in the clutches of this mental sinkhole forced effort my only ally my day is silent with only slow tears and exhaustion the bed, my refuge the external world feels so far removed from inside my womb of despair dark, alone, and unwell i need to stop sinking or eventually, i will float
the monumental woes sudden jolts to the psyche a shock of endless wounding ripples splintering into a cascade of emotions gigantic internal rifts open in us
flayed open in a jagged void
our mind, body and soul doing the symbiotic dance of intense unease putrid words heat up inside needing purged they force themselves up and out unintelligibly hot screamed tears flow down anguished cheeks
our reality forever changed
in time we hush our voice to gutteral moans the liquid from our eyes slows to a trickle the suffering seals us up within ourselves and the sadness clings to every fiber in our being arthritic pain felt everywhere there are no bones
uninvited days of the past appear at the door of my present they push inside to fill the heaviness in the room a smile begins to form on my weary face uninhibited laughter passionate entanglements mundane and easy tasks all flickering a pretty picture actively watching the gloriously faded memories now vividly replaying in my mind but the door closes eventually and i’m again fully toiling in the sorrow which summoned another life tears, uninvited, fall silently the wetness glazes over the joy images from a previous time return for safe-keeping until my mind summons them again
Life is hard; we all know this. But I always hope that each of us retains a bit of hope and strength to get through the bad times. I’m sure that most of the readers who visit here, know that about me. This piece, which I’m so happy that Gabriela Milton, Editor of MasticadoresUSA, has accepted for publication, speaks about the heaviness of days gone wrong and the determination in spite of it. Enjoy!
already exhausted upon awakening the day begins anew
promises are like water to me for you they quench temporarily all that i fear for you and us like the thirst of the dying i can stop making promises that i won’t agonize over the shit disease insanity violence and utter hell that we both see we can compromise and believe that there will be promises of better life like we will plant flowers but they might not smell like roses as the smell of decay clings promises can be multi everything disciplinary lateral purpose conscience promises are sugar and wine rat poison one daft note fleeting in the wind a fart or love i can’t tell where we are going or how to get on this new road let’s not make promises anymore let’s just stay eye to eye let’s just see what i will do how i will move and act and love and lose i refuse to promise that i will not turn the other way if you don’t promise that you will make this inferno go away i will say that i can accept my heart broken and that when the camera flashes your way remember that humility diligence and hard work are the better red carpet accessory for you
Could be my pants, shirt, socks, underwear or bra, but rest assured, dark will be somewhere on my body. As dark on my skin as dark as my insides.
It will remind me to get back to the emotions that were lost and fragmented. The good ones that shattered, and then scattered everywhere; becoming thin and almost non-existent. Seems odd, doesn’t it? To select gloom to inspire me after it tore me apart first. It’s my visual sticky note of what I let happen to me. It’s what I must do in order to go on. Otherwise, I don’t think I would.
Every emotion that came at me…shook me… HARD.
I’m scared being left with the impression of nothing being good, ever again.
“See the light in others, and treat them as that is all you see.”
Dr. Wayne Dyer