A Dreadfully Fake Fatmouth.

You know that point in a good story when the bad guy finally shows up? There’s always suspenseful music and poorly done close ups of anxious faces…the terror is tangible, even to the viewer. Well what if there is no music at all? What if the bad guy’s entrance is subtle and incognito? What if the villain blindsided the heroin with a haymaker out of nowhere, knocking her down before stomping her unconscious and stealing her grandmother’s jewelry from her bloodied fingers and clenched fists?

That’s pretty much how this most recent bullshit waste of my time, money and energy has come to represent in my mind.

And even more disturbingly, this sorry fuck actually has himself convinced that, despite the fact that he STOLE FROM ME while he was a guest in my home, he has been victimized. It’s truly pathetic how he comes to my blog and steals my posts then paraphrases them and acts all proud of himself for being the plagiarizing thief he is, in reality. He has proven to be one of the very worst guys I’ve ever tangled with romantically…he’s just such a miserable worm.

And now that I’m looking for it in him, it’s so blatant and obvious that I additionally feel like a complete dolt for not seeing it. I spent over and year with this idiot being totally and completely lied to by a narcissistic fuck.

I’m so over everyone in my life at present besides my friend who’s thankfully living nearby…he has been sanity for me lately, though his trial period with me has been extended, which is usually not a good sign.

Whatever.

I have to be able to take it or leave it.

Because that’s what I have to be able to do.

A Dreadfully Fake Fatmouth.

You know that point in a good story when the bad guy finally shows up? There’s always suspenseful music and poorly done close ups of anxious faces…the terror is tangible, even to the viewer. Well what if there is no music at all? What if the bad guy’s entrance is subtle and incognito? What if the villain blindsided the heroin with a haymaker out of nowhere, knocking her down before stomping her unconscious and stealing her grandmother’s jewelry from her bloodied fingers and clenched fists?

That’s pretty much how this most recent bullshit waste of my time, money and energy has come to represent in my mind.

And even more disturbingly, this sorry fuck actually has himself convinced that, despite the fact that he STOLE FROM ME while he was a guest in my home, he has been victimized. It’s truly pathetic how he comes to my blog and steals my posts then paraphrases them and acts all proud of himself for being the plagiarizing thief he is, in reality. He has proven to be one of the very worst guys I’ve ever tangled with romantically…he’s just such a miserable worm.

And now that I’m looking for it in him, it’s so blatant and obvious that I additionally feel like a complete dolt for not seeing it. I spent over and year with this idiot being totally and completely lied to by a narcissistic fuck.

I’m so over everyone in my life at present besides my friend who’s thankfully living nearby…he has been sanity for me lately, though his trial period with me has been extended, which is usually not a good sign.

Whatever.

I have to be able to take it or leave it.

Because that’s what I have to be able to do.

Stolen Smiles.

I bet you think,
that you got me,
you think,
some rinky-dink,
cheap hoodwink,
can shock me?
You need to,
see a shrink,
exclusively,
immediately,
can you say,
“shock therapy”?
You like to think,
your shit don’t stink,
stupidly,
not shocking,
You think you’re,
the only geek,
with a nod and wink,
who’s rocking?
You think like,
a cracked-out tweak,
on a shopping spree,
heart stopping,
shit talking,
You think a,
decryption key,
means shit to me?
unlocking,
You think it,
doesn’t wreak,
of thievery,
such mockery,
call blocking,
You think you’re,
the only freak,
the only skumbag thief,
who’s stalked me?
You think,
the doublespeak,
the hyperlinks,
the subtleties,
cock-blocking,
You think me,
mild and meek,
words I speak,
empty miscellany,
just squawking,
You think you,
can hinder me,
in my stepping,
or render me,
unsuspecting,
of your indecency,
insolently,
emptily,
keep thinking,
keep trying,
quit weaseling,
quit lying,
You’re unforgiven,
how unforeseen,
was the dying,
of a beloved king,
the defying of,
defaming of,
decomposing of,
love’s creamy dreams,
reinforcing of,
sharpened,
hardened,
darkened things,
broken wings,
Screams curdling,
frozen hearted,
cement-shoed,
bound to settle in,
down you go again,
unthinkably,
unspeakably,
Reactively,
you’re scaly,
snakeskinny,
filthy to your DNA,
How ya like me now?
Please sink and drown,
Or swim away,
into yesterday,
on your back belly up,
Contentedly,
Complacently,
Away from me,
I’ll steal
what’s left of,
your smile,
while you cry,
like a child in your sleep.





Stay Up On Your Feet.

