Pencil Shavings.

From the highest
of heights,
wide-eyed
and smitten flight,
everything is feeling right,
Then another round,
of profound hindsight,
a different view,
of your new taillights,
Good for an itty bitty,
pretty shitty pile,
the rusty revolution,
of a rickety turnstile,
a lusty evolution,
hardly worth my while,


Cheshire-esque,
wicked smile,
unsubtle grin,
Up and down again,
Push and pull me in,
Noone ever wins,
In this situation,
Light switch lottery,
slip-shift personality,
Which one of these,
faces will you be?
Wide awake and angry,
Sweet and sour and tangy,
Emotional and lazy,
Contextual and crazy,


I pick my cards,
and ride them hard,
in that regard,
the pride is hazy,
a heart carved of stone
droll, cautionary tone,
my heart travels on,
beyond the home I know,
of one face that you show,
to quench the craving,
replacing the stars,
that shine above you,
erasing the hearts,
and lines of “I love you”,

A pencil’s shavings,
greyscale shading,
contrast prevailing,
after-images fading,
slight ideas invading,
this void which binds,
such a vessel of mine,
aware of strict confines,
a bold and hand drawn line,
put there in the sand,
to force a play and
Sway, win the hand,
a hollowed, empty man,

An ancient summit shrine,
dedicated to,
the evening skies,
relecting colors of my eyes,
enveloping,
my state of mind,
embellishing,
with relished time,
At first inquiry,
things seem to be,
well and upswinging,
bright and cheery scenes,
then fire that’s fizzling,

Jokes and giggling,
pokes and tickling,
My mind’s,
alert vigilante,
disparate feelings,
high and fluttering,
soon I’m sputtering,
and the very next night,
someone’s mean and uptight
chasing moonlight,
nothing feels right,

Paranoid whispers,
deluded tongue twisters,
explosive transistor,
in my chest set to blow,
how didn’t you know?
Venomous or jealous,
Dissident and zealous,
Non confident and dim,
Which one will be Him.

Aftertaste.

Here it is:

 

The truth is never kind, remember?

What’s kind is rarely true.

You taught me that.

It was a lesson that actually sunk in, too.

Now it’s part of me.

So I guess you are too.

But, just not in a good way.

I was very upset for like a half hour this morning; after tasting the semi-familiar flavor of your words and how you use them.

I used to be so impressed by your wordsmithing; you know it’s true.

Today’s flavor, however, left a wretched, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

After actually looking at your face again for the first time in over a year, it’s strange to me.

The vague and foreign-feeling man I see is a stranger.

There’s no stirring in my guts of those long gone butterflies.

There’s no emotional spark up my spine.

A smile no longer reflexively cracks across my face upon seeing yours.

Today, I realized I’ve really made a big mistake.

I was always in my own right to hate you – who you are.

Lately, the way I have been feeling so confusedly heartbroken over you again like it’s a fresh slight.

It’s like I stepped out of a time machine and am lagging in past circumstances while the rest of the world has gone on without me.

So I went back over things associated with the period of time from which I dissociated and checked out – specifically, things attached to you and me.

I learned that my alter ego dealt with you swiftly and coolly, as was only appropriate at the time.

Given how I had somehow managed to completely block out all the low-blows and cold-hearted actions on your part during that time-frame (not to mention all the venomous things you spewed at me non-stop while my Mom was newly diagnosed and dying), it’s a miracle I ever began to tolerate your presence in the Universe again at all, in any context.

I look in my settings on different websites to find your username and old IP Address on the blacklists everywhere.

Upon re-familiarizing myself with the sticky cobwebs, ghostly threats and promises of it all (and I do mean ALL of it), my mind became better able to recall the better portion of everything:

√ My desperation to shake you off my leg,

√ My feelings of suffocation and my anxious state of mind,

√ My fear of the overwhelming weight of it all,

√ Your incessant neediness and misdirected anger,

It was not “love”…it was not “love” at all…

It was just another missing chunk of time from my life that some buzzing sound in the back of my head tries to embed as having been “love”, historically.

Because, my brain needs to feel as if it has been “loved”, known “love”…actually felt “love” somewhere in those missing chunks of time, by someone.

It didn’t have to be you.

If it wasn’t you, it’d been the next guy down the line.

So it’s true: You are nothing special and neither am I.

WE are nothing and never were and I see that now and agree with you.

Kidding ourselves…

Not cut out to take a stroll through a park together.

Doomed from the gate.

Aye.

 

Fool The World.

