Somewhere over the last couple of months, I lost myself. I don't know how it happened, or why. All I know is that at one point I was on cloud nine, and then somehow I wasn't.

I was sick.

I stopped writing. I stopped drawing. I stopped making music. I stopped being me and became a shell, detached and void, just going through the motions.

It happens, I guess, but the point of it is to overcome and find yourself. So that's what I'm doing. Slowly, steadily, and surely.

Wish you could see,
the happiness that now resides in me.

Wish you could be,
pouring out your emptiness into me,

Wish you could see,
that I see everything is now a part of me.

Wish you could be.

Wish you could be.

But everything is shallowness in spite of me.

Wish you could see,
that everything is all of us, why can't you be?

The emptiness that hollows us, why can't you see?

The happiness that's all in us, why can't you be?

Why can't you be?

Why can't you be?

Wish you could see...


----
Thinking about adding some music to this one, even though I'm not sure I am quite satisfied with how it turned out--a complex idea, put simply, but perhaps a bit too subtle. I dunno, my brain hurts. I'm not going to ramble anymore at this time. Gimme your thoughts...
-AiG

For no one, everyone, and the Mother.

Fervored dreams fall apart for missed connections,
thoughtful thinking turns from favors amoungst rejections,
Strangers enter and walk away with messages hidden,
Forgotten friends that failed at listening when words were spoken,
Bellows beyond the billion begotten friendships
sold short by subtracting potential additions.

Sleeved Heart.

I used to wear my heart on my sleeve, so exposed--wounds at the slightest provocations.
My hurt would ache and burst, damage for damages' sake.
It bled to death and dried up.
I took it in my fists and crumbled it to dust to scatter in the winds
where the gusts carried it across the world and to everything within,
and my heart found new life in life and death.
Breathed anew, my love abounds in all things, and my heart is everywhere, but on my sleeve.
-Fin

So, I don't know how I feel about this one. I think it kind of gets the idea across, but I am unsure of whether to make it poetry or prose and I think the writing structure and flow suffers from my uncertainty. Either way, I'm posting it as is, and if I ever get around to editing it, then I will edit it.

What do you guys think of this one, any suggestions for me?

-AiG

The Room

There was a stillness in the room. It was the same kind of stillness noticed when a pin is dropped and echoing too loudly; or the same kind of stillness when a gentle breeze feels like a tornado.

Everyone was staring at the man with the red mustache even though they did not want to. His screams were vibrations attracting the eyes, his movements flickers of threats. No one could take their eyes off him, even though he kept shouting for everyone to look away.

It was the gun in his hand that made them all nervous, the fact that he was clearly not right shouting obscenities and waving.

"Don't look at me! Stop it! STOP. Close your fucking eyes."

A woman, in a green dress, cowering in the corner thought he must have been on drugs the way he was trembling so. The clerk behind the counter thought he might inch closer and be a hero, up until the gun was pointed at him and then he stopped cold in his tracks.

The room was so still. Everyone was frozen in their places, unable to look away as the red headed man, who was clearly not well, demanded their attention while cursing them for giving it to them.

The room was so still. No one knew who was going to die first, up until the shots rang out.

The room was so still. The first officer on the scene used his best judgement and fired two shots at the man the moment he had a clear shot. The first bullet struck the man high up in his right thigh. The second pierced his abdomen and lodged itself in his spine.

The red haired man's blood stained the tile floor. When the paramedics arrived they pronounced him dead and everyone was relieved it hadn't been them.

A young boy that had watched the whole thing cried and wished he could have helped. To his five year old eyes the poor man had clearly not been well.

Angels and Demons

Maddison was only fifteen when she lost her virginity to Tommy Porter. Tommy Porter swore his innocence even up until they found him in his cell with seven inches of plastic jutting from his neck. Maddison carried the guilt of his deed with her for the rest of her life. She carried his child too.

She even tried to love the boy, but as he grew older he looked more and more like Tommy and the monster she remembered in her nightmares. Eventually she grew detached and started shooting smack to keep her mind away.

The boy grew up and enlisted in the army where he received a congressional Medal of Honor. He never told his mother.

I used to be detached. I would sit in my room thinking that it should have been me to slide that shiv beneath Tommy Porter's chin. I felt robbed and disgusted at the atrocities mankind was capable of committing against one another. I thought I empathized with Maddison, but in truth, I felt nothing. Only hatred.

It's amazing what sociopaths do to fake it in this world.

Purging Poison

Handed poison I took it in,
I drank the poison deep within,
Let it sink and let it fester,
lost my sight for love much faster,
forgotten, food, that I was after.

I Shed my blood for poison's sake,
convinced that I was drowning in its crimson, poisoned wake.
Lost myself and felt alone,
refused the signs that were my own...

