I’ll drink through it
I think to myself
and when I’m drowning
in my pool of despair
and near death
I’ll beat on my chest
until I can start my heart again
until I can feel the pounding of it beneath my ribcage
and hear the whoosh of pumping blood in my ears
Cool rain drenching hot asphalt
created dancing ribbons of steam
accentuated by my headlights
and for some reason you were there
a thought in my head
and the songs on the radio
took on a whole new meaning
The mind defies
and deceives
You come to me in my dreams
and you
you’re there too
and I don’t want to think about you
or you
I want to erase the memories
of all of you
the hurtful words
the fear
the black eye
But my mind won’t allow it
It pokes
it prods
it reminds
and recalls
I think of green pastures
with wildflowers dotting it
willing the beauty
to snuff out the pain you left
It doesn’t work
my words fall on deaf ears
and you turn a blind eye toward them too
and even though I stick out like a sore thumb
I seem to blend in with the crowd
and no one notices me
in a world obsessed with perfection
I am no one’s ideal
and I am ugly to myself
Why must I allow outside sources to define me?
If there was a salve which could heal your heart
I would travel miles
and spend every last penny I had to buy it
but that particular elixir doesn’t exist
and those who tell you differently
are just snake oil hawkers
who lie
I am powerless to fix what ails you
as you have that condition of the human heart
called love
and it will wound you
numerous times throughout your life
But none so deeply
as when you become a parent
and are unable to mend your child’s broken heart
the first time he falls
It all comes back to black
the color of rot and death
and a murder of crows
and of my insides
since I came across you
I want so much to shed the cloak of it
and experience other colors again
like red
the red of your blood
flowing from your nose
as my fist connects with it
gushing from your head
as the perfectly timed swing of my bat unites with your thick skull
dropping a trail from your bottom lip
as the back of my hand meets your lying mouth
but still
the red cannot compete with the black
so I wait for a source of light
to wash over me
and dilute it
and make it gray
i scrub and scrub and scrub
my skin wears thin
from the scraping of the brillo pad
it makes no difference
i am still dirty
i add cleanser
i am still not clean
i put the bleach bottle to my lips
and drink
because i realize the dirtiness
has penetrated my soul
oh how it burns on the way down
and i know that must mean it’s working
but it doesn’t clean me
and only leaves a hole the size of a quarter in my stomach
you stupid bitch
i say to myself in the mirror
you disgust me
the scars he left have dug their filthy tendrils
too deeply into me
they are ingrained
maybe he was right
no one else will ever love me
the air is heavy
like a piece of wet cheesecloth over my face
it hampers my breath
my heart is heavy
like a clogged swimming pool pump
it doesn’t want to move the blood through the chambers
and back out again
I tap my finger on my forehead
1…2…3 times
3 more times
somehow I think this might stop the tears
that spring from my eyes
but I’m wrong
some days nothing stops them
because the loneliness penetrates too deeply
and nothing seems right with the world
sick
from drinking the poison
spoon fed to you
snapchat
feed your attention whoring self
on the crumbs they throw you
likes
hearts
retweets
you gorge yourself
choking on it
a cock you’re sucking
like a teat
to feed your narcissistic ways
all the while
turning your heart black
the osmosis
of social media rot
permeates your sense of self
while your mind shrivels
to the size of pea
neurons firing
the adoration of those who don’t even know you
pinging the pleasure centers
of your brain
spread your legs wide
wider
let them all see
what a dirty little cunt you are
and just what you’ll do for
attention
I let the air caress my skin because no man wants to
and because lonely is a tick which has embedded itself in me
and injected me with its poison
and my soul is sick with the loneliness fever
and it’s only a matter of time until my body succumbs to the disease
Fiction, and other made-up stories
Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.
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