Took long enough to come to this conclusion Moments in time spent finding peace in chaos Nothing was ever going to be enough Carrying the answers with me all along Going back to the beginning To figure out where I am A slow march to death Pick a path and see where it ends Ignoring sign after sign What if any is the meaning of words If you don’t know what they should mean Rambling in the dark, rambling to myself Believing was always going to be The thing that brought me back here again
Addicted to what I’ve been told and not what I know…
Suffocating under the weight of everything The natural progress of Hating myself from within Digging my way out of an endless grave Piece by piece, brick by brick Been building the tomb I’ve always envisioned A monument to pass onto the next generation So they can do everything that’s already been done
“Maybe because sometimes someone wrote every sad song that they could.”
Pumping poison through the vein A constant heart beat That defines me The difference between living and dead Carry my thoughts with me Every where I go seems to be no where at all If there’s a constant here Could someone please point it out Never polite to point Even while staring into a mirror Blame everyone I see Staring back at me through the shadows That define me
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Two Stories… Two Poems… and A Whole Lot of Thoughts….
This idea that I know A feeling of understanding Confusion wrapped up in life I want to say more But I don’t know the words All I have is nothing at all A thought, a memory Of something I remember living The sadness has become more of a condition To the sentence I’ve been served Self pity, depression of the facts Born like this, didn’t become this Sell my soul to be someone else Sell myself to be something else Gave up before I knew what I had done Poisoned myself with the thoughts Forgot all the words before this began Eating the thoughts with a fork and spoon Dug the knife into my side Laying around wondering What is it that I have done
“My people have been running from the devil since before it was cool.”
This may be the only time Sitting in the darkness wondering why All of this shit that ever mattered was a lie Constantly speaking to the deaf and the blind Preaching about the things that don’t add up Is this really what we are doing with our lives Giving it all for more of nothing Speaking in tongues that only we understand An understanding built on lack of sleep Hush and everything will be alright So much truth in lies So many lies buried in the truth Giving in over time Becoming more than they wanted Descending into a place no one understands Locked within my head
The scary part is that people are relying on me…
Digging a hole in the sand Three feet wide was the plan Digging deeper with so much effort Going nowhere, can’t see the problem Can’t see the problem Can’t see any problem at all
There is a line we do not cross Hop over it once and it’s all your fault Step over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between hearts and breaks Thin lines grow between us Keeping us apart yet very much the same There are lines we do not cross Reach over them once and it’s all your fault Fall over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between souls and life Thin lines grow within us Keeping us together yet very much the same
“What do you got there Sylvia?” An orderly asks. Her young frame hunched over an open notebook. She pretends to not hear the question. “Hey Sylvia,” he calls out once again. As the youngest patient in the asylum he isn’t used to her teenage attitude in this dark dingy place overcrowded with pain, neglect, and isolation. “Nothing, just something I have been working on to pass the time,” she answers. “Did you not hear me the first time?” He ask. “I heard you,” she says into her notebook. “Okay, well maybe sometime you could show me what you have been working on,” he smiles. She looks up at him, “Yeah maybe.” She buries her head back into her notebook. The orderly shakes his head and walks over to the other side of the room to talk to the other patients in the recreation room. “So what are you working on Harold?” She hears him ask the only other patient not drugged out of their mind. She picks up her pen.
I’m so depressed here. I wish I never “volunteered” to be admitted. Should have just run away again or finished what I started. I’ve been rubbing the scars again. No one would listen to me outside of this walls or inside them. I should have known he would have sent me to a place that wouldn’t listen. This place is like school. “Sylvia stop your lying.” Maybe I’m not lying. Maybe you aren’t listening. The deep jagged cuts down my arm don’t help me to forget. The pain is long gone from the last time, but somehow still linger in my mind. Thought maybe if I wasn’t pretty anymore. Wasn’t perfect then maybe. It doesn’t matter what I thought. How many times am I going to tell myself the same thing? How many times am I going to justify trying to kill myself? No one cares why it happened as long as it isn’t happening. I’m safer here than at home. That’s what is important. As long as I keep my volunteer status he can’t hurt me. As long as I am here I am safe. The reason doesn’t matter anymore. No one is going to stop him, but at least I did.
