Sordid End

“One hand on this wily comet

Take a drink just to give me some weight

Some uber-man I’d make

I’m barely a vapor.”

I am invisible. Vacant. I am the loch apparition of a girl who left long ago. I am moving. I am cemented. I am unable to break the surface tension of the murky water. It pushes down on me, grabs at my throat with its vehement vice. I feel my senses fade one-by-one as I am compelled into despair’s deep slumber. I want to run, I hunger to break free, but these chains remained locked around my ankles, embracing them with their sweet, addictive fangs imbibing blood from my delicate skin. I crave the debauched remedies.

“They shone a chlorine light on

A host of individual sins

Let’s carve my aging face off

Fetch us a knife

Start with my eyes

Down so the lines

Form a grimacing smile.”

I laugh at the name of suffering. ‘For weak I am not, as I have lived through death-laced years. Look at me, inspect me with your eyes, run your fingers down my spine and across my trembling lips. You are a stranger and I am an unwritten letter on your grandmother’s old stationary, locked away and ancient, but I will never search. Alone I have been and will be, until some stranger appears. I am here! I am breathing! I am a corpse. Gather your hatchet and rearrange my mangled soul. Take the ashes and blow them like dust with your ignorantly divine lips. Throw away all the makeup, shove the lipstick in the drawer, because I grab the blade every morning to carve my guise for the eyes of the world.

“Close your eyes to corral a virtue

Is this fooling anyone else?

Never worked so long and hard

To cement a failure.

We can blow on our thumbs and posture

But the lonely are such delicate things,

The wind from a wasp could blow them

Into the sea

With stones on their feet

Lost to the light and the loving we need.”

Every night I dream of blackness. I float in unconsciousness upon my bed of thorns—I am at peace. I ponder the day, I review the answers, and I wonder why they believe. Am I failing at the façade I worked so hard to construct? I fabricated it, slaved for it, I have become it. I am a walking masquerade. I am made of stone, I am unbreakable; though, touch my arm, give it the slightest brush, and disintegrate will I into a million tiny pieces and let the dust blow away.

“Still to come

The worst part and you know it

There is a numbness

In your heart and it’s growing.

With burnt sage and a forest of bygones

I click my heels

Get the devils in line

A list of things I could lay the blame on

Might give me a way out.”

The release that it has on me, the numbness that sets in, how can I let go of that and jump into the fog? The Voice is my comfort. The sick screams of death, of worthlessness, of failure—I have coddled them all my life. I can run, I can hide, I can speak what’s on my mind. I can meditate my decaying body and speak to ones who are there to help.  But, no matter the weather, the day, or the heroine I summon, I will never escape what It has engraved unto my soul.

“But with each turn,

It’s this front and center

Like a dart stuck square in your eye

Every post you can hitch your faith on

Is a pie in the sky

Chock full of lies

A tool we devise

To make sinking stones fly.”

Everything within my grasp has slowly slipped away. The girl that was has never been here before. I hear a voice not my own. I collect pages of hope to bring out in my deepest nights, in faith that maybe I will find my way out. This tactic has failed me one-too-many nights, however, so I burned the last one today. Every word of light is a sick reminder of something I will never obtain. It’s mendacities  anger me. I am in charge of my life, of my death. If I cannot seem to make myself better, then there’s not much to do is there?

Not everyone tells all their secrets.

*(lyrics courtesy of The Shins)

~ by candyshele1204 on April 8, 2012.