I see you suffering, and I wish there was something I could do for you.

I witness your pain, and my own heart aches.

I see you spiraling, faster each day; downward motion to nowhere land.

I wonder who’ll be waiting when you reach the end.

Unsure what led you to this path; you no longer walk, but run these days.

The shift came sudden and without any warning.

Your sanity slipped and crazed madness set in.

You pushed aside all that was real; lost sight of your self completely.

Chasing that ever illusive sensation; known simply as euphoria.

You haven’t a positive word to say; allowing negativity to swallow you whole.

I say these things, because I know this place; having visited a time or two.

Your beauty and intelligence still shines in your eyes; though clouded by your tears.

With love and understanding, I offer this prayer; that someday soon, you’ll find your way home.

Just as we
All did

The same
Love
The same
Lies
Differing his pain
His troubled past

To fit each
Woman
And circumstance

Depending
On what he
Needed
Or knew he could
Take from them

I offered up the
Group of support
Gathered in the
Wings
Patiently waiting
For her to
Walk off the
Stage

She isn’t yet
Ready
Still believing
He is
Who he
Says

He wanders aimlessly through worlds of destruction; mist colored mountains, too blinded to see. A victim of self-induced misfortune, an inflicter of pain. Endless. Eternal. Walking through the flames, wearing the scars like badges of honor; baptisms of fire consecrated in vain.

Infinite lifetimes spent. Second-hand knowledge attained. Wasted on this tortured mind; soul hollowed eons ago. A teacher to some perhaps, but no man of genius as once she believed. Prostituting his suffering for personal gain; unwilling to succumb to sanity’s necessity.

Eager to believe his revelations; as if he, a mere mortal, born with transcendent faculties; innate knowledge awarded by God. A favored soul having lived a longer time. Acquired more. Progressed further. Ordained and reincarnated at the desire of God; to aide the progress of mankind; or at the very least, the twin of her flame; to continue the journey, on the path by her side.

A monster disguised as her own personal savior; a wanton demon, this King of the Damned. Driven now by the voice in his head, whispering night and day; pushing him further, closer to the edge. “Burn the pages, take your bow; sweet surrender in dawns early hour.”

Fare thee well; to you, Dark Prince; on your voyage, your final affair. Role fulfilled, as it was written; take heed in the knowing; until we meet again…

It wasn’t the world gone wrong, but something broke inside his head. He didn’t think like normal people. Took pride in the fact; though he couldn’t properly function in society; still he blamed everyone else.

He always expected something for nothing. As if the world owed him. He wanted the prize, but never wanted to play the game or follow the rules to attain it. He could tell a tale to break your heart for certain, but you never knew what was truth or lies. After a while it didn’t matter. All the stories were the same. Different characters and scenes, but the premise never changed.

Deep seeded hatred for my family; resentful of our love, our normalcy, our faith and decency. They welcomed him in and he stood over and pissed on them. Just as he did me; time and time again.

My body bears the scars of our time together, though my heart and soul have properly mended. Ten years I spent with this man, seven as his wife. And the day I found the courage to leave, he pleaded and begged, pledged his devotion and love.

There is no devotion in a creature as such, nor do I believe, is there to be found any love. There will always be those who take pity, try to see the good for all the bad, the light despite the darkness; the wings bearing resemblance to those of an angel; but when your eyes finally open and you realize you’re gazing into the face of the devil, it’s often times too late.

But just as memories that fade with time, they eventually go away. Not because they don’t want to stay; they feed off your emotion, your energy, your very life force if you will; but because they can’t. Unable to settle, commit, connect with anything that is real. Blaming their surroundings; trapped and desperate for a way out. Running to be free, knowing in their heart they never will be. For the very thing they run from, dwells deep within them.

Wherever they go, they’ll always be there. Their fate, their destiny; and a truth that brings comfort to those who suffered at their hand. That one day they will simply wallow to death in their own pathetic misery.

Cluster of blue
Drifting
A rainy grey
Backdrop

Traffic at a
Standstill
Three lanes
Wide

Following its
Motion
While forced
To sit
Idle

Watching
Wondering
The cause of
Celebration

Birthday
Anniversary
Farewell
Hello

Are they floating
Deliberate
Let loose to
The sky

Happy to
Watch
In mind-numbing
Madness

As they drift
Past my
Window
No matter
Their cause

I remember those winters well; when the world turns a negative shade of grey, the suns vibrance diminishes to a bright, blinding white and the cold wraps around and holds you hostage. Seemingly surrounded by death at best; as depression settles deep within the confines of my soul; futile attempts, searching for a way out; hindered by storms of snow and ice; madness wrapping around, crippling my mind; inaudible screams driving me blind.

A distant, frigid memory; as I bask in the embrace of the warm southern sun; my soul awash in each colorful sunrise; hope-filled rays reflecting ocean waves; coloring my world, stimulating imagination; restoring my muse, from the brink back to life.

I revel in this sanctity; ever aware of those distant dreams and frost-bitten memories; the gripping numbness beneath the moon of madness; and that looming presence that brought me to this sanity…

Image: lostknightkg

It was his
Imitation skills
Finely tuned
Honed
Down pat

Poetry, prose
Letters and
Madness
No original
Thought
Merely mimicking
Bukowski’s style

The scruples
Morals
By which he
Lives his
Life
Memorized passages
Dog-eared
Pages

Following
A script
Assuming a
Personal role
Worse than
Any
Fictional whore

Tinkering with
Lives
Pissing on
Souls
Watching emotionless
Counting the
Score

Take it off
The shelf
Read it once
More
Soulless bastard
Thinks he’s
Hank Chinaski

As I grew older, however, I deduced that it was the ones that hid the most skeletons in their closet that carried this air; and since neither daughter’s husband ever showed face at church or any of the social functions, I assumed this was the cause. For women who were faithful church-goers, unable to conform their husbands, often had an attitude about them that was unbecoming and not easily ignored; as if they felt it necessary to prove themselves holy worthy and above the rest. Never made sense to me, but then little about that church ever did.

Like the people who showed up twice a year; at Easter and Christmas, decked to the nines, surpassing the rest to take their place in the front row; the offering plate dipping low, as they placed that big fat check in; believing the entrance to heaven was something to be bought and not earned; or the old ladies that smiled to your face then cursed you the minute they passed through the doors; the stoop outside, apparently fair ground, where anything goes; unseen and unheard.

And so imagine the revelation, when upon his death-bed, the young daughter of a distant relative of the clan, (I’m still uncertain of the actual family connection), not only refused to go to hospital and pay her last respects to “Grandpa Darby,” who had not only been an upstanding member of the church, but a devoted family man as well, but broke down, telling a horrific tale of things he had done to her when she was but a wee helpless girl.

As I understand it, shortly after his death, the Matriarch of the family packed up her daughters and incestual clan; fleeing the church and town they called home, never to be seen or heard from again; while the courageous girl who came forth with the truth is still in therapy, suffering bouts of depression and three unsuccessful suicide attempts.

All those lives, touched and tainted, by one wicked old man who now rots in the ground. Nothing was ever said of it in church, though there were hushed whispers all around; a perfect opportunity for a sermon with meaning as far as I was concerned; but the pastor had no balls and instead of confronting the truth, chose to sweep it under the rug.

It was then that my faith finally wavered, my beliefs in organized religion changed forever…

She fled his
Love
Not once
But twice
Following a
Heart
Laden with
Lies

He never
Asked
For her
Madness
Yet withstood
The wrath
Diligently

She will gladly
Spend
The rest of
Her days
Loving him
Completely

She owes him
Nothing less
While he
Deserves
So much
More

image:faerienymph