People say things easily.
Mostly, being insincere.
They strive to weasel into your life and prove something to themselves.
Something rotten and reminiscent of toxic spores. They aim to break the strength they see in you, to make the beautiful into the hideous.
They want to see you cry and beg.
They aim to show you new lows.
They aim to make you alone.
They aim to silently poison your table of knights one by one.
They feign love.
They indignify truth through their very existences.
These people want to be a victim, always; unable to endure what doesn’t fit into a pre-self-determined reality that’s far from being real.
People like this can’t (won’t/don’t) help themselves from being the epitome of protervity and narcissism.
It’s often quite easy to glimpse the actual pig’s (from the state of perpetual pig-headedness of such people) features at times, if you concentrate long enough on their’ faces.
These people are truly hopeless, and entangling yourself with one of them will inarguably take years off of your life.
People need to sleep at night (well, most people, at least) and throughout their’ lives, have honed the art of achieving said sleep by any and all means necessary.
It doesn’t matter who they have to steal from, lie to or cheat on.
Most people are either like puppets or puppeteers.
They can be dragged around by a string and made to do another’s bidding – to be the butt of another’s constant stream of jokes and gags and be kept in a box out of sight, some asshole’s means of venting his subliminal machinations; or they can be the one dragging the strings and throwing their’ voices, the people harboring silently forlorn grudges against all of humanity.
People who feel it necessary to repeatedly outline the purity and righteousness of the lives they lead might as well wear a t-shirt that reads:
“Hey. I’m a fucking Fatmouth. Don’t believe a word I tell you about myself. I’m worth more dead.”
These are the same people who know – deep down – that not a decent individual in the world holds any sentiment in his/her direction, not even mom or dad, usually. Grandma even disowned these people, even, in her own heart.
These are the people who vampire your cha-cha and exhaust you in totality.
Don’t let this brand of evil wash out your colors and make you feel like a faded version of yourself.
These are the people you exchange faked smiles with anytime you meet eachother.
Try to keep those meetings at a minimum.

Charlatanical.

Shitty tattoos,
Absent front tooth,
Alcohol infused,
Jaw flapping,
Knuckles rapping,
Air leaking through,
Big brown eyes,
Telling nonstop lies,
You’re fucking high,
Unclean,
Unforeseen,
Not enough miles between,
That stinky lifestyle,
The steaming shitpile,
Rusted turnstiles,
Nothing worthwhile,
I lost too,
Much to you,
It’s all bled through,
The truth,
Fire country,
Attention hungry,
Back full of monkeys,
There’s no saving you,
You’re too far beyond,
Slithering, And talking long,
There’s no fixing you,
You built a filthy empire,
Of stolen shit like copper wire,
Look around you everywhere,
Noone is standing there,
Nobody wants to associate,
With your town’s smartest primate,
Give me what’s mine,
Cross back over that line,
Just one last time,
And hand it back at last,
You’ve showed your ass,
To a piece of your past,
That you let slip from your hand,
I hope you do understand,
I’m a lamb,
You’re no man,
Just sit down and realize,
Conceptualize,
Perpetulize,
The demolition of facades,
Crumbling,
Numbing,
Stumbling along,
You’ve predicted all wrong,
It’s all gone,
Non-materialized
Bad breath,
Rotting death,
Inside decayed,
Like words you’ve said,
Like lives you’ve led,
Into the flames of Hell,
I recall well,
And time will tell,
Your tongue will burn,
With lessons learned,
Too late,
Too low,
And now you know,
Your blade never sliced into me,
The games that you play,
Didn’t defeat me,
I’m standing tall,
And fine, overall,
It’s the likes of you, afterall, Who will inevitability crawl.

Decryption.

So my Bit Locker backup harddrive went missing between 1 and 3 months ago; an event that has caused many wasted hours in vain, searching for something that I couldn’t understand was actually physically gone from my possession. This drive has EVERYTHING of any importance to me and, has the datum equivalent of my existence on it. This drive has been my perpetual data dump since I left the tax firm in 2013. After so many days of panic and stress over the unknown location of this piece of equipment went by without even the slightest insight of where in the Hell it could have gone, I was exhausted by the search and had given up hope for the time being, figuring that like so many things in my life go, it would eventually turn up most unexpectedly.

Yesterday, after days and days of viscous cycling of the tensions between myself and the absolute WORM who I’ve been stupidly calling my “fiancé” and/or boyfriend for quite some time (over a fucking joke of a year and a half), I broke it off for good by wishing him well in future days and explaining that he’s been perpetually out of line as well as out of touch with reality in regard to his constant accusations and explosive and toxic mood swings etc.

His response was to say,

“For the record, Bit Locker encryption is simple to crack.”

My end of the line went deeply silent and then a dial tone on his end.

My mind was reeling from his subtle admission. I know he’s not lying about having my Bit Locker because I never mentioned it’s disappearance to him in the time since he left my residence after staying with me for Thanksgiving. Everything fell mentally into place though, and I am now swallowing the unexpected reality of the person I’ve retarded placed my EVERYTHING in has, in actuality, been using and playing me for a very long time.

When I eventually said something along the lines of:

“So you’re not only a liar but you’re also a thief?”

