I know it’s sometimes hard for you to cope. A fur coat made of ropes around your neck tied to the sun. A burning sensation and you become one. We’re all smiling at you and the voices are cheering you on. How pretty is the world standing at the edge of it? Grab the knife and cut the tension. We’ll all be there in the end; waiting for you to walk through the sun into the whiteness of dream. I’ll tie the noose if you kick the stool. As it gets darker, my thoughts do too. I think it’s time to leave my mind behind and breathe fresh air, the lack of emotion in my eyes covered by my hair. So you can’t see what the truth bares. Do you know what I see? Clarity, complete peace, warmth and dream in perfect harmony, eternal immortality to the darkness of reality. At least I write my own ending. Crown me king of my own inevitability. I’ll wear it proudly, smiling in the face of all opposed. You don’t know what’s good for me or what I need. You can plead if you please, even lower to your knees, but my lovers, you will bow before me; a broken line of symmetry that drops me into infinity; where I can die happily. Here is where I blossom, blooming into three million colours and shades. Children sleep soundly on my petals and are seduced by deathly chords. Tsunamic waves of epiphany crash against our skulls with unbearable forces. Paralytic spirits stalk us and guide us into our graves. So we have friends to dance with. I’ve betrayed myself too many times; mythologizing you. You lay your body out for us to use like a rug. I want to keep you to myself. Grow into you. But we both know we’d hate ourselves in the end. So let’s kill each other and try to have some fun in the progress. Let us be reborn again; as children of sin. Live a life of pure melancholy. I know you’d enjoy seeing me sad. That’s okay. I miss it too. The comfort of knowing things couldn’t get worse no matter how hard I tried. Oh, how evil it all is. Isn’t it beautiful? The way our minds tick and trick each other, it’s a game of insanity and don’t we ever love to play each other. Your chaotic grins shadow my nightmares every corner I turn. You laugh and smirk as you plague my thoughts. I tear through my skull till I can dig you out of my mind. I twist my eyes until they snap out of their sockets so I can’t see you anymore. I jab knives in my ears so I can’t hear you anymore. I pull my tongue out and cut it off so I can’t taste you anymore. I smash my face against the wall so I can’t smell you anymore. I stick my hands in the embers of hell so I can’t feel you anymore. I thank you for setting me free and fall off the face of Earth, into colour and darkness and light and dream; floating around in space searching for a new love. It’s so beautiful. And you’ll never experience it. And I get pleasure from that. Maybe even more pleasure than you. Monsters, monsters, monsters! All of you! Die! Evaporate! Deform! Rot! Implode! Decompose! Starve! Cry! Become extinct with me. Let’s all live in misery, together, forever. If you’re cold I can give you a sweater even if it won’t make anything better. I guess you have to bleed your cold blood out. I’ll keep it in a jar just so we have some form of your former self; though nobody will miss her. I’m a collector of drugged hearts, tearful eyes and viral blood vials. And you complete me.
We were all born with the world in the palm of our hands. It was definitely a big world but it was all ours and we could finally run free together. That was the important thing, togetherness, family, and friends. Without those things, who do we have? Certainly not ourselves. When I was a child and thought the world was no bigger than my backyard, no longer than the eye could see, I would run with a towel tied around my neck, I was a hero, a saviour, the one person that could save us all from doom and destruction. The ant hills in the sand turning into underground fortresses. The caterpillars transforming into butterflies, colouring the air I breathe and the bees sucking the sweet nectar of life. But there’s plenty for everyone. The sun smiles down on us, the bugs, the trees, the birds, my dog, even my parents, and we can all smile back and send a thanks to the beautiful day that greets us with it’s silent presence. Oh, how mysteriously our lives walk. It talks to us but we never listen; our imaginations fuse together and create a barrier, shielding us from the rain. An umbrella of thought. Where we can all play together and be happy. Sing as loudly as we want and dance like nobody’s looking. I can remember it like a fresh painting. I smile as I write this and laugh at my younger self. Careless and happy. Do you miss yourself like I do?
