Tears Of Red

If my tears could have a color, they would be red. My heart has never ached like this before... all that was within it has leaked out. There is nothing left to piece it together... no ribbon promises, laced words or paper embraces. What I have become and my place in this world are mocking reminders of what I wanted to be... for you and me. This reflection won't fade in time, for it serves as a memory... a warning to the future and a reminder of what to seek. There is nothing left to be mended or dreamt... no towel to wipe down the imperfections. Loss is nothing new nor is the feeling of despair... but what I have been left to feel is beyond my previous knowledge. I cry rivers of red today... and the stain is all that remains.

It Still Bleeds Red...Though Thick And Cold

Rather than post more of my ramblings or perhaps a verse from long ago... I decide to post another one of my favorites, from a far greater mind than my own. I can think of no other words that can better express my current thoughts.


"The Sick Rose"

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

-William Blake

So Much, Yet So Little

I try to open my mouth and nothing comes out... would it matter? My tongue has brought nothing but further confusion, sorrow and remorse... remorse for the things said and those never uttered. Perhaps I have said more than I intended... more than I realized or hoped. As I write, my words become tainted and my heart uneasy... the right words won't come and the ones that find their place are often troublesome. I fear they do nothing but further the distance between what once was and what now has become. I'm cold and without solace... I am alone here, watching you slip further and further away.

The Clarity Within Confusion

Today has been a bad day... these episodes have become more common causing greater confusion. When the turmoil has passed and the tears cease from forming, I am reminded of something that brings some clarity and comfort:


"I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched."

-Edgar Allan Poe

The Price Of Heaven

When I was a little boy, around the age of 5-6, my parents began giving us gifts quite frequently... we were quite spoiled to be honest. My father had a very good job working for a major cigarette company as a supervisor so money was the least of our concerns. I would come home from school with my book fair slip and instead of only being allowed to order 1 or 2 books, I could order as many as I wanted. Every Saturday morning we would go to Toys R Us and he would buy me a new G.I. Joe, He-Man or Transformers... often times we could even get two of them. Christmas was a gluttonous feast of presents, as well as birthdays or any occasion one could have to get a gift of some type. By the time I was 7 or 8, between my brother and I, we had the complete G.I.Joe, He-Man and Transformers collections... I also had the Choose Your Own Adventure books, not complete but something like volumes 1-102, it is hard to recall. Well, around that time my Father found Jesus on an old, rugged cross on Sunday morning. He was saved, instantly forgiven for his mortal sins, cured of his alcoholism and guaranteed a mansion in Heaven.. all for the small price of saying I'm sorry and please forgive me, Jesus. What a wonderfully generous opportunity, Hallelujah! Needless to say, things were going to change very quickly in our home and there would be a heavier price to pay for the non-sinner, non alcoholic children in the home... my Mother couldn't have been more pleased. Jesus came to visit her in her room a few nights later and told her that we, the children, were going to suffer a horrible fate and burn in the eternal pits of Hell if we too didn't repent of our evil ways... we needed a purge of our mortal coils. So the following Sunday, after a radical church service, we went home and were instructed to bring all of our worldly possessions out into the backyard. This was a direct order from my Mother and Jesus, so there was no arguing or questioning such a bizarre request. So I gathered all of my toys, books and records and brought them into the backyard... minus the stuffed animals of course, she needed those to torture me for years to come. My Father and Mother were gathered at our sandbox praying... speaking directly with Jesus I assume. They told us to place everything into the sandbox, so we did... don't question your Mother and Jesus! My Mother then told us how Jesus said that the only way we could go to Heaven was to purge ourselves of our worldly possessions. She went on for sometime about us burning in Hell forever and how we could never have peace and would gnash our teeth in torment begging for a peace that would never come. Then my Father handed us, one at a time, a bottle of lighter fluid and my Mother simply said, "Do you want to burn in Hell forever?". At this point we were terrified, all of us screaming and crying, "NO!". She smiled and replied, "Then you must destroy these things of the world, least you destroy your very soul.". So, we sprayed our worldly possessions with lighter fluid and each tossed a match on to the massive pile of sin. We watched our belongs and dirty souls burn in a fiery passion of Christ, thus ensuring our mansions in Heaven... what a glorious day! Oddly enough, that next Christmas we began to receive presents again, basically of the same type... except for He-Man. I guess those new toys were Jesus approved or something or maybe we just deserved the right to sin openly and just ask for forgiveness like the adults do... seeing how we had previously paid our debt. There were new rules to be learned and new prices to pay for our souls... but they didn't come until a little bit later. However, that is another story for another time...