Who do you think you are?
…to tell me anything of my success (or lack thereof) in climbing out of my own very personal Hell to face the world on my own two feet, without the shelter of duplicity; when that girl you used to think you knew has been dead and buried for 27 cold months, without your having the slightest clue of that fact…like you’ve been here…ever…like you can even begin to count my sorrows on your ten arthritic fingers…like you can even begin to fathom the hem of my garment…like you can ever say that you “know” me or anything that I am or am not. Who do think you are to pass your own pompously final judgment on what kind of thing I can or cannot be? Who the fuck are you to render me unworthy of walking in your park? Who do you think you are to attempt to make me feel “loved” and “appreciated” by sending me boxes full of my sledgehammered heart’s dusty remains…with a grenade pin at the very bottom. Who do you think you are to poke my unhealed wounds? Do you think you are something special now, after all is finally said, and, I unquestionably know how little I ever meant to both air holes on either side of your neck, despite the sweet nothings blowing out of each one? Who do you think you are to tell me that I’ve won…won at a game that I never wanted to play…that I’ve won, when it feels like sheer nothingness…
Your meager attempts at life have always earned you too much of a harvest with little effort put forth…so self-absorbed and incompetent at being the things you try so hard to portray…
But that’s all you are…is a portrayal on screen.
You’re image is grainy and you’re faded beyond recognition, you always were.


Really, who do you think you are?…to burrow yourself into my soils and explode like nuclear fission beneath the roots of my stunted trees? You hold no sway over me, you can’t hold the tethers that string to my blackened, squelching heart…you can’t hold the tethers that string to that cavernous pit in your own chest where a heart should be…who do you think you are, anyway…to surprise me with such a heinous and poisonous truth behind your essence…to release the toxic particulate of your explosive insecurities into my atmosphere…raining down your ice cold rivulets of self-loathing from the skies above my fugue. Who you are to the rest of world, the world you try so tirelessly to fool, the one all around you – you are what you are…but just who do you think that broken thing is? You ooze brokenness…despite your self exonerating conceit…
I know who you think you are…and let me tell you that it actually coincides with who I once thought you were, the similarities are uncanny…but the lights go out over the memory of all that. The lights go out behind the curtains of your fucking languish…and evermore, phantoms of your gains and losses will trickle through your simple brain and leave a stain across your nose. You clean up nicely though, and need not worry about the soul you’ve sold to fool the world.

Came and Gone.

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you do;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, shall I tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? Should I take the leap and claim that I will be around ‘permanently’?”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
I play those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you did;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical.  I can’t wait until the coffee is so strong that it sends her into a tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, will you tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you did;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical.  I can’t wait until the coffee is so strong that it sends her into a tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, will you tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Drying Drops of Love.

Such articulated truths,
Much anticipated moves,
Beneath the sky,
I wonder why,
What’s the fucking use?


To know you pondered aloud,
The wonder of something you found,
In the wake of,
Drying drops of my love,
You cast your chance around.


How could it surprise you?
When none of it was really new,
No profound sensations,
To feed such ruminations,
As the shit that you cyber-spew.


Wow…but it’s nothing new,
Now your choices strike back at you?
Fool me twice,
Against all advice,
The venom in my veins courses blue.


You’ve cloned and cookie cut my dreams,
You’ve proven nothing is ever what it seems,
Fists up to you,
Untried and untrue,
The likes of you can’t fuck with me.

1/2 Hour Life-Span.

I love how you fancy yourself,
Sending gifts and wishes well,
Lending bits of your own Living Hell
But underneath you’re corrosive still
I love how you randomly pose as my friend
Obviously not wanting to tie this loose end
You act like your choices aren’t hard to defend
You’re onward and upward and I’m dust in your wind
I love the fact that you’ve traced around
The base I laid out on solid ground
While your betrayal has been quite profound
You remain unwilling to own it now
I love how you jumped from the frying pan
Into the flames of a garbage can
You cursed possibility before it began
With the harshest reality that you’re a conman




Barbarian.

I can’t wash the blood from my hands,

The basin is stained with red that expands,

The mirror reflects a perfect barbarian,

As I desperately scrub off layers of skin.

The stars in the sky oddly cease to shine,

I gather up all of the lies that are mine,

Sewn into my mouth one last time,

To be spewed at someone down the line.

My feet refuse to step anew,

And the streetlights cast a yellow hue,

My mind is burning a hole right through,

To ease the pressure I’ve turned into.

Flounder.

I’ve been circling the moldy, plankton encrusted bottom layers of life; feeding off of the slowly sinking debris that once littered the surface layers: the leftovers of a long-ago feast that I attended up there.

My vision has adapted to the murk; my breathing has adjusted to the oxygen depletion of dangerous depths and harrowing heights; my skin has settled into the wrinkled prune-esqueness of an over-long bubble bath; my hair now growing shafts of seaweed and tangly kelp in place of it’s natural fibers.

I’m a flounder, living with a great white shark who is lazy with a eating disorder; I am stuck in the suction of his hefty submerged wake; I am seemingly happy to gobble up the chunks of shit that fall from the sides of his razor sharp bite as he chews incessantly; I am his shadow down here.

