The Clinking Glasses

I was going to posting another entry from T.O.D., but then I thought perhaps I would spare any potential readers from stomaching more of my failed ramblings for the time being. I could go off on a tangent about the government or the twisted lies that are labeled as history... but I wont, not today. I don't really have anything to say... certainly not anything I haven't already stated a hundred times over. Let us raise our glasses for a toast to Silence... grab your favorite razor and dig deep...

Listen & Feel

T.O.D. - The Blight Of Organized Religion

"Amazing Grace"


Eat me, eat me-
Sunday morning savior.
I am the flesh-
Bloody Communion wafer.

Praise me, praise me-
Empty headed prayer.
I am the light-
Guilty life layer.

Drink me, drink me-
Forgiveness is restored.
I am the life-
Your alcoholic Lord.

Prasie me, praise me-
Ultimatums or die.
I am the way-
A crucifix and lie.

Tomorrow

I don't know if I can face tomorrow... even if I could, I do not want to see another day. My desire to continue has gone dry... nothing but dirt and ashes to fill my bucket. Life has become an unquenchable leech...taking more and more even when there is nothing left to give. I want to sleep, but my wandering mind wont allow me any rest. I want silence, but the static coming from my windows can not be muted. I want love, but I can not feel it or comprehend it's existence. I want relief, but I can only cut so deep. I want peace, but the populace thrives on the bloodshed of the innocent. I want Light, but the darkness has consumes me. I want someone else's blood on my hands. I want to hear the screams of another... beating compassion into the shallow minds of the clones walking this earth. My tears turn into rage then disappear into the void of hope. If I can't feel, then I long to make someone feel something... no matter the emotion, just feel. Emotions conflict with logic... it's a plastic world where logic has become processed and manufactured. I yearn for a simpler time... where people meant what they said and sincerity was commonplace. I want so badly to leave here... I surrender, take me home. This place is death and I have grown weary from speaking with the dead. No, I don't want to see tomorrow... because I'll have to see you.

I Am Jack's Bitten Hand

It has been weeks now and nothing has changed... just more rejection and disappointment. Casual conversation or terms of encouragement leave me playing the role of the classroom freak. Is it so odd that a stranger open up themselves to another stranger or try to offer support to them? Perhaps that has always been the problem with me... perhaps I should just ignore the world and fill myself with false securities. I'll duck behind the masses and mingle... the blowfish among the ocean of people. Puffing themselves to show their importance all the while hiding behind their thorny defenses... to be part of something I loathe. With every passing day my little remaining courage and esteem dwindles further down the rabbit hole... soon I will be left with only the illusion. I must practice restraint and quit placing myself in the way of rejection. Long ago it became painfully obvious I do not fit in, so why must I continue to vie for acceptance? I suppose in a way, I have become addicted to this suffering... I'm aware of the path I walk, but care not for the perils ahead. Perhaps the reason the world shuns me, is for the very reason that I reach out... no one desires comfort, just the illusion. I am fighting for my sight among a world of the blind... they must break me and bend my vision. I am a reminder of what they long to forget... it appears I have a reflection after all.

T.O.D. - Your Memory Still Haunts Me

"Slave"


Today, tomorrow - it's all the same,
Life- one more day to play the game.
I'll sell my soul for a buck or two,
Just enough for my habits and you.
One more drop of blood can I squeeze-
All that's left- with speed and ease.
You take it, eat it- swallow it down,
As you wear that self-placed crown.
Golden, shimmering; can I have one too-
I need a soul to cringe; just like you.

