To Be, or Yet to Be

I’m feeling alone,
Come on, throw me a bone
This heavy drape
Please tell me this isn’t my fate

I just wanna touch you
Maybe even hold, too
But you flick me away
But I still wish for today

I just wanna run away
From the fray, today,
Instead crochet,
A key to my heart
Please don’t part

Of you, I still dream
Whilst you lie near
But I still fear
Looking into the mirror

Afraid of what I’ll see
What I am to be
Diseased and falling apart
At my minds own Bonaparte.

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I am Death

I ask you am I good enough
You don’t answer, calling my bluff
I just need reassurance, validation
Don’t leave me lying here, mind masturbation

My mind collapsing, prolapsing, relapsing
Negative thoughts that seem to bring
The cloud that covers the light
Killing the flowers, bees, endless blight

The apocalypse of my mind
I wander around this wasteland, never to find
Peace, harmony and pure happiness
Growing from the earth, all the angriest

Fuck Me

Tonight tomorrow but today
This depression, my shade
Each time of day, the day parade
Now watch me slide into fade

Yesterdays shade has got me black
Today’s crave has brought me back
Tomorrows cave will give me slack
One can hope, but never crack

I can’t touch what isn’t there
Life’s tough and isn’t fair
I offer love but you never share
I keep on going, truth or dare.

No One Knows

A black hole, that’s all it is
A black hole, my life to give
A black hole, but not to you
A black hole, how tried and true

So deep now, my love for all
So deep now, and here I fall
So deep now, I cant pass now
So deep now, I don’t know how

So lost, I don’t know where
So lost, I cant quite hear
So lost, neither can you
So lost, none have a clue

A black hole, that’s all life is
A black hole, my life so thin
A black hole, out in snuff
A black hole, its never good enough.

Knock Knock pt.2

The week was hard. The day itself was harder. Daryl was not able to reach the shower much and smelled like an unkempt horse’s stall. Still in sweat, clothes peeled from his skin just as he walked in through the front door, worry about the upholstery in his car wouldn’t leave his mind. The act of roughly sliding his body out of the clothes, and feeling the birth of a cool air glide across his skin, reminded him of a blistering sun burn. When days later, for amusement, he would peel the skin away from the burn, sometimes pulling it too far and having to yank it off in a strategic fashion, allowing a sensitive pink skin to birth into existence. The water heater in his house wasn’t the fastest. Upon starting the shower, Daryl was to wait for the water to build to the desired temperature. It usually took more than ten minutes. This day, he couldn’t wait. He squinted and drew away from the icy pain only once, then jumped in without a second thought. His arms wrapped around his front, hoping to deter the pain, as if it would leave his presence upon seeing his cowardice. Daryl had forgotten, in his hurried motion, that he turned the knob until it couldn’t go any further for hot water. Impatient to wait and hoping that if it were to be on full heat, the water heater would work full force and he would achieve the perfect temperature faster. Against his hypersensitive skin, the new temperature hurt more than before. From an overheated core his body produced, to icy cold water, back to hot. Water shielded Daryl’s sight, leaving him blindly searching for the temperature knob. Luckily, his hand knocked into the knob and turned it slightly, allowing it to cool. Daryl stood, savoring the now comfortable water. It rained down in streams atop Daryl’s head, flooding his face and flowing down his neck, finding its way down his back and off his chin, slapping the tub with consecutive thuds.
Daryl grabbed the soap to help with the layer of grime. The dirt was caked on, like a shield that protected him from harm, but the thick dirt did the opposite and he knew it.
With soap in hand, top popped ready to be used, the shampoo on the recessed shelf dropped. Daryl hadn’t noticed it, and when it crashed to the tub bottom, it surprised him. When it hit, he jumped several inches in the air, not landing level with the ground. Instead, one foot landed at an angle, making him slip on the tub surface and sent him flipping backward. In doing so, one shin scraped upward against the tub faucet, the back of his head cracked against the back rim of the tub, and his tail bone landed on the bottle of shampoo, which lay on its side. The corner of the bottle dug its way north of his buttocks. Daryl screamed out.

Continue reading Knock Knock pt.2

Knock Knock pt. 1

Daryl had lived the last decade of his life as spiritually as possible. Beginning his spiritual endeavors at the age of 43, he felt that it was as good a time as any. He did not want to associate himself with a specific religion, but instead tap into his spiritual being. To be closer to the heavens of his inner mind than ever before. To be in touch with the spiritual realm.
A year into his spiritual pilgrimage, Daryl experienced something unexplainable.

