The Matchstick Lullaby

The depression has taken a severe toll on the little grasp of humanity I clutched closely... separating the halves further, deeper still, within itself. The few people that I could converse with on a regular basis or at a given social gathering, have become tainted... the flock flees towards the cliff's edge, as lemmings on a sacrificial run. Withdrawn... withdrawn is the word. What a fascinating illness... it takes our self-worth and spirals it downward, only to further cleave us away from the loose fibers of social construct. So this is the bottom... oh, no wait, this is. Even to someone such as myself, that prefers the solitude and quiet that suffocates me in the absence of heartbeats... I'm never lonely when I'm alone, only when someone is near me. Still, it creeps in... lurking, clawing, pulling every loose thread until the tapestry unfolds upon itself. The casual conversations have become increasingly more alien to the ears within my head... our head is within my head and when they speak, they're all dead. The vermin and interlopers have worn our spirit so thin, that I must flee within the deepest parts of myself... withdrawing further away, from the lecherous, cancerous fledglings that invade any peace I might obtain. Healing is slow going, when the puss is flowing... as we grow weary of their awed, stale crowing.

My Wilting Womb

Today was my first day of therapy for the week... much needed it was, a haven of sanity and understandings. I mentioned to him, that today would mark Day 50 of my photo project... he expressed approval and said I should feel proud of myself for continuing thus far. Of course, pride is something foreign and prohibited by the Choir... I wouldn't even begin to understand the elements of such an emotion. Nonetheless, for those that are new here, here is a link to my ongoing photo project, Project: Humanity... please do not feel pressured to witness this spectacle, I only mention it if anyone is interested. Over the course of this undertaking, I've yet to experience much healing, if any... I still hate looking at myself, seeing the worthlessness and disgust seep from my face. I realize healing takes time, so I'm trying very hard to continue this experiment. As an added benefit, no one has left an upsetting comments about how putrid and ugly I am or any references to my deteriorating hygiene, or lack there of, as it were. Every time I see myself in those pictures, I'm reminded of my mother's disgust and hurtful words spewing their venomous assault on my fragile mind... how my body would become the playground of the adults that should have protected me. I suppose even hideous people in appearance are still targets of sexual abuse... I suppose we are looked upon as less valuable as it is, so what is a little more trauma in the grand scheme of things. We spent a good amount of time talking about my mother today in therapy... how she calls me every weekend as my role is to uplift and validate her as an upstanding person and prized parent... the blue ribbon beauty, at the feasting table of innocence. I told my therapist that it's very upsetting to constantly be put in this role, as well as the role of a father to her... it's a continual mind-fuck that cripples me from the needed acknowledge and her lack of responsibility. I'm always telling her, "Yes, you were a wonderful Mother and you never did anything to hurt us... ever! You only protected us with absolute love and acceptance.". Like for example, my brother upset her recently for talking about how she'd spew forth obscenities at us and throw dishes and anything else she could hurl across the room in pure ire. I had to tell her that my brother was wrong, and she did no such things... although, I remember those moments quite well. It's sickening, but what other choice do I have? I love my mother and I forgive her, so feel like I need to protect her fragile world of denial. Nothing good could possibly come from condemning her and lashing out, so what's the point? I don't have a relationship to speak of with my brother or sister, so I doubt they care what I have to say on the matter... my brother has disowned both parents and my sister is rotting from her hatred of her sexual abuse she inflicted and endured. Besides, what right do I have to judge anyone... I've done my fair share of robbing innocence and hurting and abusing people in my life... whether the attacks were of a physical, spiritual, or mental nature. Fuck. I fucking hate myself... everything about me is distasteful. I wish, now more than ever, that I could lose myself in a swell of tears... to be washed away in a tide of blood, as the glass protrudes from my ribboned flesh.

T.O.D. - Hopes Of Yesteryear

It's been awhile since you've witnessed the milky dribbling of a time now forgotten... I take you back to the age of innocence and hope. Where I'd wake to face the day with desire and passion... a man yet beaten and forgotten by time. It's pathetic, really, that I believed such vomitus bile and spewed it from my lips... it's no wonder things turned out like they did. It was an invitation for cruelty, malice, and rejection... I can see that clearly now. Here you are, have a good laugh... it's on me, at my expense. No wonder they refused to publish my "work"...