Daily Disillusions. One.

Some of my longtime readers may recall how, throughout the lifetime of my blog, I’ve described the very deep-seated issues surrounding my long tattered relationship with my mama; things that stemmed from early childhood and only snowballed throughout my life until I was an adult and became estranged from her on my own terms for a time. Some might recall the ways in which I was openly struggling with the actual severing of ties between her and me due to her direct and quite unhealthy ties to my own daughter in the months prior to her diagnosis. The cruelly finite death sentence of late stage lung cancer that was handed down to her early last December quickly changed my life’s direction, and before I knew it, I became her main (if not her only) confidant, caretaker, nurse and administrative assistant/scheduler.

I can’t believe she has survived so long…at least not when compared to the very short time that was originally laid out in her prognosis, not to mention the very close brush with sudden death she initially undertook on the trail of her first chemo via febrile pneumonia and neutropenia that landed her in the ICU for several weeks. At that point, she was recovering from the dip in her white blood cells that had left her open like a sitting duck for the infections that literally almost killed her in the beginning of her “treatment”, and wanted to spend Christmas at my Aunt and Uncle’s house with our family. Given the circumstances, I was certain that last year would be her final holiday season alive, so I killed myself emotionally and financially to make her holiday as close to perfect as possible.

It was also during that period of time that her husband of 40 years, my long-time father figure, abandoned my mama completely in the face of her illness and impending death. She never went back home again, as her husband repeatedly failed to clear out the presence of my daughter and her disgusting friends from the house.

Some of my readers might recall how I had been struggling for several years with my parents over their unwavering loyalty (to the point of sheer stupidity) to my absolutely sociopathic and parasitic offspring – and the undeniable affect that such loyalties would inevitably leave in their proverbial laps. It only got worse as time went by; and as soon as my mom was out of the house, it went to Hell in a hand-basket. They began getting notices from the landlord within weeks, my daughter having gotten a puppy that destroyed the carpets and some of the walls and woodwork. In the passage of time between then and now, my former step father also managed to lose his car, his savings, his healthcare coverage and anything else worth anything at all that he might have owned.

Two days ago, a 3 day notice to quit the premises was posted on the front door of the house that was once my mama’s home. For some reason, my former step father was surprised enough by this that he called my mom and told her, obviously upsetting her on many levels. She now also has been burdened.by the anxiety, disappointment, worry, and heartbreak attached to learning (being reminded of) of the reality that her entire estate of 50 years’ worth of the obsessively collected, pack-rat-esque, silverfish friendly belongings that she has bent over backward to hang onto throughout handfuls of relocations, burglarized storage units, rats and various destructive insect infestations, and 2 fires: is gone with a 3 day notice to quit the premises.  I know this breaks her heart because I know how she is and I have come to accept and endear the wacky things that she holds closest to her heart, as indecipherable as most may be.

That house is full of my own history also, mine and my daughter’s…and any of the things that I would’ve wanted to have from my mama will be gone as well. I have not been surprised by this unfolding of the Living Hell that has come to define every direction of what I would’ve once called “my family”; I was writing letters on my mom’s behalf to her landlord almost a year ago, so it’s not like my former step father and daughter (who will soon be homeless and without much but the things each can carry somehow) can say they didn’t see this coming.

The entire situation, which has gotten so far out of control that it’s beyond repair or interference from any outside party, is beyond my ability to intellectually grasp on any level. I am ashamed of my former step father for his absolute lack of action in even keeping himself afloat in the face of my daughter’s shenanigans. He has not only allowed and enabled this nightmare to play out like it is – but he also dares to call my dying mother (who is separated from him for the very same lack of action) and heap the load onto her already broken back. I am so sad and miserable over all of it, as I am in no position to offer anything in terms of any kind of aid or guidance to such an obviously lost cause as the situation at my mom’s old house, I want no part of that noise at all.

I also feel very bitter toward my mama again for the shit she painted herself into this corner with; a notion not so foreign to my heart and mind…I just wish she would’ve listened to me in the first place about letting my daughter move into her home when she left the hospital with her tracheotomy a few years ago. Thinking back to that now in this very moment, my eyes are swollen with tears because I remember my mom’s staunch position on “seeing Boo through the removal of the trach and subsequent recovery”, no matter what I said about it. I was dumb-founded by her blind loyalty to someone who had burglarized her home and stolen her car. I have come to feel so embittered by and ashamed of Boo these days, I have no words for that element of things…besides bad ones.

In short, everything is as bad as ever…waiting for that other shoe to drop hard on my head and heart…working with an asshole who fucked with my emotions and made me hate him as a result – having to look at his weasel face every day, has been wearing on me…too distracted to touch myself, too disgusted to touch anyone else…working hard and earning shit…more disillusioned every day beginning with my commute to work at 7am.

