Poetry

F33.0

Poetry

A wire scrub brush rubbing back and forth furiously across every neuron in your brain. ZAP ZAP ZAP

Your head aches in such a way that an aspirin will not help.

A knife wielding its rigid edges across your heart,

carefully,

slowly,

painfully.

Red drips down your legs to the floor.

People stop and stare.

Wipe up the blood!

A speeding bullet train heading straight for you

that has no light to warn.

SMASH#@& into your consciousness, full force,

leaves each thought jagged and sharp.

A black pit of quicksand that you desperately try to tiptoe across.

No avail.

Sinking deeper and deeper until the only sight is the top of your head.

Help me! pushes through your throat

but

you

cannot

open your mouth to scream.

A nightmare from which there is no awakening. Bleak, gray shadows
in every corner, blocking out all rays of sun
and air that is fresh.

A hurt that has no name, that cannot be explained, that eats away
ferociously at your spirit. You whisper through your tears,
God, where are you? Why can’t you hear me?

*** You cannot begin to know how desperately we want relief, free of this bondage. ***

We push through, like robots.

Get up. Brush teeth. Go to work.

Come home. Crawl under the covers. Pray for sleep.

We feel insane. We want to smile, laugh, open the blinds,

but cannot.

Try this pill, that pill. One plus three works. Then one stops. Try another. No luck.

The doctor says, Be patient.

The therapist says, Stay the course.

The priest says, God had a plan when he created you.

Each word is muffled, and incredibly hard to hear.

Even breathing is hard.

We don’t sleep to dream; we sleep for a break from the heavy thud

stampeding our once-upon-a-time happy hearts.

We try to believe it will pass, that it won’t last much longer./

!!!Suicide is selfish???

Unless you’ve stood on the train tracks waiting for the 6:38 train,

swallowed 50 sleeping pills and somehow woke up,

held a shotgun to your head and begged for the strength to pull the trigger,

you will never know

how F33.0 feels,

why

can’t

suck

up.

The truth is we don’t know anymore than you do why we can’t JUST…

So please, be patient.

That’s all we ask.

Hold

our

hands

and

stay

our

sides.

Love us even when it’s hard.

Man Alone

Poetry

Big, angry hands
have felt damp thighs after sex,
moist ground after rain.
These hands, my hands,
so quick to hurt
yet seeking to soften, stroke,
ease their pain.

Feet, blistered and bruised,
have run from the light,
the blinding white light.
These feet, my feet,
time to rest, to be washed,
cleansed, and renewed.

Memories, red and raw,
fade with time.
Honoring the code crossed the line.
Visions in the back of my mind
find no ration nor rhyme.
Slanted, furious eyes, my eyes,
have seen green ink, golden tongues,
an array of blacks and silvers.
They have bled in awakening
and cried.

Yet I am never satisfied.

Melissa

Poetry

Small and flaxen,
she drifted with vagabonds
across the borders, scarred.
Unsure.

In her lap sat
books of maps.
Barrage of words on pages
worn, ragged, torn.

From small to smaller,
numbers out of order,
letters skewed.
No marker of where
she was born.

Shattered chapters,
the cover a large factor
in how she learned
to smile on cue.
Passerby’s never saw
beyond the fence.
Panic and static in the attic,
rats at war.

Turmoil exploding
behind enemy lines.
Broken bottles of wine
on the scoured floors.

Buried in her nest,
books in the treasure chest,
the wind shifted to the West.
She couldn’t keep up the pace
and got lost in time and space.

Her life story reads
one short paragraph
in this epitaph:

“She was small and flaxen,
lips curved in a bow,
cover never blown.
Here lies Melissa,
lost on a map,
origins unknown.”

I Declare War

Poetry

The battlefield is covered
With razorblade terrain
Muddy river tries to swallow me whole
I shove the rig in my vein
Blood spits at me incessantly, relentlessly
Forgotten days
Confused about pain
I succumb to the stain
Able is slain

Memoir of Your Daughter

Poetry

Oh Father
The sun has seen longer days.
Eyes blinded by your ways.
Shadows cast over the sun.
My grief has just begun.
Picturesque sunset far behind.
If only you could press rewind.

Oh Father
Games of hide and seek.
Photos shred as I weep.
By your rules I did abide.
Old and new wounds ripped wide.
I scurried about, quiet as a mouse,
up the stairs of the madhouse.

Oh Father
Secrets, deceit, so many lies.
The family pretended you weren’t high.
For your sins I dearly paid
as you ran around on feet of clay.
You blasted through my life;
They were none the wise.

Oh Father
A carousel horse and ballerina music box
did not keep me from hiding behind golden locks.
Not quite insulated in Candyland,
blocking out the pain of your heavy hand.
I stared into the looking glass,
praying for the explosions to pass.

Oh Father
Lost in never – never land,
I never believed I’d hold your hand
while you laid on your deathbed,
organs dripping red.
So many wondered how I forgave
your impudent transgressions and refusal to behave.