Because this fucking weasel has always talked long shit about how he’ll “have nothing to do with cheaters, liars and/or thieves”, the slight wasn’t felt slightly but quite substantially by me. So now it all makes sense, how he went home after Thanksgiving with a stolen piece of my property and weaseled his way into my privacy like a WORM.
I don’t know what all is on that harddrive, there’s so much stuff on there from many people’s computers over the years; including my Mom and my Daughter’s. This time very personal time capsule of information and historical data also includes all of my photos of ex boyfriends (meaningful or otherwise), childhood, family (dead, missing or alive), as well as any other document attached to my existence over the past decade or more. It was a thing that never saw the light of day and was permanently at my residence.
My piece of shit former fiancé rifled through my shit and stole it from my house while visiting me for Thanksgiving! The implication behind his performing such an action while we were supposedly on the happiest of terms has staggered my ability to be sensible. I am feeling so incredibly violated by someone (some… thing) who I’ve worked hard to let into my hyper-vigilant and sheltered stronghold.

These things jade me beyond words.

My heart has hardened once again over night, and the world is a much blacker and ugly fucking place today, like it always used to be…like it’s apparently going to be forever.

I am very full of regret and self-loathing at present; I hate myself for making such a stupid and lasting mistake in the character of someone who got closest to me of all. I hate myself for being myself. I’m likely not going to write for a while here. This website is like a haunting ghost in its own right.

Newly twisted and caught up.

Not giving a fuck.

…just another in a long line of men who misrepresented themselves and turned out to be a sham.

Thy Will Won’t Be Done.

My wrinkled face
is beginning to waste,
limp body, still hung,
on a squeaky clothesline,
that is tightly confined,
beneath a given thumb,
any part attached to me,
repeatedly gone numb,
neurons firing incorrectly,
missed the target,
subsequently,
my brain feels like,
a bowl of old pond-scum,
the day and night,
continue to come,
Hell or high water,
thy will won’t be done.

Right.

So, I guess I am NOT safe to post my own stuff on my own blog, out of fear of triggering some psychopathic stranger across the country with MY OWN PERSONAL content…people are truly despicable, aren’t they?

When my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer, but still somewhat herself, and I decided that I was committing myself to her treatment schedule with her, I was in the process of “getting to know” this person from afar. This person and I had, up until that time, been quite compatible for the most part; we had been growing rather close and spending at least 3 hours on the phone each day. This person had begun to show some alarming behavior just prior to mom’s diagnosis i.e. openly planning to move to my state, getting my name tattooed on his arm, and other things like asking me the question of:

 

“What would you do if I just showed up on your doorstep one day?”

 

And, opting to be overly butt-hurt when I responded negatively to such a disturbing query, to boot. I don’t think he ever quite grasped why such a question made me squirm, either, somehow. He began interrogating me regularly, based on old posts he would obsess over on my blog; he began to constantly swing between hating me and calling me horribly inappropriate names and being madly in love with me and promising he’d love me no matter what I was going through. Then, my mom was diagnosed.

This is the same person who called me “staggeringly cruel” for opting to focus on my mother’s health issues, in his trademark passive-aggressive way, and then back-peddling all over when he realized how fucking out of line it was to do such a lowly thing.

For me, it all died right then and there.

During the initial days of the diagnosis, amid the shock and associated dysfunction on my part, this person found it necessary to blow up my phone with cruel and hateful messages regularly, in spite of his awareness of what I was dealing with. The selfishness and cruelty of this person shone through brightly, to put it simply. Everything and anything that had come before between us went out the window.

He continued to comb through my entire blog daily, as a creeper without ever liking anything or letting his presence be seen anymore; he literally wiped clean every single sentiment he ever dedicated to me prior to that, too, like a light switch. He obviously wasn’t able to see beyond his own neediness and immaturity to NOT internalize the things that were happening in my life. People can be so unbelievably blind when it serves them to be.

Next, someone pointed out to me how this person was coat-tailing my readers, I didn’t and still don’t give two fucks about this. Then, someone else talked to me about the new direction that this person online presence had taken (a charity case), and I still didn’t really care too much – – – it’s none of my business what this person does. Go for it, dude. Right? Wrong.

Yesterday, I posted a poem that I wrote several months ago about someone I know in real time (many of my long-time readers can likely piece together who it might have been written about, I’m sure). I can’t write anything fresh at present due to my total lack of attention span (note: all the recent re-blogs in place of newly written content). Somehow this person completely took my post out of context and once again mastered the art of making MY PERSONAL CONTENT all about HIM, somehow; he then proceeded to totaling attacking me and striking out at me (totally out of nowhere in my own perception, mind you). Basically, just more of this person behaving like the buffoon that he so obviously is at heart. He again chose the route of sending me paragraph-long text messages insulting me in every possible fashion and acting all holier than thou.  He did this knowing that I was sitting in the fucking ICU with my mother as she circles the drain (he even said, “don’t try to give me a guilt trip…” when I reminded him of my location and circumstances. His accusations and self-projections made absolutely NO SENSE AT ALL. Why would I write a poem about him at all, much less – right now, so many weeks after my feelings changed for him? If I wanted to talk shit about him and what he’s doing, why would I start now? Why wouldn’t I have done it already like when his cruelty still stung? Right, I wouldn’t. I have REAL problems to deal with. Why should I care if he wants to be sponsored by some anonymous strangers online? For the record, and for ALL to read: I DON’T.