My Childhood Companion

When I was a child, one Christmas, I received a puppet from my parents. He had a velvety nose, long shiny brown ears and dark black eyes... he was a precious puppy and soon to become my best friend and nightmare. I named him Browser. No, there is nothing special about the name, just birthed from an excited child's imagination. Browser and I went everywhere together and had several wonderful adventures... life couldn't get any more perfect. Soon, Browser learned to talk and was given a personality by my mother. He was quite the trouble maker and a tad bit rebellious. My mother would talk through him for what seemed like hours... he made us all laugh, for awhile. Soon, my mother began to talk through him more and more and often said how much he loved his Grams... that was the name she had given herself. Over time, my precious friend and companion no longer wanted to spend any time with me... he wanted to spend his time with Grams reading the Bible and praying. I was often times condemned by Browser and labeled a sinner for not praying enough and that my life was to be spent burning in the pits of Hell, if I didn't mend my ways. It wasn't much longer till even more hateful words would spew from Browser's mouth and within a short amount of time it had become a daily ritual. "I hate you Daddy! Your breath stinks! You're Ugly! You're Fat! You're Stupid! You're Worthless! I'm going to slit your throat when you sleep tonight!". For several years this abuse continued, every day, several times a day. I began to hate back. It was hard enough to listen to these words coming from my once best friends mouth... I remember laughing along with them, because it was safer than crying. I wanted to return the pain unto those that had hurt me, so I began kidnapping Browser from my mother's room and hurting him. I would place him in the sink and drown him with water and then place him into the freezer. My mother would become frantic looking for him and then screaming sharply as she found him frozen. Her eyes would begin to tear up and she would scream like an injured animal. I would watch and smile... enjoying the comfort that came from her heart wrenching cries. Sometimes, I would just run into her room and grab him and swing his face violently against the counter tops... his once velvety nose shattering upon impact and flying through the air like ashes from a crematorium. Her reaction was always the same and I always found so much pleasure in tormenting her and listening to those screams, "Stop! Please, I am begging you! Please!". Even to this day, when I hear someone scream on television or a movie... my eyes glaze over and a crooked smile forms upon my face. I laugh to myself and out loud... comforted by the pain, fear and terror. Browser now lives with me and for the most part is silent. However once and awhile I pick him up and dust him off and offer him a hug and some love. He stares back at me and opens his mouth... "I hate you Daddy!". I smile at him and say, "I know Browser, I do too... I do too.".

Nothing

Nothing new or extraordinary... today was just another day, another layer of this shell cast aside. I am feeling so tired... emotionally, mentally and physically. The screaming has become louder and my soul is vibrating... inside I quiver and slither. No words can escape and no emotion can be distinguished... no comfort as I burn from inner flames that cannot be extinguished.


Listen & Feel

What We've Become

A lot of things have occurred over the past week, non of which can be analyzed and processed. It's as if, all data flow has been halted because of you... the tears in my curtain from which I boyishly peek through have turned into a sucking void. Why did I go out on such a limb to disclose some of my most intimate of feelings? I can see now that given the inside information, all of your future actions will be judged based on secret knowledge. The paranoia will swell and the thoughts will carry me away in a whirlwind of what if's and could be's... this isn't speculation, but witnessed first hand. Twice now and soon to be once more, you will walk through those doors and the worms will start digging... how they move so quickly and dig so deep will forever seem to be a mystery. Analytically, I suppose things would have remained torturous had I not started this peep show into my world... at least there is potential for a positive change, however the clarity of this possibility is from far within view. We talked months ago when things were disclosed and I had stated out of haste, that I am glad we could talk freely and focus on repairing some of the damage done by my tainted hand... how I wish I could really feel the words of relief I displayed. Even more so, I wish I could feel those words you spoke in return... the gestures, affection and desire. This event has become a mountain of impassible design. I find myself looking upon it and wondering how I could even conceive such an attempt... my face is flickered with debris and the sands of time have become wedged in my eyes. There is no sight or comfort as I stand before this obstacle you have become... just the twisting in my gut and the scratching sensation in my eyes. Tears now flood my eyes and they begin to roll off of my cheek, but the emotion behind them is empty... why didn't you just run when you had the chance? Am I looking up at you... or are you looking down on me?

T.O.D. - Reflections Of Self

"A Walk Outside In"


I took a walk outside,
To clear my mind-
Amazing what one can find.

Two stones,
One stick-
Half a head floating behind.

Part dried,
The other flat-
Two feet closer to see inside.

Once was used,
Sometimes thrown-
One shade shy of being a mind.

Picked it up,
Screwed it on-
One bullet spent... being kind.