The orderly makes his way back over to her. His footsteps echo within the room. She closes up her notebook, “Yes Charles?” He checks his watch, “I’ve been reminded to remind you that your next appointment is in a five minutes.” She rolls her eyes, “Funny how that seems to be the case every week.” He smiles and pretends that her attitude isn’t bothering him. A talent he learned from his two girls at home. “It is quite odd. Might have to do something about that,” he jokes. “Them doing anything here would be a first,” she says as she gets up from her chair and walks away.
The door to the doctor’s office is open slightly as she knocks on the door. “Come in. How are we doing today Sylvia?” The doctor asks as he looks at a chart that isn’t even hers. “Fine, I guess. Same as always,” she mocks. “You know you can leave whenever you want? Maybe go back home and spend some time with your family. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He asks without looking at her once. “I’m sure they miss me immensely. At least that is what they would want you to believe, but I’m certain I am just fine right here,” she looks down at her scars once again. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll make a call to your parents and tell them you are ready to go home,” he says. “I didn’t say that at all,” she says. “I just want to tell you Sarah we made some real progress in the time that you have been here,” the doctor rattles off. “My name is Sylvia,” she says in anger. “Yes, I am aware and I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to write you a script for some mood suppressors. You don’t have to take them, but if you feel all the anxiety coming back on I want you to feel safe,” the doctor says. “I feel safe here. I want to stay here,” She tries to reason. “Change is good for you. You have been here too long. It’s time for you to go home. I know your father misses you every much. I have been keeping him updated and he seems as optimistic as I am about your recovery,” he looks up from his chart. “So go ahead and get your things ready for tomorrow. That seems like a perfect place to end today,” he gives off a weak smile. Sylvia begins to cry. The tears falling from her eyes to her arms and running along her scars, “I don’t want to go.” The nurse comes in and places a hand on her shoulder. “Nurse remind me that I need to call her parents in a bit and if you could have Charles bring in the next patient that would be wonderful,” the doctor asks. “Yes, sir. Come on Sylvia let’s get you back to your room,” the nurse says to her. “But I don’t want to go,” she begins to sob. “I know dear. I know,” the nurse says as she rubs her shoulder. The doctor goes back to his file as the nurse escorts Sylvia from the room.
“There she is,” Charles calls out as he walks by her open door. “Glad to see you writing again,” he says to her. She doesn’t respond to him as she sits still at her desk. Memories flooding her mind. “Wanted to check in on you. Heard you were pretty upset earlier,” he says to more silence. “Also heard you were going home tomorrow too. That is good news,” he tries to sound excited. “Mind If I take a look at what you are writing? I understand if you don’t feel like talking,” Charles suggest. “Very much so. It is private,” she snaps at him. “I see you are excited about leaving tomorrow,” he snaps back. “Maybe even sooner,” she says under her breath. “What?” Charles asks concerned. “I said I want you to leave. Did you not hear me the first time,” Sylvia screams at him with tears in her eyes. “I just want you to know that I am here if you need to talk,” Charles says in a caring voice before walking out of the room. Sylvia quickly gets up from her chair and slams the door behind him. Only doors don’t slam here. She pushes all her weight against the door to try and get it to close faster. Tears streaming down her face as she struggles. Despite living in the same room for the past six months her room is nearly bare. A bed, a dresser, and a desk. “Her desk,” she thinks to herself. Her father’s money was at least good for something in this place. A private room and her own desk, but they wouldn’t let her have her pens. Not after what happened. They gave her special hospital pens, but only after she had developed trust. She couldn’t do much of anything with those useless things any way. She calms down enough to return to her desk and flips open the note book to where she left off.
