i'm going crazy, a little every day; and now everything i wanted is now driving me away...

After the hurricane all that remains are the broken pieces of my soul.  With your threats. With your words. With the essence of your being. Earthquakes shake me to my very core and everything shifts aside. I shift aside. I'm on the sidelines. From where I'm standing I can't even see the end. Words that spill out of me like oil that contaminates the ocean. I contaminate life around me. Surrounded by dead fish.

Sometimes I think you're trying to beat my humanity out of me. Inch by inch. Drop by drop you drain me of blood. At the end of the day, I'm stranded on this angry island. Tethered to land. Tethered to an idea. I can almost see salvation, I can almost feel it on my fingertips, but it floats away with every word you say. Slipping away, fading memory like on the edge of a dream.

I can't remember how I got here. But it grows.  Manifesting itself in my being like an invisible cancer. The Dr. says I'm not pregnant. Revealing truths that are so obvious.

At night I can't sleep. Brain too wired, too full of nonsense. I'm aware so I am god.

"Once there was a time I believed without hesitation, that the power of love and truth can conquer all in the name of salvation. Tell me what kind of weapon is love when it comes to the fight? And just much protection is truth against all Satan's might?"

I am a lone soldier; fighting for a semblance of sanity. Trying to cling onto the idea of hope. Trying to ignore with all my will the horrible truth that you unleash on me.
"I could only think that if she had been caught in time, had gotten help, released that anger before it destroyed her..."

Will I be caught in time? Or will this hatred consume and destroy me too?

exploding

I'm holding a handful of grenades. You're holding the pins. Can't you see that this will destroy me? Can't you see me?
I tried controlling it. I really did. It ate me alive. It bubbled to the surface of my being, and then, like a volcano gushed out.  It obliterated everything. I can't breathe. YOU.

I can't stand it anymore.

I can't take it.

It's exploding in my mouth. It's a million little things. It how you pronounce my name. You steal my air.

"Give me release
witness me
I am outside
give me peace...

Heaven holds a sense of wonder
and I wanted to believe
that I'd get caught up
when the rage in me subsides...
I can't help this longing
comfort me
I can't hold it all in
if you won't let me...

In this white wave
I am sinking
in this silence
in this white wave
in this silence
I believe..."


For the first time, I can't stand to hear your name. If I told you the truth, I would be covered in shame. Humiliation and embarrassment at what I really feel.


I want to tear my face off. Rip my being to shreds and sew it back together to see if it will work better once broken. Do you have a needle? Your breath is a sledgehammer.

When you mention that name. Jealousy rages like a wild monster. Maybe that reflects who I am. I need to claim ownership over you. Maybe then I'll feel better. If I know that I'm in control.

I sit in the dark listening to Regina Spektor and wonder what inspires her. Her words are like the wisdom of the past one thousand years. Her voice is like pure silk. It wraps me up and whisks me away to a place so serene and calm, I can almost see clearly. It gets a little easier to breathe. The pounding in my head subsides.

But then...


I tried so hard to control it...

musings on a rainy night.

I learn to run. I try to run away. No matter how hard I push, you’re on my heels.

I’m stranded on this island. Alone.

You drop bombshells on my head. Brain and skull fragments rain all over this place. I walk around exploding with your secrets.

Are you telling me the truth? Sometimes I can’t tell. I stare into your eyes and all I can see is space.

I need you more than you need me. That’s a fact.

There’s a war raging inside of me. It’s tearing me apart. This face is cracking. Threatening to flood.

Evil is like second nature. It comes too easily.

I thought I was over you. I had put you away. Locked in a room full of dragons. How did you survive? How did you manage your way around my brain? Twisted veins and dark matter. Black.

If you saw who I really was, you’d be petrified with horror. I’d leak out some guilt and pretend to be horrified too. Then you would be scarred like me. We’d be matching monsters. Hiding under beds of small children.

What can you tell me about the end of the world? I’ve seen it. I’ve felt the harsh darkness on my skin. Did it all happen? Was it a dream? A sick reality? Who knows. I’m not sure of anything anymore.

I’ve walked hand in hand with the devil. He’s such a seductive bastard. I can’t resist his wiles. He lures me in and makes me do things that stain my heart. He leaves black marks on my arms.

I start a revolution every day. I fail every day. My biggest triumph is managing to get out of bed. Waking up and drawing breath. That in itself is an accomplishment. That’s your biggest downfall. If you ceased to breathe, I would have more air. The world would be safe again. Can’t you see it? Can’t anyone see it?

You ask me questions. And I’m so ashamed to admit the answers. If I tell you the truth, you’ll see me in a different light. I can’t have that. I can barely admit to myself the reality of my actions.  The reasoning behind it. Baseless. Lacking in motivation.

Secrets like a volcano bubbling in my mouth. I want to tell you. But what will you think? I tell you everything. Do you secretly judge me? You hide it so well. I don’t ask questions, because I’m afraid of the replies.

Rain cuts the humidity. I need something to cut my crazy. Use a sledgehammer.

I wake up, stuffed into this nightmare. Where is the way out? How do I end this? There are too many illogical thoughts spinning in my head. Makes me sick. Nausea is like a permanent staple in my daily diet. I feel like Linda Blair sometimes. Possessed. Unable to control myself.

Will you be there when I bottom out?