 

Ashes to Dust.

Somewhere is a hallway lined,
by door upon closed-door,
each one leading to,
its own room full of lies,
boxes stacked up four high,
and color coded to the eye,
the naked eye sees right,
and someday, somebody,
will discover this place,
set off an explosive device,
to open up each doorway,
to be told every herein lie,
to be snowed,
to have the wool,
pull back over those eyes,
to be plowed,
mown over,
set on fire,
and then left alone to die,
in this hallway that’s burning,
in this place full of lies,
there’s no escape,
from what we choose,
to believe to be right,
only choice left is to embrace,
the flames,
the blazing light,
as the discoverer renders,
the discovery statement,
ashes are tendered,
before a gathered crowd,
only to be poured,
onto the dirt floor,
to the ground.

Counterfeit.

There’s a feeling that accompanies –
the blood that begins to flow through these,
mud-red, blood pumping veins of my body –
anytime that I allow myself to recall certain things;
a feeling that forms a layer over everything –
that envelopes down to the core of my very being,
that swallows whole – the sunshine’s glow –
and will leave my achy mind like a fishing line’s reeling;
this feeling counterparts my glee –
and takes away the joy from anything left to be,
it riddles me with shame and the first name of the guilty –
and washes me clean in my own fucked up memories;
there is a watchful set of eyes looking over me –
day and night, anytime I look I can see them glistening,
tearing up to cry about the things I shouldn’t need –
lamenting for my losses and my counterfeit winnings;
there’s a trick played by the light endlessly on me –
a trick that keeps the surface break just barely out of reach,
that continuously haunts my days and nights relentlessly –
reminding that there is no kill switch that turns off this machine;
if I reach the decision and set my mind to its finality –
there’s always someone there to try and stand up stupidly,
this creates another monster to be born, and then unleashed –
wreak havoc on the roadblock before climbing back inside of me;
welcomed through the threshold by those similar, genetically –
celebrated through paper lantern concessions and gluttonous feasts,
a party to be had for every time that I’ve been trampled under feet –
a burial site that gives birth to new light with every new morning.

Kill Switch.

You touch me here;
I’ll touch you there;
I’ll close my eyes,
and you disappear;
this is my heart,
you Fucking Liar;
you said you wouldn’t
go any fucking where.

I’ll tell you this;
you’ll tell me that –
I’ll turn a cheek,
to the bullshit you spat;
so casually envenomed,
in your whispered chit-chat;
you blessed me by leaving,
what do you think of that?

I blow your mind;
you blow all of my money;
It kills me the way,
Life treats me so funny;
While I spend my dime,
to have you gobble my time,
you treat me like I must be,
a dingbat named ‘Bambi’ or ‘Bunny’.

You’ll chase after me;
and I’ll run away;
Don’t all “relationships”,
start and finish this way?
When all’s said and done,
at the end of the day;
Just hit the kill switch,
be quick – and walk away.

Around.

You don’t know what my tears taste like,

because your lips do not catch their’ fall,

and the tendency to judge my actions…

well, you’re nobody to judge me at all.

You don’t have a clue what I’ve come through,

I don’t care where you think that you’ve been,

as soon as you’ve perfected your own shit…

maybe, come back and take a crack at me again.

I don’t need a single person’s approval,

and most certainly wasn’t looking for yours,

I know who I am, against your presumptions…

I stand for the steps you’ve never taken before.

People like you only shrink when compared to,

somebody with half of a beating heart,

I’m not sure why it shines so sure from your eyes…

a slice of humanity would break you apart.

Please keep your greed from my scenery,

if you own the slightest hint of a clue,

of how much I despise the habit of lies…

take heed, if you know what’s good for you.

Because, one day you will taste my teardrops,

you will feel the fathoms of my own grief,

despite all of your efforts at destruction and doom…

someday your reflection will look just like me.

Kneel.

Days…
like today:
I am too low to partake;
my mind’s in rapid decay,
the throb of a headache –

mistakes…
that I’ve made:
stupid things that I’ve said;
serenade a percussion parade,
through the confusion in my head –

evenings…
like this:
make my heart reminisce;
I didn’t know he was built like this,
the King in my castle has been dismissed –

regrets…
that I feel:
fester beneath this raw deal;
the question of what’s even real,
about the man in the boots at which I kneel.

Soup.

Fuck doing what’s right to do
might have to confront the truth
and you may actually
at last, and finally
have to step up and pay your dues
every single bridge
burned down to a crisp
take the drama and dishonesty
as far as you can get from me
I can’t function like this
there you have stood silently by
done your part to take what’s mine
when all is done
and you have no one
don’t come crying to me this time
you’ve helped to construct
a place that is fucked
from wall to wall
trumping any and all
good in the things you should touch
Fuck staying in this primordial soup
this fucking unhealthy familial loop
when I am no more
around like before
who will catch your boot?
Always choose to color me wrong
over and over until the color was gone
but you can’t tell me what is right
you wouldn’t recognize the sight
pull your blade from my back and move along.