This is a true story…
I buried myself under the sand today. It was the most satisfying thing I’d done in years. The darkness covers you like a soft warm blanket, tiny little particles of fate, realization and choice running down and over you in tiny little brigades. You see nothing, you hear nothing, and you feel nothing; nothing worth feeling anyway. I could imagine millions of little children running above me. Not even stopping to think for a moment about the man under the sand. Why should they? They’re grasping life by the throat and shaking it viciously; making sure to get every little drop of the warm, sweet, bitter, cold, mysterious potion; as they should. But I shall lay under the sand in my own fate. Staring into myself wondering where I lost it all. Where everything began to crumble and tear from the seams. It’s a scary thing, you know; that feeling. Of everything you once knew and had slowly being ripped away from you, everything you loved and worked for, and there being not one thing you can do to put at least a short stop to the continuous, process of elimination. It’s like being weighted underwater and seeing people staring down at you, smiling and waving, ‘cause in their world, everything is completely how it’s supposed to be, everything in it’s right place. But I know where I am now. And I know what I have to do. Before I dig myself from this dark abyss, I will become a new man. I will be greeted by an entirely new, refreshing, beautiful world. Where people smile because they want to, and neighbours help each other because they’re truly kind people, not because it’s the neighbourly thing to do. I begin by going back to the day I actually felt something for a reason besides going to sleep and knowing there’s the slight chance I might never wake up again. I got up just like any other day. My eyes barely keeping themselves open. I felt completely paralyzed. It’s a very sad feeling. Knowing you are completely capable but feeling incapable of doing the easiest task. I stare outside my bedside window and think of how long it would take for me to fall to my inevitable, fulfilling, relieving death. There’s a motive if I ever heard one. But no; I can’t do that just yet. I still need to send my message to the world; my final scream of knowledge and wisdom; the sad reality of it all; a beautiful tragedy written and explained on one piece of crumpled paper. The only thing I leave behind will be my words; and they will tell the truth. What I’m trying to say to you is, when I die, I want to leave something meaningful behind, something that will be heard throughout the ages, in schools, in homes, at social gatherings, in space. I want to speak volumes to every single living specimen when I am no longer in this world. Why would I want to anyway? The only thing I can now hope for is something better after death. Maybe my wish will finally come true. Maybe I will just, fall asleep, and never wake up again. Lost forever, wandering in eternal blackness. I know it doesn’t sound that peaceful, but believe me, friend; there would be no greater relief than that of which I can never see this rotting world again. There’s a moment of complete and utter beauty, where I’ve finally departed from everything… and then, I come back again; a man under the sand. Where you see nothing, you hear nothing, and you feel nothing; nothing worth feeling anyway. I see it now, a tiny line of light piercing through. I position myself so I can see on the other side. I’ve seen nothing like it in my life; such colour, such music, such life. I inhale deeply and stare back into this tiny little hole. It’s magical, my friends. If only I could bring you all here. You would not believe what I am seeing; what I am feeling. It’s inexplicable. Out of the trillions of words I begin digging through in my mind, not one is comparable to this mystical land; this kingdom of fortune; the palace in the sky; the heart of beauty; where the tired souls of man belong; true happiness. I begin flowing through this hole softly and slowly like a butterfly finding it’s resting place to pass on. Letting the hands of the sky carry me away into the Everland. Where I will sit and watch another sun dawn and moon rise. Everything is completely how it’s supposed to be, everything in it’s right place. I am here now; the real world. The meaning, the reason and purpose. The end. And I will wait for you. I won’t run far. I can always be found.
