What You Left Behind

Something is missing

That numb feeling in my center

this vibrating out that it does

glazing over my eyes

I know somewhere I must have some feelings

anger and sadness

best guess

but I can’t connect

depressed

are you as tired of that word as I am

fuck I’m so tired of it

I keep going

because I’ve learned by now that that’s what I do

I guess that’s pretty cool

but if I’d given up

I wouldn’t judge myself

or you

I don’t want to live here

but wherever you are

you are

and what a fucking riddle it all is

isn’t it

sometimes I just get sick of playing

so I give up for a little while

I let it take over

the gray cloud

the white noise

sometimes I don’t let it, it just comes

rapist

I put ear plugs in today

inside

because I didn’t want to hear that fucking blower blow one more time

jesus Christ

I don’t feel like I can ever ACT or DECIDE

and when I do

just momentary blips on the radar of life

I want things

and I know things don’t really give you anything

is it all just a head spinning trap

how do we live without answers

how do we fulfill our purpose

the one in the soul that keeps pushing us forward

and yet

that other thing that stops us

every god damn fucking time

your skin will wrinkle if you don’t die

and your eye color will fade and all that will be left

will be what you left behind

 

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my heart breaks into a million pieces

a million times

I don’t know how anyone gets through this life, sometimes

the world often feels cold and indifferent

and I suppose it is

and i guess it isn’t, sometimes

but Lately has not been one of Those times

I wonder how I can find more meaning

more love

more – dare I say it? —

happiness

Jinx

(You owe me a coke)

I cannot go back

I will not go artificially up

because I know the horrific downs

I am so alone and yet

Kids.

How can I like them but not think I want them

what on earth would i do with one, needing me

obliterating me

maybe i’m just a selfish freak

then again, it feels selfish to bring something innocent and unique

into a world like this

I don’t know

I would like a partner but he never seems to show up

or he’s weak

or he can’t follow through

or there’s not enough chemistry

I am tired of the tears on my cheeks

I am tired of seeking

I am tired of stopping seeking to just be

I am tired of everything

I am most tired of breaking

no, I am most tired of feeling This Kind of Low

that makes it difficult to breathe

or see

or think

or do

or leave the house, some days

I am angry

where is reprieve?

To whom do I speak?

Can It even hear me?

If It hears, what then?

I don’t see you Changing,Thing!

I’ve changed enough for the both of us, but it don’t seem to matter much

What?

Should I just keep suffering, hoping you’ll wake the fuck up?

Just stay in this god-forsaken place feeling stuck?

no, no

why should i be the only one to have to change? huh?

HUH?

 

Disturbed

 

claws

I feel it crawling in

The pores of my skin aching as it enters

I am bloated with this darkness

The rain outside is romantic and only

Exacerbates my loneliness

And they could all tell me

“I can relate”

But relatedness is not found

Here

Mind blurred with overwhelm

Lost at sea

I need an anchor and I can hear her say

“Be your own anchor”

But I can’t anymore

I can’t

Anymore

I need a him

Strong and reliable and loyal

Not the Archetype but the man

He seems always to escape me

I find myself with myself

Conversing just to try and stay centered

It pours now

Romance gone, just pure, wet, pelting anger

Don’t all relationships end that way

Anyway?

Let me break open this old shell

I don’t want this darkness anymore

And yet I am bound

Without it there cannot be light

Or consciousness

But sometimes I can’t suffer any more

I know now there is no escape

Only avoidance

But I rage inside

WHERE IS MINE?

WHERE THE FUCK IS MINE?

I scream wildly

My insanity begs to be let out

I imagine ripping off my clothes and running naked into the street

Cussing and howling

the Madwoman free

But I only gaze at the rain and feel something sickening

 

No Hope

Eyes burned wide open

can’t cry anymore

Numb to emotion

’cause I’ve seen it before

Nothing tugs at my heartstrings

No harp strings to play

’cause the instrument’s broken

Strings are all frayed

The bird that is Hope can’t perch or sing

an’ she’s getting so tired of flappin’ her wings

No heart to land on

Just bits on the floor

No respite, no Inn

Then

No Hope anymore

How many levels of hell are there?

