Night Terrorist.

I don’t know,

what it means,

I don’t recall,

too much at all,

all that I know,

upon wakening,

both fists in a ball,

afraid of everything,

the walls feel like,

they breathe on me,

eyes are blurry,

skin is clammy,

a revival of buried things,

from a past most terrifying,

I can’t run or hide,

and I can’t scream,

he’s there searching,

out there lurking,

disfigured and bloody,

undead and muddy,

with a blade that keeps flashing,

at that moment,

another layer of torment,

I am sickened by the scene,

as I know deep down,

with certainty,

that eventually,

he will come find me,

slash his shiny blade,

right through my airway,

and there will be,

at least for me,

no way to escape,

this same old crime scene,

same old tragic psychopathy,

a crimson crown,

trickled down,

my face, but I feel no pain,

and I steadily drain,

terror from my severed veins,

my memories,

washing heavily,

down the gutter again.

 

 

 

Bubble Bath.

I thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around sporting bitchy tits ‘n ass…

I wrapped myself up in your freshly washed towel;

telling myself I was glad that you were gone now…

Silly me; you actually never had gone anywhere at all;

I found you standing quietly with your mouth opened in awe …

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – from all you know; desire you’ve never felt…

And when you see my red-ruby pouting start to pucker,

and sense how my insides tense;  you sexy mother-fucker…

Lick me clean of my tears – salted by such childish fears;

strike a match against the fuse between the filthy and the pure…

tonight I stroke your hidden side – that displaced face you always hide;

Allow me to perfect your view of how a good girl will abide…

you stood there, your hands wringing with intensity;

shirtless and hungry like a pre-meditative beast,

I was yours bendable expendable – that’s right,  wrapped up tight;

And you were yourself – an animal, ever-ready to bite…

the time became a sucking noise from the drain,

you manhandled my body and I hijacked your brain;

I’m glad you never left while I was in the bubble bath;

it’s sad to think about it now after so much time has passed.

.

 

Dirt Naps in the Desert: I’m TRYING.

When I began (for the very first time on my own) writing the actual events leading up to the moment “The Ripper” cut my throat in our front yard fifteen years ago – with an audience of law enforcement, emergency response teams, and neighbors watching in disbelief, something very uncomfortable happened. The triggering event that eventually had the Police called out to our home in the wee morning hours had been something that I managed to block completely out of my existence, somehow – which is absolutely dumbfounding to me, in retrospect. When I began writing about it (Dirt Naps in the Desert) and had a conversation with someone who was there when it all went down (Jackson: the EMT who actually rode in the ambulance with me that day – who literally breathed his own life into me to keep me alive when I stopped breathing for myself, and who has become closer than I believe my Father and I could’ve ever been – due to our strange way of initially becoming somewhat “intimately” with each other), the recollection hit me like tanker from a blindside…it was intense and raw…and it hurt like a Son of a Bitch to start chewing around.

The pain from this re-recollection is immense and even caused me to stop with my written account completely, because I was just as appalled all over again by this memory of the thing that set me into an outdoor display of truly psychotic rage:

Screaming and crying and breaking everything I saw, yelling at the top of my lungs that my husband was “a MURDERER!!!”

I was not giving a fuck during this vague time in my memory, I was in despair and I was shocked beyond description and heartbroken and full of self-hatred; so much fucking guilt and regret and sadness, remorse…

I was screaming, “I’m sorry Sarah!!!” and throwing dirt into the air.

It was 5:00am and freezing cold outside, I’ve been told – – – but I never noticed either element at the time. I will keep writing…it’s just really, really hard to think on for too long at a time, I guess…not healthy for me yet…unable to process it thoroughly at present…but I will keep trying with it, I promise.

Bubble Bath.

bubble bathI thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around in tears, sporting naked tits ‘n ass…

I sat on the floor, wrapped in your freshly washed towel;

In love with a truth masks my pain, somehow…

Silly me: you never left to go anywhere at all;

Eyes fixated on my body like I’m a photo on a wall…

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – by all you know; release like you’ve never felt…

Can you see my ruby-sadness drenched, pouting lips start to pucker?

Can you sense: the way my insides tense; and my skin burns like a mother-fucker?

Lick me clean, of these tears – salted with my own childish fears;

Light the fuse of combustion between the filthy and most pure…

Let me nurture your hidden side – that face you always hide;

Allow me to show you how a good girl shall abide…

Don’t just sit there, with your mouth hanging wide;

Let me give you something to finally close those tired eyes.

I will be yours bendable expendable – to do with, whatever you like;

And you will be yourself – a snake in the grass, ever-ready to strike…

I will hold you closely, so tightly that your breath fails;

Bet your ass – we will lie together – in this filthy bed of nails.