I woke up that morning to the sound of her dogs nails clicking along the wooden floorboard. As I opened my eyes, the sun shone through the clear window in a single beam of eternity. Little particles travelled across it like the evacuation of the world. I lifted my hand to my disturbingly messy hair and slid my fingers through it. And it was at this point that I realized I was back. That I was alive again. That I was still breathing in this world. Nothing like the sound of scratching dog nails and a disappointing epiphany to greet you in the morning. I sat up supporting my body with my right elbow. Right, the couch. That is where I had last been awake. Where I had last asked whoever was listening to leave me sleeping in my vaults of dreams. Happily, smiling at the beauty of being able to forget everything and everyone for at least five hours. It was truly peaceful. And I didn’t even know it was happening. I started to look around and observe the room I was in. Television in the corner, chair in front of me to the right side of the room, flowers, vases and pottery on a little wooden shelf in front of the window. Cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, scraps of paper, dead cell phones and a few books on edible and non-edible herbs and flowers on the coffee table right beside me. The dog came up to me and began staring at me with curious eyes, almost as if to ask: “Why so gloomy? Do you know where you are? What’s your name? Want to be friends? Pet me?” So I did. I began petting this little dog and it was truly appreciative. Its tail began smacking the floor repeatedly. I sometimes wish I could be a dog. Days would be a lot simpler. No more caring. No more energy wasted on trying to gain energy. Have food and water brought to me everyday and the odd delicious snack. Sleep when I like. Yeah, it would be good. I heard something downstairs. Like footsteps. Another poor innocent soul was being dragged back into this unforgiving treachery. I wiped my eyes and sat up fully. Outside the window you would see a normal backyard, lots of grass, a fire pit and trees. I began to ponder what was behind those trees. We never really take the time to consider that until we begin to become sick of seeing the same thing over and over again each day. “What’s beyond what the eye can see?” Maybe there’s a magical pond that people jump into that takes them to some kind of heaven. Some kind of peaceful, beautiful, colourful freedom. But we will never know. Because we never really take the time to go outside for exploration anymore. There is always some sort of reason behind leaving our boundaries. Never for our own pleasure or curiosity. And even saying this I still don’t get up and step across the other side. Why? Who knows. Maybe I’m just scared to be disappointed. Maybe I’m just lazy. Either way, we still don’t know what’s beyond those trees. Maybe one day we will find out. But for now, we return to this room. My throat was incredibly dry so I stood up and held the walls around me as I walked to the kitchen. It wasn’t that far, maybe ten steps, but that was enough for me to consider not going. It was a dirty kitchen. I won’t lie. Flies flew everywhere, unwashed dishes covered the counters. I almost wanted to start washing them myself but by now you know I wouldn’t do that. I opened the cupboards and began my search for a glass, but only to find absolutely nothing. Even if one of the glasses needed to be washed for my own well-being, I still didn’t. I let out a quiet “shit” and began doing circles looking for some sort of container. At last, I had found a six pack of water bottles. I ripped one from the package and walked back to where I would spend my whole day in this house. As I sat down on the couch I noticed there was a half empty bottle of Smirnoff Ice I mustn’t have finished from the drunken night before. I compared the two beverages in my mind and picked up the cooler, leaned back, and turned the TV on. Ironically, “The Rum Diary” starring Johnny Depp was playing. If you don’t know me, you will now know that I am truly in love with Depp’s acting . . . and his hair. Someone was upstairs, I knew because the floorboards creaked as you walked along them. The bottle was angled fourty-five degrees on my lips as she walked around the corner, she was beautiful, in an innocent way, in the way where you feel like your appearance doesn’t matter and the fear of not being good enough leaves your mind completely. The kind of beauty that made me forget about the tornado of hair on my head. I couldn’t pick her name from the river flowing through my mind at that moment. “Good morning” she said with that vulnerable smile of hers. This was only the second time I had met her not including that time she honked at me in the Wal-Mart parking lot, and left me wondering who had just honked at me. “Good morning” I returned. “How’d you sleep?” she asked. I smiled and placed the bottle back on the table and readjusted the blanket covering my knees. “Fine, thank you.” I said. “And you?” She shot a smile back at me that