There is a silence It is a constant There is a sadness It is a constant There are so many things And they are all constant I can taste the blood on the page I can feel the sweat on the page I can see the tears on the page As each drop becomes the page Why doesn’t anyone understand
Sylvia tosses the note book as hard as she can. It bursts open as it smashes against the wall. Papers, words, time falls to the floor. She begins to sob at the thought of the words, “I know your father misses you very much.” Visions of the past fill her mind. Remembering the pain. Remembering the fear of it all. Remembering that no one would listen. No one cared. “How could you ever say a thing like that about your father,” her mother’s words echo in her mind. Only to be replaced by the memory of his touch and his words. “You are so beautiful. My perfect little angel,” his words like poison slipping into her mind. You are confused at first. Why now? Why this? So you fight it the best you can, but the fight becomes useless. The whole thing becomes normal. A daily routine that you can’t wash away from your mind. The thought becomes clear. If I’m no longer perfect then it will stop. The memory of the pain from before washes over her once again. Make myself imperfect. Make it go away. The blood drips on the floor. It stains the carpet, but they clean it and they move on. It never stops the abuse. The monster doesn’t care if you are perfect. The monster doesn’t care at all. Deeper you dig. Deeper you find yourself in pain. Deeper until you think that it is over. Until you find yourself here and know that it is. Sylvia reaches under her desk to grab the item hidden beneath. When she got here she was hopeful that it would never have to be used again, but deep down she knew someday she would need a way out. She holds the jagged piece of mental in her hands. “We don’t even know what she cut herself on,” he mother told the hospital. Squeezing all her anger and the pain into it. “Here we go again,” she thinks. “A conclusion I can no longer hide away from.” She holds the broken piece of metal in her hand. She gently places it on her desk and opens her last remaining note book.
“When we bleed it is only to cleanse our souls. It’s like letting the air out of the tires every now and then. Sometimes it hurts more than others, but the hurt never compares to the pain. The hurt feels good in a way. The pain doesn’t. I wish someone would have listened to me. Anyone at this point. I wish I could explain the pain that I am in, but for some reason, I can’t. It could be the lack of blood still left within me or my ever lack of words associated with the pain. Pain is nothing like the hurt. The hurt comes and goes, but the pain. The pain is always there. Every once in a while I found myself here in this place. This dark hole surround by all the pain I don’t understand. This place of self-loathing and hate. I control my own destiny, right? Or have I just misheard some well-placed advice? Maybe I don’t control anything since no matter my choices I always end up here. I always end up with this pain. No one cares, but everyone’s still listening. I know it is not my fault and maybe it still is. Should have never. Should have done things differently. This has to be for the best. Nothing else left to do. Except release myself from this burden. Release me from this hole. I tried. I really did. Maybe not enough or in the way I should have….”
This is a work of fiction, but sadly the concept behind it is not. This story is lived day in and day out by an unknown amount of children. Many of whom do not reach out. It is not normal and it is not okay. If you or someone you know is being abused. Please reach out for help and never stop reaching out for help. Help is always there even when it feels like the whole world won’t listen to you. Click the links below to find help or to find out how you can help those in need.You are not powerless and you are loved.
I debated on how graphic I wanted to get with this story… from the suicide to the abuse… I debated for a long time… this story kind of took a life of it’s own… I started the story with the idea to write a back story to a previous character… Sylvia from Purgatory… seemed pretty simple… I liked the character a lot from that story… I liked her attitude… I liked who she could have been… seeing how everyone in that story is dead already when we meet them… I wanted to do a sequel…
The original idea for Sylvia was to write out a “love story” where she explains what her scars are from to the main character of Purgatory… (Fun fact… I only kept writing that story because of her… Sylvia to me was the thread that held that early story together for me…) but I don’t do love stories very well… and I wasn’t sure how she had gotten her scars… In the original story she never says… she hides them when ever she can… spark… “why?”… and the more I thought about it… the more it became the story above… Of course when I came up for air I found myself someplace very far from a “love story”…
The first couple of drafts had way more detail… way more things that didn’t need to be said… and I’m not afraid to say certain things… I’ve got stories toprove it… but this one seemed different… though this didn’t happen to me personally… it felt personal… which made this one that much harder to write… as an observer it is always easier to write something when you are not attached to the subject… I of course didn’t want anything to ever happen to Sylvia… I don’t want anything to happen to anyone… and sadly these things do… So I didn’t want to just file it away and pretend like these things don’t happen… That these things could never happen…
Sometimes the hardest things to say are the ones that need to be said the most…
It itches and it burns It’s cracked and it’s torn The nails rip flesh from bone I want more, I want more I want one more To live and to die Living and leaving one vice At a time You’re young and it’s new You’re old and it gets old The damage is done But the fun has just begun To live and to die Only to sit and wonder why Do you do this to yourself Because it itches and it burns It’s cracked and it’s torn The nails keep digging But the addiction just keeps going
Spinning in place Death should be the end But what if What if it is not Grinding into dust Dancing against everything That should have been Ash to ash Was all there was ever meant to be But what if What if all of this was for nothing Bending to a breaking point Snapped in half, left for dead Begged and pleaded They pick against my skin Taking flesh for flesh Bone for bone But what if What if that was how it was meant to be?