Failed to weep and failed to sleep,
Failed a promise I had yet to keep...
I cursed my poison and sealed it in,
Blinded eyes to my death within,

Let the poison fill me down.
Until my saving blood could then be found,
with humble tears and humilities,
only option to sink to my knees,
and lift my head.

Say a prayer for poison and all that's dead.

Well the poison's purged,
I have been redeemed,
turns out easier
then it ever seemed,

Well the poison's purged,
my blood's been shied,
my hands are open,
my tears have dried.

Well the poison's purged
and sent on it's way,
the world keeps turning,
into a more beautiful day.

A Guiding Light

"Bed darkness for understanding and in the morning it will be transformed to light..." -AiGe

Apply the following to all walks of life:

Do not jump at shadows, instead watch them for better understanding.

Enjoy all food. Eat whatever you want, but only when you're hungry, and stop when you are full.

Always help where you can.

Get rid of all trash properly.

Seek to make art daily.

Exercise daily.

Reach out to a different person daily so that you might know them better, but first tear down your own wall so that others can reach out to you.

Always be honest, respectful, and kind to the world around us.

Always forgive yourself your vices, but strive to make one small step every day towards overcoming them.

Apologize as needed, but apologize for nothing heedlessly.

Ask questions and observe carefully as answers are presented in mysterious, and various, ways.

Always listen, and decide for yourself what the best course will be.

Accept the things you do not understand and live with them peaceably.

Love your body and treat it well.

Love the things you have and treat them well.

Treat all things well.

Love life.

Love for the simple fact of loving.

Be proud of everything you decide to do.

Violet

Sea foam crashes against shores beneath violent tinted skies, and lightning breaks the moon dancing violet, jagged lines against the horizon. Spectators marvel at the sight; the world so round and intricate, a giant sphere of life singing and sloshing and twisting and turning. Colors bound to face so gray. Smeared and vibrant. The world hums and buzzes, a breath of fresh air. Rain drops patter gently through canopy leaves as wind sways the strong, and beneath, the thirsty drink behind their smiles.

Knowing When to Give Up

Communication fails. Thoughts turn inward upon themselves, devour words. Questions fall from swollen tongues, unasked. Who needs the trouble? Take the magic dots. Let reality alter itself. Let go of everything. Say nothing. Say nothing, say nothing...

Tearing Up

We weren't kicked out of Eden, we've been living in it this whole time, but through our greed and our hate we have fallen. Our eyes have turned and become blind. People drive cars across streets black, dotted-yellow, and red. Stained by the blood of creatures we have made prematurely dead. While crude oil spills into our sea unheeded, because we thought these machines were sorely needed. Trees felled, cut, and eyes swelled shut.
Oh, the tears, our world is crying. Oh, the tears we left in dying.

Burned Out.

It's taking forever. This candle burns, but there is no light from the flame. Only intensity. Cupped hands recoil, flex as wax sears intricate rivulet patterns through fingers. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Passion burns and fizzles out while new ideas and new hopes give way to reason. Lost souls turn to lost minds as hands are forced into the fire, desperately seeking to feel the warmth, they wrap arms around and graciously accept the blistering pain, convinced there is no difference. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Intensity turns you away from gazing at the sun, its presence felt, but too much to bear. Like this burning candle that screams and sears and melts its trace through your fingers, into darkness, and leaves you, wishing you could have held it.

The Siren Sung

Shut in, shut out, shut off,
Those lonely hearts with hands outstretched that call for help.
Watch them dragging others in with their descent.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Shut in, shut down, shut up,
Those lovely voices scream nothing far too loud.
Watch them giving in.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Picked up, picked apart, put down,
Those puzzled pieces left no one can ever fit.
Watch them drowning in the red.
Sweet Siren's song makes sailors' bitter end.

Pieces scattered, chewed apart,
gasping on the blood-stained rocks,
Watch them drowning in the red.
The Siren sung--the sailor's dead.

6/2/10

Ice Cold Thaw

It was January and the world outside was dead. Patches of sludgy snow still remained in spots along the streets, where the plows had come through. Trees were naked and bowing in the wind, above the muddy, brown grasses. That day, someone had removed the pure white, blanket by simply increasing the temperature.

"I don't think it really matters anymore," she said, holding the door aloft and staring through him with her ice blue eyes that refused to thaw. The bitterness of the wind outside ripped into the house and stole away the warmth. Her tone was flat and guarded.

He envisioned the dam breaking, and in his mind words rushed forward to quell the tide that was drowning the two of them. Not just any words, but the right ones, the ones that said "yes, of course it matters," and proceeded to explain exactly why. The words that could pick up all the pieces between them and make a beautiful fit.

Of course, a lump formed in his throat, and all he could think was despite the frosty, gusting winds and frigid temperatures, outside the snow still melted where it met the sun.