My New Mom.

Because of the collective whirlwind effect created by the sudden appearance of, and the subsequent hijacking of any former Life by this hideous reality, this thing known only as “my mama’s terminal cancer”:

  • I pushed it to the limit with keeping her with me at my house (actually, just a single rented room in a home shared with 2 bachelors) and nearly bit off way more than my can possibly chew;
  • I nearly pushed myself to the point of no return in regard to my own sanity and my own abilities;
  • I allowed myself to totally reside on the back burner for too long, and in turn began the cycle of forgetfulness and neglect in light of my own basic needs and any prior commitments made before the nightmare of Anticipatory Grief entered my day to day existence.
  • I stiffened my upper lip and sucked it up – I refuse to ask anyone for anything in the context of help with my mom, especially my new mom, due to her total and complete lack of any sense of self.
  • I moved her to a place where she isn’t going to be waited on hand and foot like I had been doing for her – having such a personal caregiver isn’t a good routine for her overall independence, despite what she says now.
  • Since the move, she has slowly declined in mentality to the point where as of now, she is too confused to find or answer her phone 9 times out of 10; she still cannot walk on her own either for some reason; she forgets her medicines and forgets to eat, she doesn’t shower at a;; anymore unless she is made to do so; she has no sense of humor, the only remaining thing about my former mama was the crazy thick hair – but that has fallen out now.

 

It’s like I have slowly come to be caring for a total stranger; this person is nothing like my mama. My new mom is stoic and scowls at me for no reason; she snaps at me for offering to help her with things when she is struggling.

 

“I wish you would just get out of my face for a change!”

 

This was what she hissed at me on New Year’s Eve, when I showed up to surprise her with some sparkling cider and pizza. She said she was tired of seeing my face whenever she opened her eyes. I left well before midnight and cried the whole way home.

Mercifold.

I fold, you win…

I guess each element of the person I am,

stands here stupidly in firm opposition,

to the overbearing, sobering obsession,

the patience of the pen worn paper-thin,

I fold, you win…

took note of the tone to certain questions,

shined the light in the face with interrogations,

combed over the memoir with keen attention,

full to the brim with such jealous affliction,

I fold, you win…

spoke freely all things without hesitation,

forfeit the highs for the lows once again.

I fold.

Eye-rony.

Wow, the irony in everything is just overwhelming to me at the moment…

I cancelled our Christmas reservation in the cozy Gold Country B&B yesterday; needless to say, my original plan to go with or without anyone else has fizzled into a memory from a time when the world looked and felt quite different; what was that, like two weeks ago or something? We had both been so looking forward to the trip, too…the very FIRST thing we ever planned together…surely the last one, too…

Mom says we’ll go in the springtime; I smile at her and wink from across the room. I smile and nod a lot to her agreeably, in spite of the tears stinging behind my eyes constantly and unrelentingly. I honestly look like I’ve aged like 10 years in the past week, and don’t give two fucks about it.

So, here’s my newest tangle within myself:

My readers know I have issues…with my Mama, myself, and the past. With her being given a death sentence and failing so suddenly and totally, obviously those issues have begun to kick for the surface. I am trying to remain realistic about things, and have accepted the fact that this is going to leave me with some newborn causes for sessions with the over-caffeinated tree squirrel, regardless of how it all actually unfolds.

Historically speaking, my mother is impossible to please, truly she is…I’ve written about it before. She is NEVER satisfied with the job I’ve done at anything, there’s always something I left off or did incorrectly. Willow gives away little affection, and what she gives, comes guardedly and with strings attached. So, since she has been diagnosed and had to begin treatments and all sorts of degrading and invasive medical procedures, there has not been a single instance in which she has even seemed remotely satisfied with anything I’m doing; be it the way I pilot her wheelchair around the hospital, the way I wash her laundry, the way I pack her bag in the morning, or even how I tie her shoes. It’s been a lot of instances with me trying my best to make her as comfortable as humanly possible, and her being absolutely miserable no matter what I do. I do realize she is in a very bad place, and not much will give her any joy or happiness, per se, but that doesn’t make the fact that I can’t even make her smile bear any less weight on my heavy heart.

The cough:

The coughing is literally non-stop right now; and, please do trust me when I say that I fully understand that this element is NOT harder on ANYBODY than her; she has spent the past two weeks solid in gasping for breath and panicking when it won’t come. Does anyone reading this have the slightest clue what it is like to watch your Mama suffocate from the inside before your very eyes – – – all day, every day – all night, every night? It is sheer terror in its own right, such an absolutely helpless and resigned emotion has crawled into my lap for a while, I guess…

People have said nothing but supportive things to me like,

 

“Spend as much quality time as you can with her…”,

 

or

 

“Tell her whatever you feel it’s important she knows before it is too late…”

 

The problem with this wise theory in our circumstance, however, is that she can’t speak anymore because of the gods damned cough; and she can’t hear anything I say to her over the awful fits of coughing, either. I haven’t been able to communicate anything to her on that level so far….they say the treatment will help to shrink the mass and her cough will get better; that she will get some relief from the chemo, gods willing. But in the meantime, it’s been horrendously difficult all the way around.