The process of his meditation was slow and relaxing. Relaxing enough to put him to sleep most of the time. But mostly, he lay half conscious. He began every meditation as the same. Breathing and reciting cooling dialogue. As he lay, beginning to fall asleep, a creaking came from across the room. Daryl blinked himself awake, allowing the soft glow from his table lamp to contract his pupils; the pain helped with the wake. Daryl looked toward the sound. The creaking came from a stool at the foot of a rocking chair. The stool moved back and forth on its pivotal axis, what it was made to do, but on its own without a body or force to push it along. It looked as if someone were sitting on the stool itself, rocking themselves to sleep. The only thing was that there was no one there.
Continue reading Knock Knock pt. 1

Smooth Features

John had arrived home beaten by the world. His car broke down in the parking lot at work. His boss yelled at him in, what had been thought to be, the safety of his office. He had spilled coffee all down his shirt. And now, money was low. So low, there were barely any funds for food for the last week of the month. John had fell into his couch in defeat, not knowing what to do about sustenance. John lived in poverty all his life. But he never experienced a time when providing for himself became an issue.
He then thought of some change he might have in an old bank he made. John flung himself from the couch and went to his closet. Upon opening, a few old shoes, some with missing laces, some with holes ground through the bottom, and a few clothes he never wore, that were bought from a thrift store, fell from the cramped pile. John pushed some boxes on the top shelf to the side, spilling other items onto the floor. Eventually, he found his closed jar. It was something he had made years before in art class. It was indeed a coin holder. It was oblong in shape; flat on the bottom, and fairly egg shaped around, with a thin and poorly made slot. The coin slot was not centered at the top. It was as if the cooking process had allowed the once centered slot to droop over from the heat. Since there was no opening on the bottom to retrieve the coins easily, John had to decide if the coins inside were worth it. John shook the jar hoping for a hefty rattle.
Cracking into the piggy bank, hope did not thrive. A few coins, barely enough for a meal consisting of fast food; a onetime meal, fell from the shattered mess. The hopeful savings account was now smashed to bits of ceramic shrapnel.
John sat. Shifting through the coins, he humored himself by arranging the coins. After counting, it summed up pocket change. John looked around to ensure himself that he found every coin that fell from the exploded pig. One penny found its way across the room, almost hidden within the brown 70’s carpet.

Upon picking it up, John noticed that the surface touching his index finger was smooth. Turning the coin in hand, the face of the president that once was on the coin was now a silhouette of a figure. Only one side of the penny had been greatly smoothed out by a previous owner. The penny’s face was unknown. The words were gone. The details, vanished. John’s thumb found its way from one side to the other, again and again, feeling its soft surface. It entranced him.
John forgot about hunger. John forgot about the other change. He leaned back against the rim of his bed and contemplated the coin. His thumb moving from the left to the right, and back again. John sat, feeling the coin until day break the next morning. Even then, all he did was stare at the coin and feel its soft surface.

Continue reading Smooth Features

Revitalized Legacy pt.2

Elden slept for most of the day. When he finally sat up from bed, his shirt tore away from the bed, and stretched away from his skin, in sweat. For him, it was like a wet band aid that was stuck on for far too long, slowly being peeled from the skin. Mid-summer was unbearable for most, but for Elden it was a relief. The simple refreshing satisfactions on days of peaked heat. To experience the exhaustion and beat down of the day cooking someone alive, then a cool breeze, or a wet pull of clothes from the skin allowing a cool touch, integrates itself into life, and everything seems to be marvelous. Even if only for a few seconds. Today was one of Elden’s favored days of the week–his day off.

Elden still lived with his parents in their average suburban home. It was a two story house, fair sized yard; front and back, and everything was always clean. After changing into clothes which did not stink of a gym locker that has gone years without cleaning–rancid onions, Elden set off for a walk. The walk was not long, since Elden’s goal was the neighborhood park only blocks away. With a large book wedged under one arm and a half eaten apple in hand, Elden felt that this day was already off to a good start.

Continue reading Revitalized Legacy pt.2

Meditative Realities

Lying in bed after a long, busy day, meditation was generally needed. I would position myself on my back as a plank, palms faced upright, and relax. White light, protection, readying my meditation.

How I began meditations before was to imagine myself in a forest. Forcing myself to feel the leaves rustling and bursting into fragments underneath my feet and between my toes. Looking out among the trees, an endless, open forest awaited to be discovered. Not a lot of time was spent there. Once I was done with the forest, I moved to the beach instantly.
A long, crescent, sandy beach would stretch out to the horizon on either side. Wrapping around to disappear among the trees that bordered the sand. I would imagine myself sitting at the beach front and contemplate. While there, I would make sure I felt the sand that bound itself to me. The salty breeze that seemed never-ending. And once in a while, when I would allow it, the water that made its way up the beach and puddle around my feet. Once I was ready for new scenery, I would change it. The last, and most memorable spot of meditation, was the field.
I always appeared on a hill side across from the main attraction. In a groove in the land, surrounded by hills all of the same size, stood a lone tree. A very large tree. Its roots one with the earth, none straying from perfection. The bark was rough to the eyes, but gentle to touch. It resembled an oak tree with a longer trunk. Beside the tree was a marble bench. Fit for two. After admiring the tree for a few minutes, I would take a seat. Once again, I’d make sure I felt the cool marble beneath my flesh. With a few more minutes here, breathing deeply, I would wake myself from the meditation. At times, I would feel better. It was very calming.

That is how I use to meditate.

I have found a quicker way to achieve the calming state of mind.

Continue reading Meditative Realities