A Christmas Story

I Love You. These are probably the most sought after words in the entire world... treasured by some and thrown around meaninglessly by most. Here we find ourselves, in the holiday season, once again to experience the miracle of the moppets and their endless love for all mankind... the degeneration of the HU-Man race. Yes, that's right, HU-Man... Higher Universal Man. Running around aimlessly, like lemmings, trying to find the perfect gift to express our love for each other... such pure intentions. As we shower our friends and families with our trinkets and fatted calves, the sourness and pure disgust for the people in our way shines far more brightly. "I've got to get this present for Johnny and little Sue. How happy will they all be when they see how much I love them... I am so excited! What the fuck, you fucking piece of shit?! Get out of the way! That's my dollhouse! Oh great, can this cashier be any slower? Fuck! This bitch must be inbred, or worse, a Mexican. Fucking whore! Merry Christmas, Baby, Happy New Year Neighbor! I Love You all!". Too harsh? Not really... take a step back, examine those around you... look in the mirror. This is a look behind the wizard's curtain... the truth thrown out at you at full force. Granted there are some, perhaps 15% of the world's population, that are genuine through and through... you will know them when you see them. They don't set aside a week of love and acceptance for all of those around them, they take the time everyday to express it... every day of every year. You shall know a tree by the fruit upon it's limbs. From December 24th through January 1st, all the world sets aside their open disdain for one another and spreads cheer and love around... inside, things remain the same. The music starts and the stage is set, time to put on your best game face... tonight's show will change lives, for it is the performance of a lifetime! Acting is a strenuous job, but not worry, soon the show will be over. On January 2nd, you can resume your normal lives and no one will ever be the wiser... children to neglect, wives to beat, family members to reject and isolate. Rise from the grave each morning, don your plastic attire, murder the innocent with Big-Macs, drive your metal coffins on the paved concrete jungle and court your prized mannequin... the HU-Man experience. I have become hardened from this madness and the denizens within. More than anything, I want to feel love and understand it's power... to see it belittled as such and become a traditional event, truly is heartbreaking to witness. For those with the eyes to see, ears to hear and hearts to feel... stay strong and remain diligent. Love those around you, even the strangers you meet throughout your normal day. Love this Earth that loves and provides for you. Love the animals you were placed here to watch over and protect. Learn, Live and Grow... become what we truly are, HU-Man.

Broken

My spirit is broken today. I have misplaced my voice somewhere near the paper umbrellas and lemon wedges. My thoughts are clouded by the familiar puffs of nicotine coated smoke. There is always the risk of falling when trying to climb out of a hole. Careful whose hand you hold... it just may be too brittle.


Listen & Feel

Tomorrow is another day... perhaps I will try again.

T.O.D. - A Long Time Running

"Take Me"


My flesh- ripped and white;
Voiceless motive- out of sight.
You eat me, then I feast on you;
A bloodless passion- lustfully do.
Your fingers dig, as I rip out;
Each other's victim- thrashing about.

Night has fallen... my work is done;
Wrenching torments- neither is one.
Time in me... endless dreams undone;
In you I wait- timeless turning sun.
The coldness writes in a bitter touch;
Your hate surrounds me- consuming much.

Flames of ice... in your eyes I see;
All you take, lives inside of me.
Crippled fingers... the lies we trace;
Deadly awakened, in that swollen embrace.
I am yours... all awaits there to be;
No escaping now, only relentless insanity.

Roads

Everyday I have been making efforts and reaching out in hopes someone will see me... to take notice, to feel. I take photographs and post them for people to see and think about... always with a comment about myself and the way I feel. I realize I'm an amateur and my skill is lacking in comparison, but no one even bothers to look at it... the message doesn't seep into their minds. I write in here, my most intimate of thoughts, and no one reads them... again no one feels. In a world full of eyes, no one sees. My thoughts of being insignificant and invisible only worsen by my continual attempts... inside I die a little more. How can this death be so prolonged... it seems to last an eternity. How much worse can someone feel, before they turn cold and numb and feel nothing at all? Admittedly, I live a very isolated life and I don't cross paths with the walking often... but even the people that see me everyday, within my own home, don't see. I sit at my desk and cry for hours. I take a fistful of medication so I can sleep and keep the nightmares away. The slashes across my arms, where I cut myself just to feel something other than the pain on the inside. Nothing registers, no one takes notice. I step outside to walk with the living with sorrow tattooed on my face and tears swelling in my eyes and no one notices... not one will ever approach me or offer me one pleasantry. How many tears can I cry... how much more can I bleed? How can it feel this wrong...


Listen & Feel

T.O.D. - Another Side

This selected piece is is different from the others I have posted... this one shows another side of myself. I am not a totally heartless, bloated piece of shit... there is something left, even if it has been lost. This one has been published in several books... I have no idea why.