Paradoxy.

The biggest dilemma surrounding me,
is that which defines my own failed dealings,
throughout my life, it’s become a disease,
to be broken, in comparison to everybody;
and in turn, this difference that stands between,
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see,
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me,
rendering it impossible to know such human beings;
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene,
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between,
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns,
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity;
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory,
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me,
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”,
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.

Pleased for a King.

Stand tall and silent in the face of me;
against the trickery of the Milky Way…
in compliance with the God of Defiance;
forget ever seeing me broken this way…

This prayer is born of necessity;
these pitiful tears turn out to be mine…
I again, come back to feel your whip crack;
I’ve been lost: following the eyes of blind…

Please grant to me: your moments asleep;
I’d be pleased if a King was to still dream of me…
don’t cast me too far beyond your sovereign reach;
please circle back for me, before you finally leave…

Without your presence of balance, I’ve lost my way;
I need your conversation and I want feel your kiss…
time to act, no holding back another single day;
what’s most important here is that we can still do this…

Palms up to push at the bottom of your heart;
but you cursed and swatted me away…
I bet you will look for me here eventually;
after I died waiting to see that “someday”.

Tread In Shadow.

Where have you been hiding
for these days of mine passed by?
which demons were you fighting
when I asked you for the time?
what goes on inside your head
while your hand unzips my fly?
which memories come back to you
when your breath becomes a sigh?
do you still think that True Heaven
is a place in between my thighs?
have you forgotten how you left me
and never bothered to tell me why?
does your betrayal and embitterment
shine right through the blue in my eyes?
are you aware of the pain in the air
multiplied by moments that drip-dry?
do you know that I’m empty without you?
the skeletal remains of a burial site;
and, though I am forsaken in darkness
I tread in shadow and by moonlight.

Unearthed.

Inebriated;
by an elixir, holding…
your very essence;
gone, on a pathway;
long-lost in my travels to…
your obnoxious tomb;
completed and warmed;
by the knowledge of…
what lies covered there;
shaken to its core;
the marker has been removed…
up-turned and unearthed;
an exhibition;
not worth charging its patrons…
too poorly displayed;
all too forgotten;
are the faces in the show…
deeply grief-stricken;
weakened hands pile dirt;
blood-shot eyes dried out by time…
no comfort remains.

Shame on Me and the Cursed Empathy.

I guess at this stage of the situation in which I blindly bound myself about a year and a half ago now, the question that burns the biggest hole in my soul would be this:

Why in the Hell would anyone INTENTIONALLY remain to annoy and disrespect; in a living situation that has become obviously regrettable and problematic with the very same person who originally allowed that person in to a home to begin with?

I mean, for me in my own personal experiences with things like this, I tend to lean towards the old saying that goes,

“Nobody likes to be somewhere when they are not wanted.”

Apparently, not everyone is made uncomfortable by being an imposition and a nuisance to the life of someone who’s only mistake had been trying to help that person in the past; someone who has been more than patient during the long period of time that a former welcoming gesture has been overstayed and taken wildly advantage of; someone who just wants her own life and routine back, finally. Apparently, some people have no issue whatsoever with becoming a thoroughly hated and resented element from one day to the next, simply based on the fact that they are here – and unwanted. For a long while, I had certainty of this person’s oblivion, in regard to my displeasure with his continued residence, but after finally blowing up and releasing the seething wrath he has sown within my being over time, there is no longer any excuse for his refusal to just leave already. Since my overdue explosion, I know with certainty that he is aware of my readiness for him to move out and move on in his own life – anywhere besides my house. I know that he is aware of how I feel about and perceive him also – because I told him those things too during my blow-up. I have become paranoid of him because he is not trustworthy, and has proven such time and again – which makes me question everything about him and anything he says or does. That is no way to live in the same space with someone else; and I am getting to the point where I might have to talk to Dice (my other roommate and the homeowner where I live) about it, whether I like it or don’t. I have been avoiding involving him for obvious reasons; but he is the one who can make it happen without any drama…kinda paradoxal, isn’t it all? Fuck me and the cursed empathy…it gets me every fucking time in the end to be a “human being” to another carbon-based life form.

All My Dirt.

I am randomly typpling (type babbling), yes, I know this… my personal Microsoft Word screen seriously could fuck me with all the secrets and truths it has seen at my hand, fuck it though…transparency is the new thing isn’t it?

I have given up my appearance altogether, I suppose…couldn’t tell you when the last time I looked in a mirror at myself…hmmmm…the possible causes behind this fact aren’t lost on me, either…
Something is happening inside of me again; although I couldn’t possibly describe any of what those “somethings” may actually be in the big picture of things; and I am not trying to find any way to describe it – there’s just a slew of mental data on upload at present; and my mental data down-link seems to be broken, too. There’s just a fuck-ton of shit coming in, and nothing moving aside to make room for it; if that even makes sense to anyone reading this.