Your Silence Speaks Volumes

Sitting at my desk, listening to the many voices that fill my mind, I heard loud and clear the true answer to my problems. All of this time I have been blaming people for shunning me, making me the outcast and not giving me a fair chance... it appears all of those thoughts may be misguided. The problem is me... I am a broken individual and I don't function well in regards to others. People are uncomfortable around be, so they slink away. I am physically ugly, so they stare in shock. I try to speak to someone and I make them uncomfortable, so they retreat and ignore me. I claim people don't feel anything at all any more, that the world has become callous... it is I that is feeling too deeply, knowing not what I am feeling. I am the creepy monster I see reflected by the faces in this world. It is me that has the problem... I am the problem. I am the sick disease that needs a knife stuck through their throat... it is all me. The choir sings with approval... all this time I was running away from the truth. I am what sickens people, that is why they sicken me... the world has become my mirror and the only thing it is reflecting is myself. I can't go on living like this... as the problem and broken. This needs to stop... it has to.

Alone Again, Naturally

It is amazing how alone someone can feel in a house filled with people and a mind filled with voices screaming at them 24/7. Just when you think, you couldn't possibly feel any lower or more alone, the floor drops another level... I just can't stand it any longer. The only thing keeping me from killing myself once and for all is this god damn cat... I am the only one here that loves him and takes care of him. I do a terrible job of taking care of myself, but I seem to do okay regarding the cat... his basic needs are fulfilled and he sits on my lap most of the day, so he really has no right to complain. He is getting older now, soon to be 10 years old... when he finally passes, I'll have nothing left to keep me here. As much as he bothers me, I do love him... I don't think my heart could handle the loss of him well at all. Which just reinforces my theory, I'll finally have the strength to follow through and leave this fucked up world and it's disease of a populace. I am tired of being alone and misunderstood... I can't handle the constant stress, terror and rejection of trying to find a safe place in this world. I would think by now, I would have gotten used to this ritualistic torture but I have not... everyday is filled with a new sting of betrayal and relentless sorrow of a broken heart. I really just want it all to end... there is no point any longer. If I did find something good in this world, something worth living for, I would destroy it before it ever had a chance to let it's potential be known... it's part of the destructive cycle, one that enslaved me long ago. I do it every time something good, honest, lovely, pure, decent and sincere finds me... I fucking choke it to death in excitement, just like Lennie and the puppy. On one hand, I am Lennie killing his puppy out of ignorance... on the other hand, I am the puppy being straggled by the world's intolerance and disease. Tell me about the rabbits, George...

What Once Was... Shall Never Be

I have decided, as a means of survival, I am going to move into the closet and live inside. I will route some power into it and place my computer near the entrance to watch for people trying to defile my temple. In the corner, I will place the few possessions that remain, my music, guitar, video games and books, and stack them into a platform on which I can safely sleep. That way no one can sneak in and steal from me any longer... when I am awake I will be guarding them and when I am asleep I will be laying on them. This is the only rational decision I can think of because everything I own is being stolen from under my nose. Anything that is of value and capable of being stolen is taken... stop fucking stealing my shit! Maybe I should start stealing your stuff or stick my knife through your fucking throat! There is nothing inside of you, you fucking clone, I would be doing the world a favor. Just leave me alone!