“Just One Chance”

Just one chance to touch your soul.
Is all I want to do.
To hold you close within my arms,
To say, I love you.

Just one chance to kiss you deep,
For in your heart I’d stay.
You’re a picture perfect lady,
And you take my breath away.

Just one chance to have a love,
That grows stronger everyday.
The countless ways you’ve touched my heart,
Is more than I can say.

Just one chance is all I ask.
Now it’s up to you.
I could hold you close or walk away;
Our love would be so true…

Information Highway

It is amazing how contact with another person can cause such a tidal wave of emotion... so beautiful and destructive at the same time. Whether it be verbal, physical or just a glance... the result is always the same for me. Imagine a highway filled with people traveling to and from their destinations. Everything is flowing smoothly and balanced... like water in a creek. Then comes contact, an accident or obstruction... the fluidity ceases and in it's place is chaos. The drivers must adjust accordingly, whether it be stopping to a screeching halt, swerving aside or calmly slowing down... the situation must be registered, evaluated and then processed. I tend to hide myself from the world, but out of desperation I find myself reaching out at times... to strangers, acquaintances or family. Most of the time people's instant response is rejection, but on the rare occasion when someone reaches back and contact has been established, my mind locks up... prepare for impact. Waves of emotion come crashing down, all of which conflict with one another... there is no balance and registering the event becomes very difficult at best. The voices in my mind begin their chanting and the symphony of chaos begins it's haunting melody causing the evaluation to become fragmented and desperate... joy, sorrow, love, hate, empathy, pity, appropriate or unseemly. Frustration and anxiety settles in while my mind tries to process all of these emotions... traffic is at a standstill and the motorists are restlessly awaiting for the debris to be cleared. Everything is cloudy and blended... it is impossible to take all of this in and come upon a conclusion. Some end result of the event that can be clearly defined, therefore allowing me to make a choice on what the most desirable reaction should be. It's hard enough to wade through the waves of emotion as they bombard me relentlessly, but with all of the noise, chatter and disorder being added by the voices in my mind, I want more than anything to swim back to shore... but there is none in sight. Even the simplest event is turned into an epic moment... what am I feeling, how should I be feeling, what should I do now, how, why, are you sure, what if? It is maddening. All of this manifests itself into a desire to stop reaching out... then the loneliness comes back, desperation settles itself within again and I find myself once more screaming inside to reach out. I have lost all ability to relate and communicate freely with the outside world... all that remains inside is the rotting company of my illness and the legion of demons that taunt me endlessly without mercy. I wish I could end this cycle of destruction... I long for the peace and comfort of my own skin. All the while, I long for my voice to be heard and for a day to come, when someone will answer me and reach back with the patience and compassion for me to express myself in kind. I suppose that is a lot to ask. People in the world today have many burdens to bear on their own... they need not be burdened with my dysfunctions. It is unfair to them and it is unfair to me... but the nightmare never stops. It will continue to play itself out over and over again... as hard as I try, I cannot stop reaching out. I cannot stop dreaming.

Aegrescit Medendo

The sorrow and weariness is overwhelming... swelling, consuming and enveloping my every thought and emotion. I am tired, so tired of being alone... here in this place I sit alone and watch the world and all within it together. Such strength and magnificence is displayed in their relationships. Here, surrounded by family, I am alone. Here, surrounded by warmth, I am cold. Here, surrounded by laughter, I am crying. Their words can not pierce through the walls surrounding me. I have sealed every entry for my own protection. Now left alone, in this cell, who will protect me? I have become the creature that lurks beneath the bed... ready to devour myself and steal any remaining comfort. I have become the skeleton locked away in the closet... a constant reminder of the things I loathe the most. How much remorse is required for redemption... how many apologies equate to forgiveness? In this solitude, nothing can penetrate through... no love, no light, no touch, no breath. In this solitude, nothing can escape... sorrow, loss, hatred, despair and darkness entangle and suffocate this shell of a man. The walls are too steep to climb and be free..there is no door nor place for a key. I long to feel those words once uttered for me... rather than have them labeled as a dream. With little faith and trust for another person, I locked myself away... never to feel the pain again dealt from the deceivers and takers of this world. It was for my survival, remaining sanity and protection... the walls took those precious things away, now I can see. With no one left to feel or offer comfort, peace and assurance... who will protect me, from me?