Failure:
Failure is something has come to define my every moment of each passing day for me; it began slowly when Boo was put into “residential treatment” almost a decade ago and only snowballed from that point on. The many things that have subsequently gone horribly awry since then have accumulated into a vast and freezing cold tomb; each instance of my own perceived failings stacking up against the previous until the room shrinks. Failure has been something that I struggle with regularly, and I often lose the fight with it because of its overwhelming and constant presence. I go to a psychiatrist based on this failure (and its many facets and faces); he repeatedly instructs me to “just let it go”…
Abandonment:
Abandonment is another key element that is deeply embedded in my marred psychological profile; this element is born of my inability to “just let it go” when it came to my inter-personal relationships with parents during infancy and childhood (most notably a then ever-absent mother). It has mutated the human being that I was born as into a different version of who I might have been in a “healthy and/or intact family setting”; over time, it has warped my perception of others who I feel any closeness to – a mechanism of the emotionally fearful and unstable. I am extremely insecure inter-personally, and it only becomes an exacerbated symptom when I give two shits about the other person involved. I am afraid of people in general; not in a physically cowed way though…I am terrified of interacting with others because of the emotional traumas that inevitably attach themselves to each and every experience with closeness to another human being (or the socially mutated versions of one).

Truth:
Truth is another crucial piece of who I am from one moment to the next; it has come to burn in my veins like molten lava these days, and growing increasingly more important to every nano-thought in my head. Acceptance of truth is part of this element; and as painful as this aspect often is for me, in my own experiences, the truth carries weight that is undeniably addictive to my heart, spirit and mind somehow…
Perhaps after all, “the truth shall set me free”.

Paradoxy.

The biggest dilemma surrounding me
is that which defines my own failed dealings
throughout my life, it’s become a disease
to be broken, in comparison to anybody
and in turn, this difference that stands between
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me
rendering it impossible to know such human beings
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.

Soup.

Fuck doing what’s right to do
might have to confront the truth
and you may actually
at last, and finally
have to step up and pay your dues
every single bridge
burned down to a crisp
take the drama and dishonesty
as far as you can get from me
I can’t function like this
there you have stood silently by
done your parts to take what’s mine
when all is done
and you have no one
don’t come crying to me this time
you’ve helped to construct
an existence that is fucked
from wall to wall
and trumping any and all
good in the things you should touch
Fuck staying in this primordial soup
this fucking unhealthy familial loop
when I am no more
around like before
who then, will catch your boot?
Always chose to color me wrong
over and over until the color was gone
but you can’t tell me what is right
you wouldn’t even feel its bite
pull your knife from my back and walk on.

Thy Will Won’t Be Done.

My wrinkled face
is beginning to waste,
limp body, still hung,
on a squeaky clothesline,
that is tightly confined,
beneath a given thumb,
any part attached to me,
repeatedly gone numb,
neurons firing incorrectly,
missed the target,
subsequently,
my brain feels like,
a bowl of old pond-scum,
the day and night,
continue to come,
Hell or high water,
thy will won’t be done.

“Be fucked”.

“Be Fucked.”    – Calamity Jane


I received a package containing all of my daughter’s school papers, notebooks and any other miscellaneous documents that she collected over the years of her incarcerated teenaged life. I have had possession of the box for almost a month now and only opened it the other day because my mother was seeking out a particular photo that she assured me was inside.

mock my painI have avoided opening this box and exposing myself to the mess of utter bullshit that it encloses, as I know that there is very little about her persona that is her own; the lies that she cultivates and maintains regarding her real life events and the real family associated with them. It’s been a few years now that I’ve had to digest the fact that my only child is a compulsive liar who seems incapable of telling even simple truths in the most casual of contexts.

I can imagine what it must feel like for the mother of a serial killer or a fucking terrorist who has been identified and detained before the world to see: the inconsolable shame and regret, bewilderment and lack of any ability to relate to the actions of one’s own offspring – much less: be able to account for any of those actions as the mother of the creature in question…I don’t need to imagine what it feels like to go through the later part of one’s life in absolute shock and faltering denial pertaining to the finally produced grown-up version of what was once her child; the child she never understood or related to, the child that boggled her mind and trampled her heart in the long run.

be fuckedBut yeah, my good ol’ mom insisted on sending me to swim with the jellyfish yesterday, and asked me to look for the photo in the box…and…

Was I surprised by the horse-shit chronicles that I found inside?

Hell no.

Does it hurt my very core to its hollows upon being reminded how very fucked up my kid is as a human creature, to be able to put such miserable dishonesty in writing?

Hell yes it does, every time…to read such disillusion in her own words always stings and burns like it was the first time reading it.

Yes, the box is chock-full of lies and delusions in written form; horribly non-believable versions of her life story that paint not only me – but my parents as well – as warped, mutilated and fabricated versions of ourselves to fit the varying purposes such documents were meant to serve. These constructs of penned deceit written by the hand of my only child are not something I take lightly – on any level; as they have come to serve as written proof in my mind that my child has been lost to me and my family for a long, long time already. And, somehow – as crazy and unhealthy as this may come across to my readers, to be reminded of exactly the depths of character incessantly displayed by her at the cost of her own family – the only people who have ever given two real fucks about her – is a comfort to me now; as I have no idea whether she is dead or alive, anyway.