“Grain Of Sand”
    In nature’s life, many miles of failure I have passed. ‘Twas a lie birthed in a phantom’s mental demise, that my failures cry. Thus in nature’s life, you live a mirrored lie. A birth of truth was all I asked-instead shuttered out… all I asked.
   
    Have you ever felt the wind from one’s bosom it blew, knowing you’d never live in that heart? Have you ever felt the sand trickle down and off your fingertips- as an hourglass toils with your life? Have you ever had the water of Heaven roll down your back, to soothe the Devil’s flame- only to be left with your tears still not washed away? To grasp the wind and where it came. To hold that sand to stop the time in nature’s life. To stand firm and let Heaven pour down upon you, washing your tears all away. Just dreams they seem. Dreams of the world, life, and love of nature- never to be filled. But out of these dreams, none are greater than the dream to live in love. Not to be conquered alone, but with you. All in a grain of sand…
-Excerpt from T.O.D.

Exhale

The comfort escapes me... even now, sitting at my desk smoking a treasured cigar, I feel it slipping away. There is very little in this world that offers any bit of peace or comfort... all I had left was my cigars. The old means have long vanished... playing music, making music, playing video games, or watching DVDs. At night, all there is to be found are the relentless screams and pleading for death... the imagery of of thrusting broken glass into my throat or hacking off my penis in a fit of self-hatred. I want peace, I want love, I want companionship... I'm just too fucking tired of rotting and inhaling the stale overtones of failure, disdain, and putrid memories. Every night it's the same... hours on end, begging for it to just fucking stop. Then I'll awake after some twisted nightmare and 2 hours of sleep... to curse the sunrise and another day of nothing.

Teachers Of Delicate Features

Casual conversations become intimate at a rapid pace... without thought or direction, just the simple utterance of a name. It's no secret that, for the most part, I'm terrified by people... their lingering thoughts and judging eyes, rip the flesh from my face and smolder the raw tissue with shame. Over time certain people become less "dangerous", and I can actually have brief interactions and courtesies... the occasional eye contact is made and perhaps a sliver of a smile escapes from time to time. At this current point in time, there are two women I see regularly,  as I mingle among the infested population... Jena and Holly. Jena works at the place where I get my coffee before every therapy appointment, so I see her several times a week... always friendly and even gives me free coffee quite often. We don't share casual conversation, other than pleasantries, but she is a comfortable addition to my routine. Holly works at the pharmacy I frequent for all of my various medications... I usually see her 2-3 times a month. Holly and I do exchange a fair amount of casual conversation, more than pleasantries to be certain... we ask each other about our weekend plans or shared common interests. She is always very friendly and always comes over to visit when I gather my medications... smiles are exchanged and best wishes when we part. I was thinking on night about these two relationships... I wouldn't call them friendships, perhaps more acquaintances. An experiment came to mind, to better understand the social interactions of relationships... any relationships, in this case, fairly small in size and intensity. The experiment was to address these two women by their names the next time i see them to see what would happen... it seemed like a valid thought at the time and certainly harmless. When I went to get my coffee the next day, I greeted Jena by name... it was very odd on my part, almost intrusive. Her reaction was minimal... it didn't result in a boosted relationship or any more type of recognition. All only noticeable difference was how awkward I felt inside... the vibrations started building up a bottle-neck in my mind. I troubled me for the rest of the day... going over the experiment in my mind, dissecting each moment and glance. The next time I went to get my coffee, I omitted the recent addition of her name and all returned to where it was before the experiment... no harm, no foul, but no further understanding either. The next trial would be on Holly a few days later... our relationship, whatever it is, was a bit more friendly and comfortable. I thought perhaps this time it would be quite an interesting experiment. I greeted her by name and instantly I felt my guts turn and my heart pounding in my throat... she glanced downward instead of smiling and seemed to be putting out some vibrations of her own. The rest of the visit was increasingly more difficult and the vibrations became so intense that I started to clinch my jaw and gnash my teeth... as the experiment came to a close, I wished her a good day and closed with her name and departed. I felt so terrible for what I had done... even though I didn't understand what I did was wrong. I was very disturbed... I felt like I had jumped over the counter and forcibly sodomized her in a fit of rage. I was disgusted and ashamed. I went back to the pharmacy the next day to pick up my pain medication and I was literally shaking with fear as I approached the counter... this time, I didn't use her name and everything returned to normal. The smiles, the friendliness, exchange in casual conversation... once again, I felt comfortable and enjoyed seeing  Holly. The various results of this experiment had me baffled... I was completely thrown. How could using someone's name change everything and make the vibrations so sickeningly intense? I talked to my therapist about this experiment and asked for his help in understanding what happened. In his opinion, nothing really changed on Jena's or Holly's end of the relationship... it was more than likely all in my mind. The intensity of the differences between the two women had to do with my different levels of comfort with each of them... the violent and nervous reactions were due to allowing someone closer to the real me inside. It was threatening to myself and the structure of my fragile existence... it gave them too much power over me, by allowing the to become more personal in my mind. I'm still struggling with understanding this all, but I do realize that the experiment's results were less than desired. I spend so much time, wishing I could feel emotions and have relationships with people... yet, my mind won't allow it. Neither will the wounded child inside...