could have made me bleed empathy. “It was okay, sucked to wake up though.” She didn’t realize how strong the words that just left her mouth were. How much they meant to someone like me. How much truth there was inside them. “Yeah . . . I know what you mean.” I said. She smiled again and put on a pot of coffee. I watched her as she pulled a mug from the cupboard to the left of the sink. I mentally slapped myself in the face; why didn’t I take a few more seconds to look there. She walked into the room and sat on the chair across from me. “What are you watching?” she asked as she sipped from her mug. It took me a few seconds to realize she had asked me something. “Pardon?” “What’re you watching, I asked.” She giggled a little at my obliviousness. “Oh, just a movie, The Rum Diary.” “Oh, cool.” A few minutes went by in silence. It was kind of nice, just having her presence there made me feel a little disconnected from myself. I finished the cooler and opened the water bottle, it sure did taste better than alcohol at nine in the morning, plus it was cold. I took my eyes off the screen and began staring out the window again, the sun was brighter than usual, it frustrated me, the sun was a selfish, cruel entity. On days when people could use it most, we are greeted with rain and darkness. When our minds just need a small amount of light to function properly again, the sun hides behind the clouds that fog our minds, smiling. Like a child who thinks he’s escaped being captured in a game of tag. And on the days where we just want a little shade and peace, it dances in our faces, grinning and waving its long, infinite arms obnoxiously. I hate the sun. I really do. But looking at her looking out the window, I don’t think she carries the same amount of loathe and anger as I do, I think she is just thankful it has came to visit us today, instead of never again. I think she is happy to see the world just as it was yesterday, nothing out of place or disordered. Happy to hear the birds singing their songs and the deer walking together as one. Happy to see the trees still standing tall and proud and breathing. I loved her for that. I really did. I didn’t care if it was my second time seeing her. We both sat there staring out the same window, into the same picture, and I started to think, being alone shouldn’t be always looked upon as a negative thing. I mean, her and I were alone, and I was quite content with everything passing by us. Time no longer meant anything, I could have sat there with her and watched the world wake up and fall asleep, forever. My worries and anxieties had vanished from my body, all the little antagonistic, pessimistic thoughts instantly flooded from my mind, draining me of all sense of awareness and being. I was at that moment, free. But like anything, it didn’t last forever. I heard another person getting out of bed. That must’ve been Cathy. I remember her name because last night was the night I introduced myself to her, she was a woman who appeared to be in her middle to late fifties. She was sick. Her morning consisted of pills to keep her balanced and steady, coffee, bread, a cigarette and coughing. I feel bad for her. I do. I want to touch her and take her suffering away. I want to rid her of those capsules. But I can’t. I can’t heal anyone. I can’t even heal myself. At this time I was staring at the floor, the nameless girl was watching the movie and Cathy was lighting a cigarette. She offered me one, I accepted. I do enjoy smoking. I placed it between my lips and struck a match. Flame, inhale, exhale. It was relaxing. “Thanks.” I said. She just smiled. Everyone seemed to smile a lot in this family and I didn’t know why. Was there some secret to happiness I didn’t get in on, was there a drug that I didn’t get a chance to buy, because clearly I was missing out on something. Happiness doesn’t come for free, I know that now. Happiness, just like everything else, is earned. And I’ve always wondered when I would be able to obtain it. If I ever could. Although it is not a main priority of mine, it would still be nice to have something to hope for. Hours began to drag their way around the clock. My friend had called from his house wondering if I was still there. Of course I was. Once he left and got ran over by a four-wheeler, he wasn’t coming back for me. Where would I have gone? I told him I was going to stay with Cathy and keep her company. As it turns out, we were both huge fans of horror films. So that was how our afternoon spent, conversation over cigarettes, sunlight, water and horror films. The thing with Cathy is, when you first looked at her, you would see a woman, suffering, almost asking you to take her life from her. But she was much more than that. Oh, she was much more. One by one, she read chapters of her life to me. In slow, detailed sentences. She told me stories of her mother, who would treat her like anything but her daughter, and her neighbour, who always left her a slice of cheese in their fridge every morning. Her dad, a really interesting character who travelled