The Beautiful People

How much different would life be, if I was beautiful / handsome? It seems to be the moving force behind someone noticing your existence. People flock around beautiful people... like lemmings marching to their fate or a wolf to an injured prey. It doesn't matter if you're disgusting on the inside, it doesn't matter if you have zero talent... mindlessly they gather bringing trinkets of praise or manipulation. A good example would be a photography community known as "Flickr"... search for awhile and you will see with your own eyes. I was looking around there today and stumbled upon a young lady's page... perhaps in the range of 14-16 years old. She had posted on her main page her visit count and literally within weeks had over 9,000 different people come admire her "photographs". It wasn't her talent all of those people came to see, because there was none... just fluff, photoshop editing and flesh. The are some that post on Flickr that would be considered "less desirable" physically, but their photographs are beyond stunning... do they receive even a fraction of the praise, attention and comments- No. For someone like myself, this can be extremely hurtful. I am in no way handsome or desirable, whether it be inside or out... nor do I possess any form of talent. Does this make me of less importance in the world... does it mean I can't succeed with in my pursuits or dreams? It feels that way. However, this could just be another mass delusion and conspiracy I have imagined. I guess the real question would be... Does the world reject me because all they can see is my own self hatred?

What Is T.O.D. ?

Assuming anyone even reads this blog, perhaps I should take some time to explain this reoccurring terminology- T.O.D. . What the hell am I talking about? Well, T.O.D. , is the abbreviated title of my book I wrote long long ago. The actual title is "Thoughts… Or Delusions, Whatever They May Be". It's basically a collection of my poetry, writings and experiences of my life. In an earlier post, I referred to it as a failure... which in a sense it was and in another it wasn't. I've had some of my poetry published in several books, so in a way it wasn't a complete failure. As a whole however, things didn't go so well. I used to know this really rich guy that owned several businesses, one of which was a publishing house. I gave him a copy of my book and he just loved it... he said he found it very moving. Then he told me, "But... I can't publish it for you. Poetry doesn't sell unless your dead or famous.". So, with my tail between my legs, there ended my writing career. So, long story made short... T.O.D. is a book. My book... my life... my long lost dream.

T.O.D. - More Of The Same

"Time"


You got the time...
To beat me for awhile?
It has been a really long time.
Or curse and rape...
My soul you must break.

You got the time...
To put me down?
I've been feeling pretty good.
How about a lie or two...
That would be just great.

You got the time...
To watch me cry?
I know it always makes you smile.
Whats that?
...perhaps another time.


00.13.8

35th

Today is my brother's birthday... I haven't spoken with him in 8 years now and counting. When we were younger, we were the typical brothers... playing with each other all day and occasionally he would tease, isolate and torture me like older siblings do. I guess things went south around the time I started to become ill, around 15-16. We used to wrestle, like "the pros" from the days gone by. He would put me in the "Boston crab", "figure four", "the sleeper" and "scorpion death lock" and I would always use the same old submission tactic of the "scissor hold". One evening, as we wrestled, I began to "slip away" from reality and became extremely violent. We were raised in a VERY religious household... more of those nightmares another time... and when I became violent with him, he became extremely scared and started crying. He crawled away from me quoting scriptures, like we were drilled to do, and told me "I rebuke you, Satan, in the name of Jesus Christ!". I guess that was the trigger of my first of many psychotic breaks... I smiled at him and quoted a scripture back at him from Acts 19:15, "And the evil spirit answered and said, 'Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are you?' ". I remember crashing myself upon him and beginning to beat him to a pulp... the rest, I have no idea. I wasn't there. Needless to say, out relationship began to change... we no longer spent time together and grew apart. He continued to distance himself from the rest of the family, especially my Dad. Years later while at college, he had developed such a disdain for my Dad, that he had his name legally changed. He came to visit his friends back home once, during my hardcore drug abuse days, he came over to my house said hello and said we should visit later after I was done tripping. He never came back and I haven't seen him since. Eight years ago when I moved north, I had taken his car stereo and offered to buy it from him so I wrote him a letter and set up an arrangement. His reply was short and to the point... business as usual. After the deal was done, I guess so was our relationship. I miss those simple days of playing in the woods and playing Cowboys and Indians with my brother... I miss the laughter. I know he will never read this... more than likely no one will. But either way, I love you T.J. . Happy Birthday, Big Brother.