Trying to Define a Useless Existence
Sticking needles to fit in Each one sticking out of the skin Fucked up and chill What’s the idea without a plan An episodic dream played out The arc didn’t work out Time to move on A bridge built between you and me Each letter spells out a different thought The neon sign wasn’t for effect A warning that glows against the night sky Sin, love, live and fucking forget Thoughts and opinions don’t matter Trapped in your head Screaming broken sentences Could you ever, would you please Believe in me? Not asking anymore Simply begging for all of this love and admiration Not the way it was Only the way it has always been Special but as it turns out, not at all Better than you, turns out not at all Full of shit and finally we circle the same corpse Being honest with myself Taking in all the truth Nothing is worth anything So what the fuck do I do with my day? Depression creeping in? “No” Life checking in? “No” Cracking open my own brain? “Yes” Punishing myself? Pushing? What’s the difference? Breaking down the ideas of everything Trying to define a useless existence Still searching for definitions
One of these was supposed to be a broken thought… finished the thought… which one doesn’t matter… The title for today’s post is from an epic band called… Brown Bird… song is called Cast No Shadow… New cycle starts Jan 2… I’ll be seeing you real soon…
You’d walk through broken glass Just to get away from me You’re such a tortured soul Getting all that you deserve Starting to believe I’m addicted to pain All that you seem to provide for me Heart broken, empty This is all that you left me Sowing the words into my skin
You’d eat broken glass To get away from me You’re such a tortured soul Getting all that you deserve I do believe I’m addicted to this pain All that you provide for me Obsolete, hollow This is all that you left me Stitching these wounds closed
You’d shit glass Just to get away from me You’re such a tortured soul Getting what I deserve Embracing this addiction for what its worth Excepting everything you provide me Standing, walking away This is all that you left me Burning these words into my skin Over the scars, Over the stitches
Knowing there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do To get away from me Is enough to know you were never worth My love in the first place
You’d like to watch me fall apart Full of shit, could anyone tell the difference Thought I could once But what is it about you I really know A stranger in familiar skin The silence in my head speaks volumes Need another drink to remember All the shit you’ve told me Loving me must have been the hardest thing Can’t stop leaving me For what I’m worth You’d never say Wasting away I’d love you through hell Each and every day Am I the solution or the problem? Don’t be the only person who would stay Just to say they never loved me Wasting away Full of shit, could anyone see the difference This life isn’t worth living Either is the next Lost, stuck in this Don’t know what I want any more To live or die Wasting away Who in my life Hasn’t lied to me Trusting anyone seems like a burden Breathing has become the same Wasting away Don’t be another person in my life Just to say they loved me
Full disclosure… I stole these two lines… From a Stone Sour song called Orchids…
Don’t be the only person who would stay Just to say they never loved me
Except that I changed the last line part from “Left me” to loved me… Normally I don’t do this… but honestly I have been listening to this song so much in the last couple of months… and it is my favorite part of the song… Obviously though it has a flaw because he should have had the line be loved me or “Left me”… we can’t all be perfect…
I’m sure that I am going to take some heat for these two poems… and I wrote them awhile ago… when things were different… could have trashed them… forgot about them… but I didn’t… and I enjoy them enough to share the hurt I have felt over the last few months… because as much as it hurts to pick at the scabs… we are still going to pick at them… nothing is dead if we don’t let it rest… it is time to put these feelings to bed…
“I’m not feeling particularly violent today. I mean no one
was asking me to be. I just don’t feel it. Some days I can really feel it,” she
says with a smile. The smile washes away from her face, “But not today. No,
today I feel rather joyous and a bit vain. Callus is the word? No that is
something that happens to the skin. What is the word that I am trying to say?”