Dante is fucking wrong

I have come to deadened space

Alive only with some kind of empty, disgusting, torturous insanity

A white void of horror

There is no God here

There is no God

I beg to be killed but there is no one to do it

And no instruments for my own use in this white sterile room

So I will starve to death on this bitter, pointless existence

And wake back up in this same room

If only I could be in Hell’s 9th level

This level has no number

 

On Loneliness

dangerous-loneliness

Loneliness is sitting in the cell of your own body

Immobilized

Hearing the softened sounds from the neighborhood alternately float in and out

Like some kind of old radio

You can hear the faint laughter or warm conversation

But you don’t feel any of it because you are living in the prison of your own, lonely being

Sometimes, eyes glazed over and numb, you find you’ve wandered into the home of Depression

Then back again into the familiar ache of a heart that feels like some kind of broken stone, cracked in the deepest places

Only you know it can’t be made of what it feels like,

Because stone doesn’t feel

But you do

Sitting there in your fleshy skin and heavy bones

No plans

No one to call

Ah, you could, you know

There are people who care, which makes it all the worse

The shame that bears down slamming you for just not having it in you to

Get the fuck up

Pick up the phone

Do something

Perhaps we are in the House of Depression again, though the two share a door that never closes

What does it matter?

And then, isn’t there always One?

That one you ache for that you hardly let yourself think of

Because the impossibility of that fantasy is crippling

It is another New Year’s Eve

I can taste my loneliness

I feel it wrap it’s Nothing arms around me and squeeze

But the tears don’t spill over because they are trapped in my cracked, stone heart

This Much Sadness

I am at a loss

For This Much Sadness

An odd wah-uh-wah-uh-wah sound penetrates my ears

Alien

Foreign

My eyes sit like saucers in a dirty Beijing sky

Hazy

Spacey

Where the fuck am I?

I am at a loss

For This Much Sadness

Who knew It existed

Like This?

I am a shaken, empty vessel

Robotic

Devoid

I am a Veteran now

Lost

Perhaps forever

In these Post-Apocalyptic eyes

 

Black Sophia

 

ereshkigal

I fall now

In Wretched Grace

I land upon your lap

I took not my old Naivety

Nor wide-eyed Innocence

Nor Cloying Positivity

Nor hope of Recompense

I did not bring Salvation here

Nor dare to make Requests

I wore only reverent fear

For you command Respect

You have bested me, My Black Sophia

Fool I was, in retrospect

From this day on

I honor You

No, I will not forget

There is No Place that is Like You

No words to capture Your Kind of Truth

No Art

No Muse

No Thing

Like You

And I will not

Forget

 

The Visitor

 

depression-1_3

At night

He comes

Obese, gray-black

Anger so repressed He is shaking

Below, like Earth’s been doing lately

Quaking

His eyes blank, mouth soft

Head knows nothing of his rage

Below

Trauma can split a person in two like that

So he sits

Heavy

Thinks he’s empty

Squashed

A car in a junkyard

Abandoned, forsaken

Crushed flat, fat

Like an overgrown gourd

Bulging, tumorous

At night

He comes

He speaks to me

An untrusting “hello”

Though

It is my voice I hear

Obese and gray-black

 

 

Black Poetry

Brainwashed-2

Black Poetry beats in me like a painful yellow fog

Murky, pungent, sucking life

This is garbage, you think

(Or maybe that’s me)

For Poetry is the thing Dickenson speaks of!

Hope singing, and the like

I bring a different kind of Word

Self-indulgent, maybe

But not if you really knew…

Well

Some of you do

Some of you do

We are the artists, yes the long-suffering Clichés,

Whose works, year-after-year-after-millennium,

Somehow still rings True

Life strikes down her yellow-gold-silver-blue

Splitting us all open, cracked as we already are

Shattering and shattering

You can almost here Zeus laughing in the skies while

Children are dying down here in spades

While so-called Gurus spew

Unrelatable but somehow edible

Spiritual vomit

People sinking knee-deep in it

Eyes wild, wide

Heads nodding, bobbing like Robotrons

Mouths lapping up regurgitated chunks

Hungry

Starving to ingest the One-Sided

Disguised as Salvation

Hands dripping with acid stench

Shoveling, scooping

Inhaling someone else’s excrement

Proclaiming it delicious

Denial is a Siren

A sweet Goddess of affliction

Who is so annihilating-ly believable

We all think we’ve got gold in our palms

Ever-fooling ourselves

So I take on the role of The Outcast

I must

This painful yellow fog beats out of me

(Go ahead and find it disgusting)

Not because I wish to be different

(Though, fuck you, I’m different)

But because mainly

I must be a Counter

To all the golden puke we cling to

Pretending that it is Soul