Teardrops And Saliva

My hands are wet with fear and my stomach is rotten with despair... the saliva in my mouth is thick as if I had just dropped some acid. I was I had that false security now... I am weighed and weightless at the same time... a heavy heart and nothing to keep me rational tied to the ground. I have already taken my medicine twice... the magical soldiers I was promised could help relieve my weary mind. Nothing. It's the same as it would be if I had eaten shit... which I have done on many occasions. I turn inside for comfort and I am greeted with disdain and mockery. I go the the corner to shake it out and I am disturbed by the people walking within these walls. I curl up with my cat and he offers nothing but a paw and a sigh. I look to the window... I want to jump. I go into the kitchen to grab a knife and cut myself free... free from all of it and all of them, everything. I see the amber bottle of medicine and I begin to weep... take more, take often, take more, more. All I can do is wait... when my body crashes, the mind will soon follow. I cry and gasp for the air that never comes... all I can say is simply, why?

The Final Curtain Call

Last night I was informed of the passing of a cherished one, Carolla O'Connell. I had the honor of meeting her and learning from her when I attended high school... she was my drama instructor and so much more. As I sit here, with my shattered heart slipping through my trembling fingers, reflecting on my life and the impact she made... sorrow consumes me.

As a teenager, I dreamed of being a poet, author, musician and artist... silly dreams, most stated. Carolla O'Connell was an accomplished actress and knew of the difficulties that surrounded an artist's life and the struggles that would arise. I remember asking her for a written letter of recommendation when I applied to Berkeley... she looked up at me, squinted her eyes and agreed. It wasn't until after high school, on a visit at her home, that I truly understood what she once saw in me... an artist. I had stopped by to see her while I was on a return trip to my home town to prepare for my adventure in D.C. ... I had been nominated International Poet of The Year and was going to the competition in hopes of success. She shared with me on that visit, that many students had come to her over the years, like I did, for a letter of recommendation to pursue the arts... however, she refused most. She told me, "They are just being stupid and should get a decent education." . I laughed and smiled at her as I replied, "But you wrote one for me?". Again she looked at me, with squinted eyes and simply said, "Ah, yes I did." . I was moved and confused at the same time. In high school, I always auditioned for the lead role in our plays... Mrs. O'Connell always refused and cast me as the supporting role. It was that day, on that particular visit, that she explained why. She told me that my job of supporting the lead, was what made the characters come to life and give the piece it's value. She said I was too talented for the lead and I was needed elsewhere. It all came together... after years, the veiled had been lifted.

Indeed, I never became the things I dreamt of being... my writing and musical achievements are laughable at best. Carolla O'Connell had seen me over the years at my best and at my very worst... an insane, drug addled hooligan. Even in those moments, she believed in me... she saw something of value and importance. I can't help but to feel as if that part of me died with her... those hopes and dreams, my value and importance, that dreamt of artist. I am beside myself and I know not what to do with these emotions racing through my veins. Carolla O'Connell will always be remembered and cherished by those whose lives she touched... but to me, she was more than words could ever give justice. I think of Juliet and I can't escape the feeling that she was terribly mistaken... there is no sweet in this parting, only sorrow.

Unsaid And Unsent

The words are swirling around in my mind, but I am powerless to speak. If I keep these thoughts to myself, I can relive the dream over and over within the safety of my head... just let me keep on dreaming a little longer. Allow me that one simple pleasure... I beg of you. I know it will never happen, I know it can't happen, I know all the things my heart refuses to accept. Tomorrow I will wake up and suppress these feelings that at the moment are bursting from within my chest... the sorrow drips from my eyes when I think of losing this moment. I lace my every word, with the same thought... they are only so many ways to say the unsaid. Just for the night, may my tongue be still and my breathing staggered... let me have this, just for one more night.

Something To Think About

In life, sometimes we say or hear something profound... it shocks our core and fills us with uncertain emotions. The result may be exhilaration, fear, panic, joy, peace... any numerous effects and mixtures. I was watching a film the other night and heard such a profound statement... it was a reckoning and more appropriate now, than ever.


"Sometimes we don't do things we want to do, so that others won't know we want to do them."

-Ivy Elizabeth Walker, The Village