Just a One-Page-Entry.

We…
you and me…
it turned out –
not quite so,
meant to be.

Feet…
carry me…
right on by –
the desire,
for familiarity.

Me…
I’m angry…
at the truth –
and the lies,
so eye-opening.

See…
the humanity…
finally drain –
of these veins,
I stand empty.

Be…
my history…
more vague –
with each day,
a memory.

Vessel.

No anchor,
been thrown,
no line,
being towed,
a vessel’s ghost,
defective lifeboat;
it’s a truth,
indeed,
to behold,
adrift,
afloat,
a dead pirate’s,
stronghold,
beloved,
lifelong sailboat;
tried and tied,
only by,
the darkness,
of the bays,
skippered,
by the lies,
of yesterday;
anyone who,
thinks he wants to,
try to sail in,
and be made,
to look a fool,
on location,
will only ever see,
this vessel sink,
into the sea,
or over the,
horizon’s brink;
can’t quite ping,
my position,
most secret,
of traditions;
alone,
all gone,
no rise,
of the sun,
moonlight,
shines strong,
my metaphoric,
aquatic tombstone.

Kneel.

Days…
like today:
I am too low to partake;
my mind’s in rapid decay,
the throb of a headache –

mistakes…
that I’ve made:
stupid things that I’ve said;
serenade a percussion parade,
through the confusion in my head –

evenings…
like this:
make my heart reminisce;
I didn’t know he was built like this,
the King in my castle has been dismissed –

regrets…
that I feel:
fester beneath this raw deal;
the question of what’s even real,
about the man in the boots at which I kneel.

Cautious.

True, I am bitter,
but, I’m far from a quitter,
you’d be smart to consider…

I’m a forgiver,
with a heart like a river,
I’ve been delivered…

No matter the weather,
never changed are my feathers,
free from the tether…

No matter the causes,
time to chalk up your losses,
you’ve left me cautious.

…THANK YOU FOR THAT…

Buried.

It was just last week,
he claimed “now, more than before”…
that his heart stood true.

In reality,
there’s me, and at least one more…
what am I to do?

Unsurprisingly,
all the drama is a bore…
unbecoming, too.

So don’t tread on me,
you are not a King, anymore…
I’d have followed you.

It hurts me to think,
of the dreams of mine and yours…
buried in our youth.

Now – decidedly,
it’s time to let those dreams go…
and sleep with the truth.

Vividly Shone.

Practice what SHE preached,

you’ve got some nerve calling me…

lose my number, please.

The arrow has flown,

your colors vividly shone…

take your lies back home.

Truths smeared in cement,

hieroglyphic discontent…

broken testaments.

I’m busy burning,

piles of lies that I’m learning…

not table turning.

Butt-End.

I feel sick to my stomach since I woke up today,
drizzling outside despite triple digits on Monday;

a new thorn stuck into my freshly healed side,
a truth to replace the waste left behind the falsified;

indeed, that as ugly as it is, this new reality standing-off with me,
it is always worse to be on Bang End of the gun barrel, undoubtedly;

You know pretty well: that I’m “OK to Corral”,
I count to ten pretty Gods damned well;

I’ve got little to fear as the long moments linger,
Chambered a round and I’m dead-steady fingered;

I have been recently reminded again,
so let me clarify it for you, Little Man;

the “shooter” always gets the last laughed upper hand,
and here and now – that would be ME holding the butt-end.

Heatstroke and Snow.

Imprisoned amidst the vastness of all things labyrinthine,
the backdrop to my own failed romantic meanderings,
the endless saga of a tale that I can’t stand reading,
a maze of pits and sinkholes designs a twisted serpentine…
my soul: sold to the devils hanging outside from the trees,
a bucket of pain in exchange for a lifetime on my knees,
behold that’s last year’s intel and it’s no surprise to me,
men come and go same as heatstroke and snow, apparently…
and in truth it’s no use to say it’s not fine in my mind,
it’s better that way: short and sweet, hello – goodbye,
you’ve seen my bare ass and smiling face for the last time,
boots on and laced, and I’ve already outpaced your front line.

Fly.

After all,
so many times,
so much love,
lost on,
this heart of mine;
I’ve seen the light,
I’ve read the lines,
I’ve lost the hope,
I’ve gained insight;
nothing’s quite,
what it should’ve been,
what it was meant to be,
when your life began,
underneath,
the pretext of,
the tragic story,
of your mother’s love,
her broken heart,
her saddest song,
the hoarsened howl,
as it leaves my lungs,
listen,
this song’s for you;
these words written true,
by the mother of you,
the tail spinning blue,
nose-diving,
throttle my womb,
head-on collision,
ran straight into,
my very worst fears,
as each one comes true,
nothing for it,
can’t ignore it,
may as well,
dive willingly into:
the losing battlefield,
my life has come to,
can’t look back,
won’t turn around,
for one last look,
at who,
you’ve grown into,
I’ve primed your wings,
I’ve tried my best,
to maintain your roots;
I’ve stroked your ego,
I’ve broken my back,
I’ve jumped through,
every hoop;
fly, fly
little blue-bird,
fly away,
and don’t fly home,
until you’re true.