Yesterday, I became so irritated that almost smoked a cigarette while she was here at my house. She left this morning with my aunt (her sister, who is a yuppie, and barely found time for my mom even when she was still healthy) for chemo. I have been with her at the hospital every day since last Wednesday, and felt like if I went one more time without a break, I would end up being unfair and out-of-line to my poor mom out of the monotonous irritability that has built up. 8 hours at a time of chemo every day is hardcore, I’m told. I apologized to her last night while we ate dinner for being such a snippy bitch yesterday (I almost want to say that I am having mood swings lately, as the snippiness can seem to just appear out of nowhere with me) and I explained to her that it ISN’T her or anything she’s doing…she understood. She understands, she told me with her eyes – she’s been telling me a lot with her eyes lately, a connection I wasn’t even aware that she and I have until the fucked up event of her terminal cancer.

 

 

Ancient Proverbs – 33: Integrity and Manipulation.

“The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words. “

~Philip K. Dick

 

“If you don’t give education to people, it is easy to manipulate them.”

~Pele

 

“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”

~Abraham Lincoln

 

“Integrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people.”

~Spencer Johnson

Memaphor.

 

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

I shouted into the pitched darkness, somehow expectant of an answer from its emptied core. The lack of response was killing me; I had been having this one-sided yelling match for the entire night long, to no avail. The low rumbling of thunder began then, and my heart-rate quickened at the sound of its tumbling crashes getting louder – the ground beneath me rumbling ever-so-slightly from its force.
It’s then that my thoughts begin to pirate my mind in rapid succession:
Systematically, I think about the last time that this happened, about the brain-blindingly loud thunder and the chaotically destructive lightning; about the unworldly things that my body was forced to endure during the last storm like this one; I think about the endless possibilities of damages that the impending storm might bring with its wrath; I think about death…I wish for death, a quicker one than the one I am currently playing out.
My mind regains its control over the rest of me just then; and I sit up and wipe my face to regain some composure. I am jolted awake with realization. I scream again with the dwindling wind left in my stinging lungs, affecting a strip of sandpaper ripping itself upwards from my belly’s darkest depths.

“I don’t need to stay here!”

I become infused by adrenaline throughout my bloodstream and serotonin pumping through my glands as I holler the defiant statement into the blackness beyond me – surrounding me – enveloping me;

“I don’t have to do this again…I won’t let you do this anymore!”

I spring to my broken feet in spite of the searing pain shooting up each ankle through my shin bones, lower jaw jutting out in sheer bullheadedness; I have chosen. I am so high off of my own rebellion that I fail to notice the momentum growing in the rumbling and cracking of thunderous bolts around me in the darkened space. At that instant, I can feel the warfare in my esophagus, its bile-like foam rising in my tightened throat; its taste instantly sets off an alarm in my brain and my mind gets weakened by the surprise – I fall.
The cracks of forceful, thunderous power bite at my face and body like wet sheets twisted into vines to whip me to a miserable death. The bellowing rolls of strength and control wash over the entirety of the scene with noise so deafening, that I am no longer able to tell up from down – dark from light; the pain brought about through these forces is felt through and through…standing every nerve on its end, leaving a pain-infused retinal image singed into the insides of my eyelids. I do not want to open my eyes ever again after that point, as I know that HE has returned to hurt me. I wait like a wounded hunter’s prize in the silent darkness, straining to hear it. It’s a voice that is so terrifying to my betrayed, blood-filled ears, that its dripping teeth are nearly tangible to me through the void around me, it says:

“Do you not by now realize, fragile one, that you hold no power here?”

My heart sinks lowly at the sound of HIS voice; its affected terror on me perseveres blindly past my strongest points. I crumble, too weakened by shame and defeat to cry, even. A huge hand, large enough to scoop up my entire body, picks me up into its bloodied palm and begins to squeeze me so tightly that I watch my own eyeballs turn red from the inside.

simple_beauty_by_velvetredbullet-d3cqn4d

Pocket-less.

When every single face becomes
just a reason to divert my eyes
and every carbon-based “human”
alerts my nerves to stand on high
when every time that I try to break ahead
just enough to finish this looking alive
a backpedal finds me a crack in my head
and then I stupidly struggle to survive
where progression is stunted by stagnancy
and my clothes are all pocket-less
the place between strength and subjectivity
where I stand without answers to this
And every day brings another slap to the face
every night finds me hollow and numb
each decision that I’m left unable to dominate
every turn of the screws in my thumbs
where I’m hungry often but hardly ever eat
and my shades stay drawn all year round
there’s no word for such charged irritability
every day becomes just a target to take down
I am overly tired and I am deeply annoyed
there is a train wreck surging through my veins
I’m living in the body of a fabricated android
being taunted by the distant cries of a runaway.

