Five years ago, on this night,
we met.
And still, I love you.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Promise Me Sweet Nothings
My psychiatrist threatens me with possibility of immobility, that I will be right here in ten more years.
It is the most depressing of all thoughts.
"...flunking community college classes," he continues.
As if this will be my life, one large loop, the circle shrinking, smaller, tighter, strangling me until the day I wake up, fifty, still on federal disability money, one thousand dollars a month, just enough for eating and walking by the roadside--no job, no car, no career.
All beauty wasted.
Perhaps a pretty face could have bought me freedom from hellish poverty, then but in ten years, fifteen, time trampling on, gagging the ones it hates--ugliness is the prison we all spend.
Vanity--our handcuffs.
I'm not getting better, he laminates. There's no improvement, no incline in mood.
There's been a thief in the soul, but no arrests of the guilty party, no fingers pointed, no one to blame. I'm just the raped victim, the trail of blood behind me.
It is the most depressing of all thoughts.
"...flunking community college classes," he continues.
As if this will be my life, one large loop, the circle shrinking, smaller, tighter, strangling me until the day I wake up, fifty, still on federal disability money, one thousand dollars a month, just enough for eating and walking by the roadside--no job, no car, no career.
All beauty wasted.
Perhaps a pretty face could have bought me freedom from hellish poverty, then but in ten years, fifteen, time trampling on, gagging the ones it hates--ugliness is the prison we all spend.
Vanity--our handcuffs.
I'm not getting better, he laminates. There's no improvement, no incline in mood.
There's been a thief in the soul, but no arrests of the guilty party, no fingers pointed, no one to blame. I'm just the raped victim, the trail of blood behind me.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Choices on Wine
"TEll me it's over, I'll still love you the same,"
--"Call me," Shinedown
I walked out of the front door, hurt and upset, thinking, "Is this the end? He won't call..." The thoughts were swirling, much like my head.
"[5150]," he said behind me.
I turned my head but didn't stop. I get into the front seat of the SUV before I realized I was too drunk to drive.
He's standing there in the front yard, waiting for me.
I walk back towards him and when I'm close, he puts his arms around my shoulders.
--"Call me," Shinedown
I walked out of the front door, hurt and upset, thinking, "Is this the end? He won't call..." The thoughts were swirling, much like my head.
"[5150]," he said behind me.
I turned my head but didn't stop. I get into the front seat of the SUV before I realized I was too drunk to drive.
He's standing there in the front yard, waiting for me.
I walk back towards him and when I'm close, he puts his arms around my shoulders.
God is in the T.V.
"God is in the T.V."
--lyrics from "Rock is Dead" by Marilyn Manson
I was psychotic, sitting in my academic advisor's office, although I had no idea what was wrong. I couldn't tell him what was the matter, so he told me to write it down while he ran out into the hallway to talk to someone else briefly.
He handed me a notepad and a pen.
I wrote, "God is in the T.V." with a sense of irony and humor. And then left before he could come back.
--lyrics from "Rock is Dead" by Marilyn Manson
I was psychotic, sitting in my academic advisor's office, although I had no idea what was wrong. I couldn't tell him what was the matter, so he told me to write it down while he ran out into the hallway to talk to someone else briefly.
He handed me a notepad and a pen.
I wrote, "God is in the T.V." with a sense of irony and humor. And then left before he could come back.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Love Like That
"I wish you loved me like that," I said to MOrpheus, referring to how he loves his wife. I was near tears.
We were standing in his kitchen.
He looked pained, but did not reply.
We were standing in his kitchen.
He looked pained, but did not reply.
Loved Enough
I have loved enough, and when you have loved enough, said the kind words, stuck it out through the bad, you wonder when the end is coming, if there is the end, when should you quit.
There are the months of silence, the months of being on your own completely, when love then is just an idea or an illusion, a tale you keep telling.
If enough time passes, you go into mourning, and in this state, you are suspended, and you float, above the earth, feet high above the ground, untouchable, despite the drugs and the good will of friends and doctors. You stay here, forever.
Even when he comes back, you are still there, in purgatory of mourning because your heart knows he will just be gone again. And so you love, somewhere between heaven and hell, bouncing inbetween, chained to your own misery.
There are the months of silence, the months of being on your own completely, when love then is just an idea or an illusion, a tale you keep telling.
If enough time passes, you go into mourning, and in this state, you are suspended, and you float, above the earth, feet high above the ground, untouchable, despite the drugs and the good will of friends and doctors. You stay here, forever.
Even when he comes back, you are still there, in purgatory of mourning because your heart knows he will just be gone again. And so you love, somewhere between heaven and hell, bouncing inbetween, chained to your own misery.
Easier, Part II
"You're the greatest guy in the whole world to me. I love you.
I just want you to be happy.
Goodbye.
[my name]"
--my last email to Morpheus
I just want you to be happy.
Goodbye.
[my name]"
--my last email to Morpheus
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Goes Black
I will kiss him on the couch with a glass of Chardonnay in my hand.
I'm drunk.
After that, it's black.
I'm drunk.
After that, it's black.
Sleep
We go to sleep side by side, not touching except his leg crossing mine at the bottom of the bed.
I wonder briefly if I could live my whole life like that, in one crystallized moment.
I wonder briefly if I could live my whole life like that, in one crystallized moment.
Ox
He keeps writing, "I'm sorry," but I'd rather be slapped in the face. At least that, you can feel.
At least that is personal--me, you, the hand.
When I walk around, I can't feel anything but the mountain of sorrow upon my shoulders. Perhaps the sharp hit upon the face would give me something else to focus on, something else to ruminate over, a quick wound to heal.
What is "I'm sorry"? So empty, meaningless. Did you change? Did you bleed? Do you love me? Do you remember me in the night? Will you call and listen to my voice, only to hang up? I don't believe you and your sorry's. You don't know what you have done, sightless like an ox with blinders on. You stumble around, never looking where your feet are.
At least that is personal--me, you, the hand.
When I walk around, I can't feel anything but the mountain of sorrow upon my shoulders. Perhaps the sharp hit upon the face would give me something else to focus on, something else to ruminate over, a quick wound to heal.
What is "I'm sorry"? So empty, meaningless. Did you change? Did you bleed? Do you love me? Do you remember me in the night? Will you call and listen to my voice, only to hang up? I don't believe you and your sorry's. You don't know what you have done, sightless like an ox with blinders on. You stumble around, never looking where your feet are.
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