Choir Of Furies

The melody of terror vibrates inside... screaming reminders, like broken fingernails clawing at the rough pavement. Every act brings it's own verse, the judgment and redemption are unending... there is no atonement or salvation pending. This round bellied beast has become the feast, on which the diners never cease... no peace, no release. Confessions are moot... in this godless court, I stand accused and accountable. Still, the desire remains to voice every incident. To some how release my own guilt at the very least... raised corpses, daughters and neighbors waiting for reprisal. The words are like sand in my throat... choking me as I gasp for the air to cough them out once and for all. The more I struggle, the more I am suffocated... like warm, stale breath whispered over and over in the victim's ear. I can still taste the sweat from my brow, smell the hair and fluids that were spilled upon the cold concrete and see the trembling bedsheets. Each moment sparked with a smile... lights dim as reason and remorse left my side. I just didn't want to be left all alone... I couldn't stand being alone any longer. The closet is crowded now... all of us together, forever.

The Others

It all started with a rapping at my bedroom window... three stories above the earth, with no place which to step. Starting slowly at first, they entered with such grace as they stepped, danced, and swam about the room. The light hum of indistinct conversation... separated and without purpose. What wonderful company, delightful really... filling the emptiness, the void. I'll never feel alone again... reaching, crawling, scratching. Echos screeching from hollow mouths... mixing into a mass in each throat. They are clear now, every word, every noise, every heartbeat ripping at my mind and stabbing at my throat... the blood pounds deep within, echoing in my own head. Now each with their own purpose and ideas they chatter... this, that and the other one. My voice is lost among the din and my will is null as I become the moppet... each voice with it's own desire and the collective with one agenda. One stands alone, more selfish than the last... the cat, for he is the Master and I am now the mouse. My breath smells of bleach and I have bitten the nubs of my fingertips raw, but the bottle is still closed and out of reach. Drink it. Drink it... these words thrash me relentlessly. Treats for my dearest Sweet... many more treats they promise.

Closure

No matter how painful or tear lined it may be... I need this chapter of my life to be closed. Whether your words are spun by a forked tongue or there is a final stab wrenching in my stomach... I need to know why. Stripped away from me, like a trophy, was my innocence... my fragile, virgin state of mind. Leaving me without a towel to wipe my tears or to plug the hole you ripped in my chest. You abandoned me on that silver street, never to return and witness the ruins left by your hand. Even though you left without any remorse or indecision, returning to what once was adequate... I needed more. I needed the explanation. I needed the goodbyes. I needed the insincere apologies. I needed the closure. For these things, no matter how mending, I mustn't wait. Those words will never come and I must repair the pieces alone. Breath by breath and day by day, I send your name unto the void... to learn to trust again. As I remove your words, which dangled my heart... I'll learn to live once more.

My Zephyr, My Moon

Karma, it always finds you. When I was younger... a head full of ego and self importance... I used to seek out the vulnerable as prey. It gave me a feeling of self worth, power and a rush of excitement... life. The disease in my mind, over the years, has made me very fragile... vulnerable. Now I have become the prey... the hunted. It has come full circle. Though I am now older and have, for the most part, put the childish behavior to rest... I am still accountable for my wrong doings. Therefore, karma has the right to make me her quivering bitch at a whim's notice. With wounded pride, shattered heart and more fear in my heart towards the world and those that dwell in it... I am forced to move on. It hurt beyond words, to be led to the slaughter... lied to, built up, then torn down. No remorse or reasons given... you left my life just as quickly as you came. I had little to nothing before... now, I have nothing. I put my faith in your words and began to trust the songs you sang to me nightly... like dripping wax, they seeped into my mind. Leaving now a cool, hardened echo... I may never hear those songs again from another voice. Scar tissue filters out all of what could be and I am left to dwell in the ramblings of my insanity. If there was anything left to feel betrayed or broken... I don't know if I could handle this sorrow. But you took it all from me, every last piece. I should be grateful and offer some reward... for I am dead inside. There's nothing... I am numb.

Upon Deaf Ears

It has been awhile since I have written... several factors involved. Part of me has given up and lost it's voice... my artistic scream to the world has fallen upon deaf ears. Other parts have been too confused with the complexity of emotions and running from plastic men in petticoats... women with their fashionable mustaches. Depression has nuzzled it's way into my daily routine once again... it was rude to be an invited for the evening, then staying through the weekend. Emotions are mannerless... always thinking of themselves. Was it the way she pursed her lips or the way he raised his brow that captivated me in such a way... bringing me to my knees in supplication? How I love the dance and enticing music... it bends my will and breaks my spirit. Leaving that sticky taste and empty feeling, rotting in pit of my stomach. Turn down the lights... it's warm before the draft. Your embrace... turn down the lights.

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