Legacy.

I have started to write this so many times
Replaced certain words and erased entire lines
the curse of this message is veiled behind
the fact that its author seems frozen in time;

At times its content strikes me as absurd
I lose my last nerve upon finishing the words
the truth of my sadness is vague and obscure
By the time I’m done writing, I’m left feeling unsure;

Yet it’s plain for all to see through such futility
the desperate force that keeps on driving a need
of the author to express certain points clearly
before there isn’t time left to convey such things;

So then, the permanent pen of this sad story’s end
may help ease the hollowness suffered within
may offer release from the binds she’s wrapped in
may turn out to be a good bye to her friends;

Either way, the result disappoints all the same
the unfinished manuscript prevails once again
as a mockery of things too harsh to explain
until I resign and throw the towel back in;

Even so, against the fading of productive days
I strive to somehow put my sorrow into paraphrase
to pull the anchor from my chest and toss it far away
by writing down concisely all this shit I want to say.

Parallel.

There’s no visible end
to this line
that you and I
continue to wait in
for the knowledge
some enlightenment
behind the puzzlement
by which and within
our lives are woven
a waste of time it is
both of our hearts know this
let’s duck out of line
while there’s still time
to sneak away from this

Tear-Stained Lines.

I dreamed of filling notebooks,

the same old tear-stained lines,

spiral bound and self-evident,

are these memories, unkind;

I dreamed of emptied oceans,

stripped to sand by Father Time,

doomed and underestimated,

are the pages left, unsigned;

I dreamed of darkened places,

with my fate not far behind,

the rotten, hollow carcass,

with a face the same as mine;

I dreamed of scrapping metal,

from machinery left behind,

and bleeding as I cut away,

each bolt to my bloodline;

I dreamed I found a serpent,

with spiders for its eyes,

and a carapace of razors,

closing in from every side;

I dreamed of Live Oak forests,

throttled by smoke and brine,

I opened my eyes this morning,

to the same old tear-stained lines.

Promise.

“For you girl, the future holds never-ending promise…”;

Those are the words that my great-grandmother mumbled through her toothless mug at me last Friday when I went to see her (for the first time in way too long). At the time, I was just grateful that she hadn’t decided to Hex me somehow for allowing so much time to pass between visits; she actually never even brought up the recent negligence on my part to maintain our former schedule. I never really know where Grandma T is coming from with the randomly spouted morsels of wisdom that she is notorious for letting slip – yet, nearly everything she says out of context at the time she says it, oftentimes plays itself into the happenings of the days directly following the statement. She has always been a tearful woman; not like a psycho – cut off my hair – manic/depressive tearful, more like she remains in a constant state of mourning, all the time. I’m beginning to wonder if that has something to with me…

Yes, for me, the future holds promise; promise that things will change…good things will go sour and bad things will evolve into tolerable circumstances. That’s what Life is about.

There are promised periods of despair, self-doubt and loneliness; and I feel assured that my self-enforced alienation from my hell-bent-on-being-victimized parents will leave another hole in my Swiss Cheese heart; but I also feel very certain of my personal need to get away from the vicious cycle attached to the two of them, in accordance with my own daughter and only child. I feel as if this whole situation has always been on the brink, on the outskirts of my existence just waiting to occur. They have apparently decided to enable themselves to be destructively tossed around in that thankless and soul-sucking spin cycle; I have been swayed in the complete opposite direction.

It continues to be difficult for me to comprehend even on the most fundamental surface level: my place in this newly forged trench in the wasteland between Boo and I. I have been the spade thrower digging day and night while I am numbly sleep-walking around. I have deeply burrowed myself away from the battlefield and lost interest in the meaningless warfare.

I have, in essence, had to make the choice I’ve spent every moment in dreading recently… the choice that I feel as if I have spent forever hanging from the sharp edges of… from the two worst possible options for someone to be faced with. Cruel and unusual in nature, it’s a choice that offers a finality that will bring closure – even if it is NOT anything like the “closure” I might have liked to have. I have not yet fallen into complete resignation behind my choice yet, but, at least I have made the decision. This decision does not boast any perks for my future to come, outside of the hopeful prospect of some peace and fucking quiet; I will be cutting off my own nose to spite my own face with this choice – but the same can be said for the alternative choice being made as well.