Random Symphony of Words

The consequences of inaction were dire. A black wave of emptiness swept everything away. There was nothing left to hold on to. Everything was tainted; painted a horrible shade of confusion.  Cracks along the walls.  Wailing screams down the halls.  Undistinguished monotony; swirling non colours, abstract shapes.  Humdrum and boring never missing a beat.  And then, through the sinister sack that enveloped everything, she was there.  Luminous light and fresh air.  Futuristic hope that never settled on anything less than perfect. Without a clue about suffering, or maybe knowing too much.  Hidden secrets and unknown truths.  Tiny voices in large rooms with no windows.  Locked doors and blocked emails. It made sense in an MC Escher kind of way. Upside down stairs and twisted reflections.  Like Picasso's blue period.  Kandinsky at his most abstract.  Pollock at his peak of genius.  "Have you ever had the feeling, that the world's gone and left you behind.  Have you ever had the feeling, that you're that close to losing your mind? You look around each corner, hoping that she's there.  You try to play it cool, perhaps; pretend that you don't care.  But it doesn't do a bit of good. You have to seek till you find, or you'll never unwind...the drinks and the laughs on me..." That tune that buzzes around like flies around a corpse.  Decaying sense of nothing; off something other. Other than normal, other than the norm. But then, when she's around, things fall into place; they mesh and combine to form beautiful things. Nina Simone sings in the far off distance about her true love's hair colour.  She laughs at the lyrics of one of her songs. What have you overcome? Where did you come from? When the boredom sets in, things cease to make sense.  Ramblings of a madman litter the screen and there's no escape.  There's no way to get out, no way up and no salvation.  The rising sun house in New Orleans.  A fable? Or truth? A mystical ever after that quenches spiritual thirst.  A cataclysmic event to wipe out all other events.  "Birds flying high you know how I feel. Sun in the sky, you know how I feel. Breeze drifting on by, you know how I feel. It's a new dawn, it's a day, it's a new life for me. And I'm feeling good."  A vampire that loves the sunlight. The destructive nature of nature.  The unsightly site that remains unseen.  Doors that crash open and bring forth hideous nightmares to the forefront of consciousness.  The flying machine that has yet to be invented. Winged creatures that man envies. Women sit and knit. Random thoughts of meticulous events that are planned to a T.  Dot all the I's and then wash and lather.  A cheery tun about divorce.  Liquid honey voice that drips into the head.  "One husband, one wife. What do you get? Two people sentenced for life..."  A natural response to crisis.  The question that so fluently rolls off the tongue.  No one would reveal their secret.  The thought of her makes my heart bleed smiles.  The thought of her makes me bleed. Green. Red. Christmas coloured food; for the brain. The impossible dream of obtaining her compassion.  The ineptitude of life at achieving a smile. Roaming the forever dim streets, always looking for unattainable questions, convoluted answers.  Two different coloured sleeves on the same shirt.  A row of coffee cups, all disposable as their drinkers.  Celebrating birthday after birthday in the glum emptiness of a single room.  Walls yellow from smoke, no room to move or breathe.  Crammed into a cage, a room, a home; surrounded by villains with diseases.  Too many rules and not enough freedoms.  Stealing and demanding; screaming and pleading.  Towel folding like a ritual that should remain undisturbed. Everything is contagious.  The walls and buttons are infectious.  There is no cure.  The end  marks the beginning and there is renewed hope and interest in everything.  Reversed and flipped; upside down and inside out.  Hunger pains and missing fingers from drugs.  There is a sob story behind every door.  As asshole on every floor.  One bad apple that ruins it for the rest of the bunch.  No teeth to eat; no food to bite down on. Beats and lyrics, movies and commercials; brainwashing the masses.  What a cliche.  I have a semi functioning brain.  Uneaten by Zombies. Only partially eaten... not yet digested.  "You give love a bad name." They always talk.  About the most random things. Jumping from one topic to the next with the ease and dexterity of a moth.  Why do the freaks come out at night? Are they afraid to show their true colours? Do they feel safe in the dark?  Do they feel free? The hissing of the radio; like dying whispers. There is an enemy on the other side. My goals is to reach 100. I'm at 94 now.  Will the end come soon? What will it look like? A howling of demons that swoop through the streets, collecting the souls of the lost? They all live here. I live here. In an abandoned room. Devoid of anything human. I hear secrets. I lock them inside my semi functioning brain.  And then I forget.  Open letter to the love of my life. You can do no wrong. I would do anything for you. "How wonderful life is, now you're in the world." Are you tired? From running through my brain forever? My secretly public crush.  the guitar twang of a Southern love song lulls and relaxes. A New Yorker sings it. Someone from Hollywood pretends.  Thirty thousand keys for 200 doors.  Each one with a deadly secret locked behind it. "I'll take door number 14, Alex!"  Enthusiasm.  Hooded strangers come out of the dark and attack, break body, bone and spirit. Not thinking of the damage they leave behind.  "Honey, I'm home." A trail of blood. Swollen eye, cut lip. Colours that don't appear on the Rainbow.  But somewhere, over the rainbow, is a land that I dreamed of, once, in a lullaby.  Grey. Impending rain.  The payphone assumes connection and disables a contact.  Enables dialogue.  There is a buzzing underneath the dial tone.  Who else is listening? And for what reason?  Paranoid bliss. Basketballs and pianos.  The perfect fusion of sport and art. Spart. Ort. Inventing new words; frate: friend date. The many faces of Elton John. And Madonna. The many versions of Michael Jackson. Who are you really? Human looking masks that hide hideous truths.  What is my truth? What is yours? Someone is playing classical music on the piano in the Chapel.  It's soothing.  There is elegance to the way they're playing.  Someone got lost in the cords; was eaten by the melody.