30 Pieces of Silver

Last night was an emotional disaster... another person in my life needed to be emotionally killed and removed from existence. Over the years, I have been trying to support and guide a friend of the family, whom was in dire need of help. For years, I have feed him, clothed him, given him a place to live and even monetary support when I was able to do such. I had shared my life experiences and wisdom in hopes I could make a difference... I suppose because me reminded me a lot of myself in some ways. He is always in trouble with the law, addicted to some substance and even been completely abandoned by his real family. When I was out for the evening, he entered my home and stole my most valuable earthly possession... it wasn't the theft that lead to his demise, it was what he stole. To the average person, it was a just a 5th of Jim Beam whiskey... to me, it was a treasure, trophy and memorial. About 8 years ago, I was an extreme alcoholic and had to quit because I was literally drinking myself to death. I woke up that morning, ready to crack open a bottle for breakfast and stopped myself and never looked back. For the past 8 years, I had this bottle on my living room bookcase as a reminder of where I came from and used it as a source of inspiration and strength to press on through the hard times. Everyone that ever visited my home, knew the story of how I quit drinking and the importance of this sealed bottle... especially this young man. He knew how special it was to me and we had talked of it's importance on several occasions... it was my pride and joy... it was priceless. His addiction proved to be too strong for him and in a moment of weakness, he betrayed me and stole my victory and memories. He could have come into my bedroom and stole some of my chronic pain narcotics or various other medications, money, television, DVD collection, SLR camera or computer... but for some reason, above anything else, he chose my 5th. I viewed this as an act of complete violation... after everything I had helped him through over the years, the continual support and acceptance, guidance and father figure he claimed I was to him. All of my time and efforts over the years had been worth throwing away over a $15 bottle of booze... was our relationship and trust worth so little to him? This act of theft completely befuddles me... he had to know I would notice. He knew I looked at it everyday... it was my strength, my one remaining hope I was worth something and capable of change. Was it the power of his addiction, self-hatred driving him to burn his last bridge or a reflection of how little I meant to him? I guess I will never know, because now he is dead to me... now he has no where left to turn... he is all alone. Some people say family is priceless... but I guess to some, it's value is $15. Perhaps I am just as guilty for turning my back to him now...but I can no longer offer him comfort and strength, because I no longer know where I will find mine.

Would Be Companions

Perhaps it is my perception, which admittedly is severe tainted, but it appears that I have the talent of repulsing people. Whether they're in the tangible or pixelated world, the end result is always the same. Cold, limp handshakes that lead to walking backwards or ignores and blocks. Am I that terribly offensive? Does the mere presence of me in a room turn the air sour... does the hideousness of my appearance cause people to vomit? Am I so socially awkward, where even on the internet, that people want nothing to do with me? Creepers, stalkers, pedophiles and filth get more recognition or acceptance than I do. I have become so low on the social scale, that a "Fuck You!" would be a warm embrace. Perhaps I should be grateful for the 17 years of continuous slander and abuse my puppets and stuffed companions gave me during childhood... it was attention after all. In a mind filled with agitators and condemners, one would think the silence and neglect would be a precious gift... we always want what we lack, yet it's never enough. I can't be something I am not... it's not possible for me to blend in with the sheep, clones and robots that flood this earthly plane. I am the puzzle piece that gets turned and mashed, turned and mashed, then thrown aside after realizing it has no place or purpose. It's only matter of time before that piece falls off of the table and is lost... is that my place? Have I fallen off... am I still here? Perhaps I am just the invisible pixel with no form or shape. If there was a void filled with the others like me... how many pieces would that be? I wouldn't be alone... perhaps two silent invisible pixels could be friends? No sight, taste, smell, touch or sound... nothing to offend. Are you there... am I?

An Excerpt From T.O.D.

"Your Toy"


What's this- a breast.
What's this- a vagina.
What's this- love.

Rub it-
Suck it-
Finger fuck it-

Terror...
Confusion...
Isolation...

I will- take this.
I will- chew you up.
I will- spit you out.
I will- rip you.
I will- evolve you.

With this spade- I drive into you.
With this blade- I peel you.
With this scar- I bury you.
With this soul- I remember...