In my adulthood (current state of being), I have allowed myself to become exceptionally recluse and isolated from others, including my family. Because of the close connections between my parents (mom and step-dad) and my only child to one another, I have spent many years leading up to this choice in being trapped between my own unrealistic, self-serving need for a family as an element of my own identity – and the reality that I my “family” is by far: the most emotionally destructive and unhealthy thing known to my existence. I am no angel, but I have learned from this Living Hell that I am also definitely not cut out for the dramatics and lack of humanity that seem to be attached to both my mother and my daughters’ personalities. I have been idly standing by throughout these past few months while my only child has single-handedly demolished whatever stability my parents had going for them, if warning and pleading with them to cut her loose means that much. The scratchy words in my throat still ring from the night before my stepfather was nearly beaten death, when I said to him,

“If you aren’t careful Pop, she’s gonna get you killed…”

They have been robbed, burglarized, my step-dad was beaten, ransacked, sucked dry of any money that they may have had prior to Boo’s return to the area; my mother’s car is totaled, the garage of their home has been crashed into and tumbled down. I get these calls from my mom detailing the extreme stupidity involved with all three sides – my mom, dad, and my daughter. I have to listen to how she lies her way back into their lives, then I have to listen to how she fucked them over again afterwards. I can’t do it.

So in essence, my mother’s refusal to keep me separate from the never-ending drama attached to my daughter, has ultimately pushed me back far enough to no longer want to return again.

I haven’t been speaking to any of my family besides my great grandma, because she lives on a reservation that my daughter will not go near out of fear of being strung up for her crimes against her family. My mother stopped calling, a sure sign that she is too ashamed to face me now – translating into the likelihood that my offspring still resides in her domain, somehow – despite the piles of bullshit and destruction that she has managed in the few months she has been around.

My decision comes down to this:

I have chosen to keep it this way; to not allow myself to get sucked back into the unhealthiness again, not by anyone, even my mom. I don’t know any other people who have a parent and a child that is bad for them; so I am totally winging it and doing what feels necessary in order to keep trying to try to survive.

Unfixable.

I know that I do not get the same consideration from my own daughter when it comes to “cause and effect” that my mother continues to be shown, and somehow always has been shown, in spite of our tattered history. When my little brother killed himself, my mom’s way to cope with the blow was to try and erase him from her memory altogether: an element between she and I that hung bitterly in the stale air between us for years. She never speaks of him; she never lets me talk about him in any context in her presence without either full-blown freaking out, or changing the subject with blatancy sharp enough to leave a mark.
I have come to accept and understand over time that this has been the only way she has been able to continue on with her own existence after losing a child to suicide in the way that she did; and am only now beginning to see that this response was initially not one of choice for her. It was the effect attached to specific causes: those of profound emptiness, loss and failure. One of the most difficult things about coming to grips with acceptance surrounding my own child – and my own loss, emptiness and failure – has always been the absence of so many points of reference for me. I don’t know what a mother “should” look like or act like to her child; I have only ever winged it and did what felt right when it came to Boo.
Now, it has become unarguable that most (if not all) of those things were not right; no denying that I was an inadequate mom or else she would never have grown up to become what she did. But, I also think of a lot of other facts and truths that surround us such as how I also had an inadequate mom. I had a mom who was a violent and unstable drunk during my childhood; she was always high on drugs also, and kept like-minded company. My father fought tooth and nail to keep us protected from her unpredictable nature; she was painted very differently than I could possibly come close to being depicted by my daughter. Or was she?
Granted, I was not the type of mom who hit – I never even spanked Boo besides to SWAT at her backside with gentle care when she was a toddler; our experiences with a mother in the big, bad world were most certainly very different in almost every way. I am nurturing because my mom was the opposite; I was attentive because my mom seemingly forgot all about me and my brothers after we were born; I was protective and overbearing because of those reasons, too. I was so involved with her life as much as possible: a yard duty at her elementary school, the PTA, class mom, field trips, etc. I exhausted myself at all times with her IEP and the constant red tape around getting her through school because of her behavioral issues. I admit that she overwhelmed me at times, but I always wanted best for her, I never got any satisfaction from her struggles or tears like my mom did with me. We had very different mothers, indeed.
Now comes my point:
I had a father.
Not just any father, either – I was blessed with an exceptionally special Dad (and a long line of older brothers).
Boo had…well, we all know what she had, don’t we? Boo had the Ripper for a father in the slice of time that she had one in her life at all, before he tried to murder her mother and then was gone to prison before dying on the inside of those walls…Boo never had a Dad, hardly a father. I have concluded that it is this (very often overlooked) factor in the comparisons people (including myself) make between me and my daughter’s characteristic traits that defines the essences of those differences down to the nano-fiber. When I think of what my own existence could have and likely would have been like in the absence of my Dad, my knees often feel weakened by the thought alone. Now, I imagine actually living that reality from one day to the next like Boo must…and yes, I see.
I know that in many ways, I haven’t failed as Boo’s mother in the years I was allowed to be her mom; but in this one major and unfixable way, I failed her immeasurably.

