Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Life and I

We were lovers once, Life and I. Life was mine and I loved it so very much. We spent so many warm summer days dreaming until even the sun got tired of our rampant chatter of the future and where it would take us. We were free, even more free than that sun who knew she would have to return to the sea to rest until her responsibilities called her to wake the in the morning. We didn't have to wake, not tomorrow, not the next day, not ever. We could dream forever and in the darkness we only saw the stars. Life kept me warm and held me up. He made me feel unafraid. I felt that whatever I wanted he would give it to me. He fascinated me and made me want to be better, smarter, stronger. There were so many things to learn about Life. He was always changing and keeping me amazed. Life and I were young and unafraid.

We stayed together a long time Life and I. Things got a little more complicated as we got older. Life did some things to me that I didn't understand. He hurt me. He left me broken at times. Shattered me and left me that way for days, weeks, sometimes months. He took things from me, things I never thought I could go on without. I felt Life had deceived and abused me but I took him back every time. He never left me. When everything around me fell Life was the constant variable. There were times I considered leaving Life for good. Packing my bags and never returning to Life, but I stayed. I stayed and I struggled. There were no more warm summer days. Life and I woke up one day in the future that we used to dream about, but our dreams and our reality were not the same. They never are.

It has been longer than I can remember that Life and I have remained companions. We are not fighting like we used to. We have accepted each other. We have come to terms with the pain and the joy. We are simply waiting and being. I know that Life will leave me soon, so I do not trouble him. I take much better care of him now that our time together is fleeting. I can say that I am bitter with him at times but I am still moved by him. We have such a strange relationship now Life and I. We are honest to each other. We are not the passionately hopeful young couple we used to be. Nor are we the intensely frustrated adults who felt the truth for the first time. We act like dear friends who have lost touch, who are trying to get back to how we used to feel towards each other. We are trying to know each other for the first time, and we are afraid that we have run out of time, that it is far too late.

I want to love you again. I want to love you until we are no more.

Sunday, April 28, 2013


He's writing the words that are making me sick.

With a pen in his hand he drills a hole in my head.

It fills with decay until it's good and fed.

He's playing the songs that are making me sick.

The melody burns my flesh into bone.

It hurts until its numb until I'm dead and alone.

He's painting the pictures that are making me sick.

I tear out my eyes and I swallow them whole.

I want to witness the infection in my soul.

The kind of art that makes me itch and pick.

And it breaks me and takes me and keeps me sick.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

All of Them Dancing

For about two years now I have lived across the street from a graveyard. I walk passed it every time I go to the bus stop and never give it a second thought. I fear death does not affect me anymore. I suppose it never really has. I ignore the graveyard and hop on the bus trying to convince myself of my own existence. Numb to life. Numb to death. This evening was different and I was thinking rather differently. I got off the bus and I just watched the graveyard. It was perhaps the only thing I had seen alive in a very long time. It could have just been the fog, or the shadows of those infinite trees but I saw them.
All of them, dancing, a freedom dance.
Not one of them wakes daily to the deafening noise of an alarm, forcing them to wake only so they can stumbled into a job that makes one feel less and less like and person and more and more like a disease. The monotony of this thing we call life causes our skin to fall from our faces and our ideas to drain from our heads until we are nothing but machines, working for someone we will probably never meet, who signs our paychecks and rapes our will, bi-weekly.
All of them, dancing, a freedom dance.
 Somehow six feet under seems a hell of a lot more comforting than five feet and four inches above. I move not forwards and not back, I just move because I am told to move. I wake because I am told to wake. The comfort of eternal sleep and endlessness. Death is to become new. To become your mother's tears, to become your lost loves' truest regret, to become potent in the thoughts of those who knew you and those who pretend to have known you. You have to die to become new.
All of them, dancing, a freedom dance.
I want to join the dance. I want to be free like they are. I want to be careless and young. I want to be transparent and untouchable. I want to rid myself of the physical and material as they have. I cross the street and climb the fence into the graveyard. The dance has stopped and I have crashed the party with my pathetic and seemingly meaningless existence. It is so quiet it hurts my ears and I feel incredibly and unforgivably alone. For that, I am thankful. I sit in the damp soil next to a giant stone cross. There I am, fallen from grace being ridiculed by the perpendicular lines. My grandmother would be so disappointed in her fallen angel. I wonder now if she has danced the dance of freedom. I guess I may never know. It is a curious thing, sitting amongst the dead and decaying. You think it would be reaffirming to know that you are and they are no longer, but it's not. There is really no difference between them and I. Perhaps, they are better off because for them it is the physical that is dead, it is the physical that decays. For us it is the emotional. It is our souls that are dead, it is our souls that decay. Either way everything is rotting. I sink my fingernails into the damp soil beneath and let the coolness calm me. It is so calm and there is nothing. They are nothing, I am nothing. All of us are nothing. I realize that the only difference between them and I is a pulse. A pulse lets me live but does not guarantee it will keep me alive.