the world. How she met the Queen with him. She went on and on and I couldn’t have been any more intrigued than I was then. I later found out that the pottery pieces were done by her mother, and all of a sudden, they had much more meaning to me than just a piece of pottery. Much more expression and emotion. After awhile, I decided to read her some of my poetry, finding out she was interested in art. I read her two poems, one that I’m not sure if I will finish and one I wrote about my last words. Her criticism was something I needed. Something that let me knew that my writing does affect. I thanked her. She smiled. Suddenly, she stopped the movie and asked me to follow her; she brought me into the kitchen and told me to look out the window. I leaned closer and saw nothing but trees. She told me just beyond those trees there was a little pathway that brought you to a beautiful flower garden, that one day she would like to bring me there. I continued staring out the window trying to see past the trees when she asked me if I like flowers. I told her yes, that a lot of my poetry uses flowers as metaphors and to describe beautiful people or feelings or things. She then asked me what my favourite flower was, and I told her, stargazer lily. That brought a smile to her face, because she loved lilies too, in fact, she enjoyed all flowers, she thought they were so, so beautiful. She told me about the dangers of certain ones and the breathtaking scents of others, and just then, the phone rang. It was my father screaming at me wondering where I was. I figured if he didn’t know I hadn’t left my friend’s place, how did he know I wasn’t there. As it turns out, my friend called my house asking if I was there, only being answered with another question: “Isn’t he there?” And that is where this beautiful moment in time spiraled out of control. I hung up my phone and looked at Cathy and said: “That was my dad; he wants me to go home, I’m sorry. I really enjoyed this today.” She said okay, and gave me a hug. “It was very nice meeting you today and your poetry is lovely. Here, take these for the walk home.” She handed me two cigarettes. I don’t think she realized how thankful I was for them. Just as I walked out the door she yelled my name, “Yes?” I answered. “Do you think you could write me a poem when you have some time?” I looked at her and smiled. Finally feeling something to smile for. “Of course, Cathy. Of course I can.” And that was the last time I saw her smile. Walking down the road I pondered all the things I could write about and how I would infuse them to her story. How I could come up with something so big and realistic. It was at this point that I realized this would be her story, her poem. That nothing I could write would ever be as factual and true as this. And it would be called “Flower Lady”.
If I asked you nicely, would you drown me in your beauty? Would you softly pull the trigger of my heart? Would you laugh that ambrosial laugh while pushing me off the Golden Gate into your eyes of fallen sand? Would you hold your flower-like hand in mine as I take too many of these death-givers? There are too many troubled minds. Everywhere I look, I see someone suffering much more than they deserve to be; it breaks my heart. So, as I sit here listening to Beethoven’s 14th, I picture myself walking down a long, long road of snow in a black cloak. Beside me, crouched like trees, are women, completely naked. Bare, in their most vulnerable innocent form. They’re not looking at me though. They’re staring directly into the ground below them, almost as if they were in some kind of shock. I walk over to one and lift her chin. “What is wrong, my love?” I ask her. She raises her beautiful brown eyes to mine and I see that they are about to stream tears of agony. She opens her mouth and moves her lips but says nothing. I can’t hear her. “Pardon me, can you say that again?” Once again, her beautiful blood-red lips move in a most unbearable fashion. The way her watery eyes bare my reflection, showing myself standing there, doing nothing, I want to cry. I want to help her. I want to heal her. But I can’t. My heart is beating with guilt. But I do not know why. I can’t even look at you without wanting to kiss your heart and hand you mine. Your words are so soft and dear that even the echoes can’t hear your cries. So give me your hand, my love. Let me bring you somewhere where leafs fall from the trees, covering the ugliness of the world; where one thousand suns shine upon the darkness of our minds; together, we are love; where flowers bloom from the graves of the dead; the world is our garden now; walk upon it with bare feet, let their hands catch you from your fall; I will be there to pick you up. Let us walk together to our happiness. You present your heart to me and ask me to fix it. To make it all better. I stare at you with sorrowful eyes. If I could wrap you in a bandage and send you to the warmth and love that hides so sacredly from us, I would. If I could carve my little beater out of my chest and replace it with