A silence fills the room as she stares at the wall. “Hey, do you want to know
something else about skin? Do you know what happens when direct heat is
applied? You know like fire.” Again she stares as she waits for an answer as
she waves butane torch in her hand wildly. “Stumped you huh? Well silly it
doesn’t just turn black. You know like with raw meat. No the skin bubbles
first. Bubbles and bubbles until the water trapped inside causes the epidermis
to explode.” She begins to laugh hysterically at the screams of her victim.
“Do you still think?” She screams into the victims face. “Do
you think?” She asked calmly as she grabs the victim’s hair. She takes the long
flowing hair and wraps it around her knuckles. She pulls the hair tight and
raises it above the girl’s head. “Do you think that the same thing will happen
with hair? Should we test my theory? Because I think. Well honestly I have no
idea what will happen. Do you?” She asks curiously. “Better yet,” she pulls the
handful of hair to the point of breaking, “Do you think that if I make you as
ugly as me. You’d want me then?” She presses her scared face into the other
girl’s face. Butane torch burning in the other hand. A look comes across her
face as she stares into the other girl’s eyes, “Yeah bitch I didn’t get these
scars sucking dick. I earned them. So let’s ask ourselves this simple question.
Do you think you could ever walk in my shoes for a day? One day. That’s all.”
She looks down at the victims shoes, “Because let’s face it those pumps look
amazing. What size are they anyway?”
She turns the fuel knob on the butane torch to off and
places it down on the carpeted floor. The girl only whimpers as tears flow down
her face. “Tell me are they Capezio? Is that still even a thing? Fashion really
isn’t my thing. I’m more or less into other things. Don’t get me wrong though.
I like to learn.” She walks over to the dresser and picks something up. Slowly
pacing back over to the girl holding something behind her back, “Do you mind if
I take a look at them? You know up close? I promise I won’t hurt them.” In one
rapid motion she lunges at the girl’s right foot with a hatchet in hand.
Swinging the hatchet at the girls shin. Slightly above the ankle. Over and over
again with everything she has the hatchet connects to flesh and bone. The room
fills with the sound of screaming, laughter, and hacked away flesh. Her face
sprayed with blood at every hack. Wave after wave of blood. The victim flails
her leg in pain the best she can against the restraints. The victim’s whole
body begins to convulse until it doesn’t.
She sits crossed legged on the floor staring at what is left of the girl’s foot. “Really don’t think these are so great after all. You know with all the blood on them and everything. Hey, are you still with me princess?” She asks her. She taps the girls left leg with the side of the hatchet. “I’m talking to you.” She slams the hatchet blade side down into the victim’s right thigh. The hatchet stands in place as she slaps the girl over and over, ‘I said that I’m talking to you.” She screams words of nothing with everything she has into the girl’s face. “That bitch is dead.” Sad she tosses the hacked off foot behind her. It lands on the bed with a soft thud as it bounces into the pillows. “We were just starting to have fun.” She says with a pouted face. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that. Stupid, stupid,” she hits herself on the side of the head over and over. Rubbing her knuckles against the scars. The smell of smoke slowly fills the room. She looks around confused until she sees the knocked over torch. Watching the trail of fire as it spreads to the bed. “Well fuck, Father isn’t going to like this.” Random limbs hang from the ceiling as the fire takes everything.