories in this, old town
My face turned up to meet the rain..the rain that’s fallin’ down
Let it come
And so it goes
That no one even knows, the pain behind the smile
How all the while I’m dyin’
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
‘CAUSE I’VE BEEN SAVIN’ MYSELF FOR HER TOO LONG’
IT’S TIME I’M MOVIN’ ON
Won’t you save me?
Are you gonna be the one to make it right, or am I only dreamin’
Baby am I dreamin’?……Am I dreamin’?
No one even knows, the pain behind the smile
Whoooooh…baby, baby, baby, baby-they don’t know
They don’t know…that I’m cryin’ all the while
All the while
Somebody save me….save me
Save me……somebody save me (Mm Mm)
Save me…..save me
Save me…….someone save me
‘Cause I’ve been saving myself for her too long
It’s time I’m movin’ on
Won’t you save me….save me
Can’t you see…..that I’ve been lonely?

 

This weekend was a crazy one, lots of random things happened, and the one I least expected was seeing a message on Facebook saying that a girl I had talked to the night before was in ICU and wasn’t likely to make it, followed quickly by the announcement of her death.

I guess I was one of the last to talk to her as her brother reached out to me, which I am grateful for, unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him she was in a bad state the night before or that she seemed to be depressed or in a frame of mind that would make me think that our conversation was one that would be our last.

We spoke about how we were doing, mentally. She had done some amazing things in the past year, leaving her husband and other toxic relationships, delivering a healthy baby (her third child), getting a job and being the caregiver and breadwinner and even trying to reconnect with family while seemingly getting a hold of her own demons. She lost around 50lbs and looked amazing. Her frown had turned to a smile and her cynicism had for the most part became a sort of comic relief rather than what appeared to be a distress call.

So, what went wrong?

The pain behind the smile.

That’s what went wrong.

We had spoke about how being happy was a frightening thing because when you deal with mental health issues there is often a crash after a bout of happiness. She said “it’s like you’re jinxing yourself”. She was dead about 18 hours later.

After talking to me her posts on Facebook stopped. She was a chronic poster but I thought nothing of it since I don’t use Facebook that often for searching through posts. I only noticed this afterwards.

I have spent the last 30ish hours wondering if our chat was her being happy because she had made the decision to end her life and felt free for the first time. Did she talk to me that night because she was in her own way saying goodbye?

I’ve known far too many people who have committed suicide. I’ve attempted it many times myself, but I have never been among the last to speak to someone before their demise. I can’t honestly say how I feel, shaken is about the only word that comes to mind.

At first, I was worried about her three sweet babies, what will happen to them? Who has them? Did they find her? What did they see? Will the older two remember her?

Then I felt a sadness within myself, not because she was gone, but because I will be missing out on having someone around who often understood the darker side. Who was eager to seek the Lord and often confused by it during times of struggle.

A quote I have on my Facebook talks about how when one commits suicide it is really the first time that they have taken hold of control of their lives. After experiencing suicides through my whole life, I still believe that.

“If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will. ”
~Antonin Artaud~

Unfortunately, it’s a painful ending to those of us left to figure out the pieces, never mind pick them up. Then again, there never really is a good time to die, whether your 102 or 22… There really, never is “unfinished business.”

Sometimes, our stories become more powerful when we have a powerful departure from this earth into our heavenly realm. I believe that will be the truth for this dear lady. Because, “The dead are not lost to us. They speak to us everyday” -unknown

Oct 302016
 

I sold my soul and the Angels are Weeping.

I stare into better days as seen through my own mind in the form of drawings on paper and I am scared that I can see an island I will never see again, swim in a spot I grew up in. Everything has changed in the blink of an eye and strangely it’s a pain that I never expected, a permanency that I never thought could be felt. Yet each of those waves in the water that roll toward the shore and break are reminiscent of my heart. They depict a tragedy that 6 months ago I could not have foreseen.  Not emotionally anyway.

I had to find you, tell you I need you and beg to go back to the start and as I stare off into my drawings hanging on my walls I realize that there is no going back to the start. Today cannot be taken back and tomorrow will never again return.

Death is 100% permanent.

Life is 100% fatal.

So why can’t I handle this? Why isn’t it easy? Why do I yearn to watch my blood flow from me so that I know I am alive while simultaneously wanting to do whatever I can do make the pains of life stop –even if it’s just for a few minutes?

The water will never be that same shade of blue again. The sun will never feel so warm. The strength of a drink will never feel so good coursing through my veins. I sit here, and I weep. I cry out and my voice echoes off the empty walls of life.

The light on top of his corpse will never be as bright as it was the day it first started, a speck of light within his mothers’ womb, flicking on and off like a lightening bug in the cool summers night. Like blinking eyes glaring at you from just above the reeds.

Gone are the days of sleep overs and drawing on one anothers backs as we whisper to avoid waking up our grandparents. Secretly loving how good it feels to feel that finger run along your back while you guess what it is creating. Preparing you for an intimacy that seemingly will never come because if you accept that intimacy it may mean that you will never feel those tingles up your spine again, the caress down your back. The hands that hold your hair as you lay sick on the bathroom floor. The cousin who removed a rock from my elbow when I refused to let the aunt who was a nurse! Gone are those days, never to return, never for the children to replicate because now love and life has been replaced by technology where the words “I love you” come easily to so many and a friend is someone you have likely never even spoken to.

 If they can all leave us, one by one then whats to say tomorrow won’t be the same, hold the same pains, cut a little deeper, push a little harder. Why do we fight the inevitable?

Tell me you love me.

In this life and the next.

Tell me that next time around it won’t be this hard. That my heart won’t break 1000 times before I am 29.

Tell me that my babies are safe in the Heavens above and tell me that I will be someday soon as well.

Tell me that the only one who possesses me is the person whom I have given myself to and that that won’t ever go away. Stop tearing me apart. Stop making me bleed. Stop having me run in circles when I know that there is an off-ramp to a better place instead of being brought back to the start.

If you love me, won’t you let me know?

I am a shell of who I once was, a shell of who I no longer can be. I stare down and read my name on the grave and I realize just how cold I am and I wonder why the angels are weeping and my heart isn’t beating.

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