But there was no sun here, and she continued to stare with her frozen gaze that would not be bent. She stared long after, even, his heart had melted and formed thick, oily puddles in the snow-sludged lawn.

For a moment, he was a tree, naked, bemused, and sturdy against the wind, but hers was a gaze that refused to thaw, even after he was gone and she sealed the doors behind him.

Why to Question Everything

If only communication were simpler, more stars might then align,
and if the tools we used weren't emptier, mankind may not be so maligned,
and breaths might flow much easier, between words dying to be read,
and life could be much wealthier, between the healthier and dead,

but first you'd have to translate what the speaker has just said.

Coffee Torn, and Tears

Coffee tears at my heart,
as strings pulled lead us away,
and tides swell.
The world turns as tears fell,
but few stop to see the rain,
and behind it the sun.

Black grains at the bottoms of empty cups,
ones longing to be drunk,
and somewhere something dies,
but life continues to survive,
where the tears and love resides.

Torn heart-things, and mangled feet,
with something always just beneath,
cherished tears from underneath,
Life is all, and bitter-sweet.

Before the river floats you down.

Oh, I guess I should have seen it was over, by the fire that was in the skies, and I probably really should have been sober, but it was the quickest way to eat the lies. So I laugh as I choke and am bleeding, as the knife twists in my side. It’s just the words and their speakers that are fleeting, and memories they all subside. I guess I should have seen it was over, but the coins had already covered my eyes.

Aim, at the Water's Surface

Thoughts have turned to rocks and fallen into pockets. Held beneath the surface, drowned within the weighted absence. They may still be right here, but without semblance to their former selves.

Cut into high, just another burden bleeding out. Weight misplaced. Let it burden something else.

The water likes to run, as pockets filled, pulled pebbles into sand-like-mud. And everything's relapsed, as thoughts have turned to sand and within they have collapsed.

Cut into high, some one come and cut this burden out. Weightless place. Let it burden something else.

Stones skip the surface of a pond where counting seven ripples observes that despite their majestic arcs gliding across the water; rocks, like thoughts, still fall and sink to the bottom where they become nothing and meaningless

and then become food for something else.

Beautiful Reconstruction

You see,

Nothing is consistent, not even being beautifully destroyed;

Our fate was cast, it had already been chosen, and everything we ever did all amounted up yet gover'n', so we stood our ground and claimed "We've been deceived!", and this how the answer put us on our knees:

'cause the time had come, but we refused to see, we still all thought we each were better than he. So the skies stayed empty, the world stayed closed, and each cried murder, to all of those.

Well ,the skies opened up, and the clouds dropped in, the heavens cried out and tears washed in; just another mourning for those living within; "just another morning for us, let us beg for our sin."

'cause the time had come, one we should have conceived, but we handed over everything and pissed it through our knees. It was time to pay the maker now she said "You have been deceased."

And all we could think to do was stare up and say "Please?"

Well the skies opened up but the gates were closed, "all them mother fuckers looking down their nose," all of which were just trying to see "which one of I, am I better than… These?"

'Cause the time had come we had been diseased. We have raped, plundered, and beaten everything down 'till it bleeds; we've been raped and plundered beaten, even down to our knees, but the time is well past to confess our woe...

It’s time to head forward; it’s time to go.

So the skies opened up and the floods rushed in, and the world started burning from a fire within; everything it has to perish before it can be cleansed.

That’s the beauty of a story of inconsistencies and strife,
the beauty of the dying and in death, there’s after, life.


...you see our fate was cast it had already been chosen.

Rest and Relaxation

Sometimes I think I shouldn't be left alone. Other times I can't wait to be rid of these people. I guess it all depends on the contents of the day.

Like what they served for breakfast.
"Man, that orange sausage again?" Someone would say.
"Yeah, and yesterday's eggs."
"Ah well, at least the banana is fresh."
"Yeah, but you better give it to Betsy, she likes bananas."

Short one banana later, I'd pick at the eggs for our allotted thirty minutes and throw the meal away. They didn't like it when I didn't eat my meals, but they didn't like a lot of things.

I really couldn't stand any of them. They made my skin crawl, and I couldn't bare the thought to be without them. The nurse who stabbed me in the arm in the middle of each night. The tech and how she watches, making me stand there, before her, as I swallow the rainbow assortment of pills she gives me. The smelly kid that sits alone and only plays puzzles. The girl with the scars that looked like mine.

I came to rely on all of them. They had become a part of my daily life, my routine. They had become a part of me. All of them, whether I wanted them to or not.

I hated that part of me. I hated everything about it. I hated myself, naturally everything that made me what I was. It was why I wanted to be left alone. It made me need them even more, driving me to hate myself further.

It was one giant interrelated circle of self loathing and negativity, and it was the only thing keeping me alive. I couldn't be self destructive because they were always watching, always there, a burning lifeline of insanity.

And then they kicked me out.