yours, I would; in a heartbeat. Let me carry you over the sad and lonely faces; staring at us with such loathe; eyes of blackness that draw us in deeper and deeper, darker and darker, further and further. God damn them. God damn this world. God damn me. God save you. Let me carry you over to the other side, where the mountains touch the clouds; where the water runs as free as the wind; where aromas of love and peace and pleasure guide us home, to our beds of wonder and dreams. You could go anywhere. Just bring me with you. Please. I just want to want to want something. Someone. You don’t have to talk to me, you can just run through fields of oranges and strawberries and eat all the sweet fruits you want, and I will just watch your lovely legs brush against the leafs and your eyes climax when the juices create a tsunami in your mouth, while your tongue acts as a thirsty, beautiful, erotic, monster of temptation. I can’t take much more. Take me under. Let me fall into you; softly, slowly, quietly. I am yours; for as long as you want. I give myself nothing but false hope to eat and let it tide me over until you come to me. At least mentally; and I can picture us lying in a bed of flowers, touching the stars. It’s beautiful there, it truly is. So I ask you this for the first and final time, my love. Will you let me bring you the stars? Where the air we breathe is as clear as water; where the moon is so big and blue that the sky become jealous; where the sand is as soft as silk against velvet skin; where hearts pound to the beat of the earth; where the rainbows bow to us like bridges of candy and happiness; where everyone and everything is free; where the rain forms lakes for us to soak our bodies in; where animals say hello and play the cello; where you belong; out of this treacherous world, into the warm, caring, comfy arms of nature and love. Open your beautiful brown eyes to mine. Look into me. Find me. Grab me. Hold me. For as long as you want. I am becoming you. We are the creators. We are the destroyers. Let us do what we will do and we shall leave the rest to time and coincidence. So at the very last minutes of this beautifully tragic sonata, I feel my heart melt as if it were a cloud of butter upon a freshly toasted mountain of bread. Waiting for you to grab it and devour it. Peacefully, I go down. My lava-heart slides across the snow land like a snake slithering its way to the sun.
As it turns out, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am alone in this world. That there is no one out here but the soft isolating voice of wind blowing through the trees in one everlasting, endless army of silence. Even the plants and flowers refuse to hear me. Even I try to ignore the signals of my own, inevitable, self-destruction. Walking back home in the dark, under the uncomfortable eeriness of the trees above, I start to ponder about what my last words will be. Will I have any? Will anyone hear them? Will anyone care to hear them? Will I have to write them down? I wonder what I would say. There are so many things but I know I won’t have time to tell it all in complete detail, and to fully understand, one must explain in full detail.
As it turns out, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m the loneliest person in the world, and I’m really happy about it. All I got is my books and words and self-hate. I’m sure I can make something out of it.
Something really special and heartfelt.
Something really unique and scary.
Something for you to remember me by.
So give me some time, and it will come. I promise you. I have a lot of time in the long run, you see. So, in that time, I will observe everything I can. Listen to anything I can. Build the ingredients into one big hateful pile of nothing and create; my last words.
And they will be perfect.
They will be indefeasible.
They will be utopian.
And they will be mine
Wake up, throw alarm off desk, stretch, lay there for ten minutes contemplating whether to try to hold my breath until I die or not, get up, take everything off, put everything on, stare at myself in the mirror of fingerprints and self-loathe, open door, walk one foot, close door, continue walking down the same hallway with giant white walls that have acted as my prison barriers for years, stare at the ceiling and trip over my dog, get up, feel like kicking it, stop myself, walk into the kitchen, get sick to my stomach when I see the unwashed dishes and dirty counter tops, pull the last remaining bowl from the cupboard, open box of cereal to find there is none left in it, ask myself why I hadn’t thrown it out, drop the bowl where I stand, shatters, walk over to the table, sit down, light a cigarette, stand up, close the blinds, sit down, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, stare at the note I wrote last night, pull my hair slightly, feel the sickness in my stomach, I’m not physically sick, only mentally, it gets harder and harder each day to not hate myself, stare at my phone, wait for it to dial itself and the sun to grab the earth. Where shall I walk today?