Empty Tears

At times, I use the words that imply that I'm crying actual tears over something... this is very misleading and I apologize for that. Yes, I have cried my heart out before and shed so many tears I thought my body would wither away... but I haven't shed one single tear in quite some time. It's gotten to the point where I am desperate to cry... to feel that release as the tears roll down my cheeks and how my lungs would quiver in between breathes. They just won't come... no matter how hard I've tried. Over the past few months, I've taken drastic steps to make this happen... and the end result is always the same, nothing. I've watched all of my favorite tear-jerk-er movies, given into the voices and agreed how pathetic I truly am, inflicted physical pain such as burning or cutting, listening to sappy music, thinking and talking about the things that always make me weep like an infant... they just won't come, no matter how hard I try. Last night I even dusted off my guitar and played for the first time in several years and still nothing... which is odd considering I stopped playing because the emotions were too powerful and confusing and I would weep endlessly. I lay in bed every night, begging for God to kill me and take me away from here... feeling so sorry for myself that the tears should flow easily, but they won't. My therapist believes this is because I have disassociated myself too much... driven into a severe state of isolation as a means of self-preservation. Simply put, I'm to withdrawn to cry... too depressed, too separated from reality. I still feel other emotions and vibrations at times, brief moments of excitement, lust, shame, guilt, remorse, etc... so this makes it even more confusing for me. I really wish it would happen... I feel like I need it more than words can possibly describe. Like part of me is missing, a huge gaping hole in the chest that could only be filled with the tears of sorrow bursting from my soul. It may sound stupid and make me appear even more pathetic than usual, if that's even possible... but I wish I could cry. More than anything... the feeling of release and closure. That distinctive piece of humanity.

Beauty And The Beast

I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about my lover and the affair we shared so intensely and deeply, all those years ago... rejected for years, she has sat in a dusty corner. Untouched and untamed. I miss the way my fingertips danced along her neck and how my thumb pressed firmly against her spine... my other hand slapping gently against her delicate curves in rhythm as our souls spiraled into endless ecstasy. The way she sang and echoed sweet sounds in the rooms... as my fingertips tickled and tugged her heart strings. Feelings I've never felt since, nor do I dare I shall ever feel again... even in my limited understanding of emotions and vibrations, I knew this must be love. The days of love now gone, and the sorrow that I felt as I locked her out off my life... living life through distant memories.We'd make love for hours on end, until we body shook in weariness and utter fatigue... never once did she shudder away, but stayed faithfully in the moment. Those precious moments ended as I clutched my chest and ripped my heart out... the intensity had grown too strong and I couldn't bear the emotions stirring inside. I needed to hide and run away from the only love I've ever known... now aging in my room, filled with regret I weep. My lost love, my inability to continue those timeless moments... stripped away by the very hand that i trusted most. They say it was for the best, that all things happen for a reason... we grow and strengthen over time. I snarl at those words of fools... knowing love once and to never know it again is a hell endless in torment. Even though time is cruel and we can never go back and undo those moments we regret... time has a funny way of turning itself around and changing hearts. I saw her today and without word I approached her and took her gently into my arms and warming embrace. I needed to cry and release these unknown and complicated emotions... I laid my head softly against her cool, tender, body and shivered in fear. All those things I wanted to feel again were now foreign and distanced... we couldn't go back, but we could remember. On looking eyes wouldn't see the sorrow and regret, nor the love we once shared... it would look commonplace to those separate from this experience. She is without name, and without face... just pressed wood and hand framed body. To others just an old, worn guitar... but to me, the love of my life. Those passionate webbings once spun, now only exist in memory and time... never to felt again.