Thinking and Speaking.

In a small circle broken only by,
the tiny space by which hopefully, I,
will make an escape at the end of my –
musings made public in the blink of an eye;
I lift my sword and point now,
to you: hazel eyes, six-foot-two,
you know exactly what it will be,
that I naturally recall about you…
the way that your shimmering eyes –
were a mask covering so many lies –
and how those lies eventually outweighed any truth;

Now, on to the one right next to the first:
top lip’s so tight his mouth might burst,
your body language says that your brain works fine,
the stance of your stature doesn’t look so self-assured,
you have kept your ignorance segregated, indeed –
by everyone – especially women – quite successfully –
that crap works great in the military, so why not go, soldier?

And on to the next obliviously smiling wise guy,
born and bred from the blood of some godly divine,
I’ve known of dead animals with better morals than you,
sporting tattoos that belong only in the skin of dead swine,
your very breath reeks of poisonous hatred –
a desire to destroy what any other finds as sacred –
wretched: your kiss is of Sulfur and your touch is of brine.

Fatmouth.

If a shooting star spent all of eternity
in being stricken across the night skies…
ever steady, blazing through the E-40
a distance, never closing –
between two massive, lying eyes…
the bell’s constant tolling –
a sound patterned to symbolize…
one of the fighters is face-down –
lights out, three – two – one
stars still twinkling,
sun still sinking –
along with the well-honed
bare-boned,
dramatic fireworks show,
I belatedly recognize…
the shooting star
fired from the smoking barrel
of Misery’s own Sig Sauer .45 –
no room to wiggle
no time to grow in size.

Comes Around.

You don’t know what my tears taste like;

Because your lips do not catch their’ fall,

And your tendency to judge my actions –

Well, you’re no one to judge me at all.

You don’t know what I’ve been through;

I don’t care where you think you’ve been,

As soon as you’ve perfected your own shit –

Maybe, come back and talk to me then.

I don’t need anyone’s bullshit approval;

And I most certainly wasn’t looking for yours,

I know who I am, against your presumptions –

I represent steps that you’ve never taken before.

People like you; seem to shrink when compared to:

Anyone with even half of a beating heart,

I’m not sure why it shines so sure from your eyes –

A slice of true humanity would break you apart.

Please keep that ugly face from my scenery;

If you have the slightest hint of a clue,

Regarding how much I despise – the falseness and lies –

Take heed now, if you know what’s good for you.

Because one day, you will taste my teardrops;

You will feel the depths of this grief,

Despite all of your efforts at destruction and doom –

Silly you, someday your reflection will be me.

Bashful and Insecure.

Um Bashful...

Insecure.

Time.

A perfect example of what I mean when I say that “Father Time’s not on my side” is today’s fucked up tangle with The Opportunist.
The Opportunist was obviously feeling lonely in the rain at home and decided that he’d try me. The reason why he felt like it was okay to contact me (despite my crystal clear instructions in the past on this issue; as in, I told him to flat out lose my number the last time he tried to text me, six + months ago) is simple: Time.
The Opportunist apparently feels that enough time has passed now for me to have forgotten who he turned out to be – how shit ended between us – and the fact that he trampled my super-high-risk heart knowingly. The Opportunist was someone SO VERY CLOSE TO ME, that he knew all of the intricacies that have molded ME – everything. And still, in order to climb his way higher up, he stepped on my head and kicked me off the ladder in the end. He really fucked with my head there for a while, really hurt me on a human level. And…I can’t even get myself started when it comes to the abandonment attached to this man (thing)…the vulnerabilities I endured to get close to him, to let him in…he fucked me up, yes.
But the thing is, that Father Time hates me…and doesn’t give me the comforts that he affords most people in terms of his nature, no; he doesn’t heal me; never has and never will. Father Time and I don’t get along so well, little does The Opportunist realize. I forget nothing. He sent me a slew of text messages all throughout the afternoon today, obviously in the grips of some manic episode of his own; but that’s not my problem either. I finally replied… once, and his texts abruptly ceased to come through.

The last one he sent was,

“Hopefully, you’ll let me put a smile back into your life without any extra stress…”

To which, I simply replied,

“You stole my smile.”

And that was that.

Pretty Much The Same Thing.

same thingIn the spirit of The Mad Black Woman (Porno – LOL), Miss Persia Karema,

“I’m Just Sayin”…..

Clues and Hints

get itBody language gives so much away – that’s why everyone online is so clueless.

The words spelled out all over the screen have become so meaningless.

…’Cause they can’t see that I’m chewing my cheeks and doing the ADHD purse shuffle from near-spontaneous-combustion while they tell lies to me.

They don’t know how intelligent I am because I have a sailor’s mouth and I prefer not to be meek.

They each think that they have something better –  a leg up on me.

Two can keep a secret when one is headed downstream.