A Life Without Love

Although it was over 25 years ago, I remember like it was yesterday... it was my first impression of "love". She called me to her room and invited me inside. We used to spend hours in there playing school... a complete setting equipped with a chalkboard, books, ruler and even fellow classmates of the stuffed and fluffy variety. Everything was in place, as usual, but today's lesson and the ones to follow for years were "special" and performed behind locked doors. Instead of a chair or a makeshift school bench... the lesson was to be taught on the floor or sometimes the bed. She would remove her clothing, lay down and with a smile, invite me to join her there where she lay. She would direct me to lay upon her and showed me how to touch her and kiss her... "love" her. In those moments, while my innocence was stripped away from me, I played both roles in this lesson of "love". Not only was I the victim, but I had become the abuser... the molester and the molested. It wasn't the act that forever warped my understanding and definition of love and intimacy... I remember those times as a pleasurable, comfortable and safe environment. It wasn't violent, scary or awkward... it was "love" in my childish mind. A "special" time for me and my big sister...something I looked forward to and greatly enjoyed. It was years later, while on vacation, that the trauma sunk in and the damage done manifested itself, causing the confusion that I still battle with to this very day. She told me that we had to stop sharing these "special" moments together... that it was wrong and evil. I remember that day well... my heart broke and I had felt abandoned, rejected, unwanted and unloved. My inner child was screaming, "How can this be wrong, when it felt so special and safe? Why are you taking this away from me? How could you hurt me like this?". The circle was now complete... it was the beginning of the end. For the next 5 years, I buried all of those memories and returned to the "normalcy" of childhood. When my body began to change and started the process of maturing... I started to remember. I hated her for hurting me like that... taking away the "love" we shared. I wished her dead for all the heartache and I wanted revenge desperately. By the time I turned 15, she started to become physically ill and continued to become increasingly sicker. My hate, fury and confusion grew with her afflictions and soon the feeling of vindication settled upon me. For the past 10 years, she has been bedridden and unable to leave her house... sick with everything from auto-immune disorders, chemical sensitivity and now cancer. Looking back, I can see clearly that it wasn't just her that became ill, but I too had become sick... only mine is a mental sickness and dysfunction. I don't know what love is or how it is supposed to feel. I am unable to feel people's love they claim to have for me. I don't know or understand where the boundaries for relationships stand... the difference between a friend, family or romantic interests emotional ties. Everything is mixed and bleeds into each other, ultimately causing me to separate myself from all relationships in my life by the means of sabotage. Do I hate my sister now, years later... no. I hate that child, my younger self, for feeling the way he did during those "special" moments. It is just one example of the many things I have endured... just one reason why I hate myself.

T.O.D. - The Failure of My Writing Career

"Would You Still Love Me?"


Would you still love me... if I told you I was cruel?
Forbidden or deranged?
Would you still love me... if I were sick in my old age?
Decrepit or decayed?
Would you still love me... if I run and hide away?
Distant or ashamed?

Stained teeth and fingertips... the smoke that I toke.
Broken bones and soul... the times I have fallen.
Stale breath and rasping voice... what comes from within.
Tired eyes and bruised heart... the long days I've seen.
Paranoid thoughts- was that about me?
Changing emotions... the intensity I bring.
Here today... gone tomorrow- thoughts...
I blow like the breeze.
Living in two worlds-
My own and reality.

Would you still love me... if only you knew-
Such words of love, I have spoken to you...
A tongue much quicker, it lashes too.
Words that tear...
Would you still love me... after all these things?
Would you still love me... accepting all?
My love... my hate-
All that flows within.
Would you still love me... just like I am?

Schizophrenia

It consumes me... my every breath, thought and action. The choir chimes in and the dancers dance their reckless rhythm... the skeletons rattle my closet door, leaving me restless and afraid. You said you loved me, needed me, wanted me... how easy these words roll off the tongues of the flesh. Never once being able to feel these pleas, nor the ability to speak them to myself... just the silent screams and cold touch of isolation greet my sheltered world. Every dream has been taken away and every bit of pride and satisfaction has been left shattered beyond all mending. It's been so long since I have heard my own voice... all I can hear is you and them, swimming in my head. I am the moppet... ripping my strings as I dance about in this performance of a lifetime. My arms bleeding from the rapid movements, yet they can never seem to bleed enough... the nightmare continues and I am put on stage once again. Rejection is a faithful companion... it's always there. Like a reflection in the mirror, it serves as a constant reminder... just like you... just like them. We wake, weep and tremble, but somehow I am the only one afraid. I have become aware of my obliviousness and blind to my sight.