The Bartender.

I know he digs the way I think;
the shoes I wear; the foods I eat;
so much in fact is his smitten instinct;
he will default back to getting down on a knee…

He knows all the words to my favorite tales;
he rides into a room on no one’s coat-tails;
he’s immature – but he cleans up so well;
we are both too crazy for each other to tell…

I let him get away with almost anything;
all he has to do is bat those sweet hazel eyes at me;
flash me back to the bar he tends at night in Queens;
the mouth and mind of Walken with a heart like Huckleberry.

Growly Monster.

There’s something dark that stays with me;
ever-present within, and threatening;
at least two blatant steps ahead,
of the slippery tread,
that I beat.
Can’t get away from its angry, clenched teeth;
or the burning inside of my chest cavity;
cerebral pounding in my head,
the growly monster under bed,
please, shoot me.
A shadow that laughs as it follows my feet;
at my dwindling sense of any real thing;
eyes that paint everything red,
a body, gone brain-dead,
just finish me.

Decomp.

Each day’s sunrise shines;
against history’s version;
of what is my truth.

And what is my truth…?
according to Father Time,
it is a sad one.

From one, come many;
more sad truths to give names to;
bloated by decomp.

Skin – whitened with time;
a centuries-old rag doll;
missing arm and eye…

Carried off downstream;
against a fatal current;
chased by my nightmares.

Now.

I’ve been going to bed earlier and waking up later…I have somehow allowed myself to detach again…I couldn’t tell you how such a thing is even possible, considering everything that has happened and likely continues to happen in the world from which I have detached…but I have, and it is.
My feelings are not hurting now, not in the slightest; my senses are as far from sharpened or honed as is humanly possible; my thoughts are grey and soggy; my heartbeat exists quietly in the background noise of everything; my memories seemingly evaporating with slow certainty.
But I’ve been here before, it’s not some recovery set out at the edge of the woods; it’s not the end or the beginning of anything else; it’s just how I get through the unbelievable, it’s how I bear the unbearable, and it’s the only thing I know how to embrace without fear anymore.

“The Other”.

I guess in all fairness, she lived here long before I did; this was her vessel for even longer than it has belonged to me (I pirated this shell a little over a decade ago now), she functioned within this skin for over two decades prior to my arrival. She primed the solid physique that I carry today, fed the body meals, and somehow managed to get it to where I came into the picture alive…well, barely alive – but alive all the same.

She was a weakling; a cowed and youthfully blind creature, a dreamer, a believer in good, a hopeful and ever-willing dumbass, a self-detrimental junkie and a self-absorbed human being…she was “the other”.

women killed…and she nearly got me killed that decade or so ago…because of the miserable and unbelievable situation she had found herself in in place far from home, friends or family. She went on ahead and had a baby with the man (her husband) who was beating her to a pulp regularly; a man whom she had come to be learn first hand: suffered from increasingly unpredictable physically/sexually violent tendencies towards her. This is an element of domestic abuse that becomes quite the double edged dagger later down the road; but in the beginning of such a notion, the draw is undoubtedly that of human closeness, tenderness and fondness for the DV victim…”the other” was eventually alienated beyond words. The baby linked “the other” to the real world just enough to keep her on head on somewhat forward-facing; the baby also created an entirely new element of fear within her day to day life. She began to care less and less about herself as a result, her safety became irrelevant in her own mind.1072960“The other” got her throat opened in her front yard one day at the hands of that same man; yes, the one who she had married and had children with – the one who she knew she had to get away from before such a thing took place…the one who’s sickness continues to rot away at my existence through the offspring we share. I don’t relate to her choices, that young girl who was slashed that day; I never have…

Since the moment that I picked up her nearly dead carcass and breathed my own air into its essence, she has remained an enigma of sorts to me with her pathways taken and where they led her. I pity her. I dislike her. I cry sometimes for her when I’m alone.

crying_woman_liquid_tears_crying_weeping_wallpaper-t2

Angel of Shame.

Sunny outside and seventy degrees…
Mother Earth’s butterfly kisses fluttering…
I am barricaded deep within bloody memories…
can’t I just be normal and somehow just feel happy? …
Another season’s campouts come and go again…
another click added between Life and the Wasteland…
the older I get, the less I relate to my once closest friends…
it’s just me and CPTSD – not much else worth any mention…
no matter the efforts always made in true vain…
I’ve carved years out of Life with just trying to stay sane…
after so many times of being burdened by false blame…
and being kicked in the face by the Angel of Shame…
it comes to a place where I’ve got nothing to give…
where each day is painful through grace that I live…
and each moment is nearly impossible to perceive…
where the only thing left is hope in which to believe.

Goosebumps.

occupy_trinityWhen I first saw this, it gave me goosebumps for some reason…I love it love it love it…a very strong and thought-provoking image to my heart and spirit.