Real?

Not even sunlight can banish the storms

The tempest that turns all it touches to what I abhor

Tributes of gold that flow from the trees;

Touching the sky to flame, to beauty

Nevertheless, my eyes protest

I do not see light. I do not see grace

A simple drive and what do I find?

Woman and child, together outside

God, they’re in agony!

Holding what’s left, someone’s final breaths

They weep, clad in flesh…

A blink and a jolt, I shudder

Reality returns?

This is not a vigil.

Just chores. Elbows deep in a bag of mulch.

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Relent

Can. I drift. Away. Someplace

Calling friends new and old

Disgrace

Can I float down every stairwell

Ever built, destroyed, or wrought to sell

Can I curl up inside my wretchedness

Among the thoughts that call me

Worthless

Can I give in to the pounding rain

That floods my brain and calls my name

Can I let it drown me again?

Who will stop me if I let them in?

Deed

I no longer crave the Roma-life

I want an end to my internal strife
I don’t want new colors, or feelings, or fear
I want something solid and safe, and real

I’m tired of thrills, of feeling these highs
The lows with which they are tangled are not worth the skies
I’m sick of the endless shrieking in my mind
I don’t want to be homeless, I want someone to

FIND


stop letting me wander. Give me a home. I’m tired of sorrow, the tragic-alone

Please someone convince me I’m sane
The world grows in volume
every
day

if I …….. this path I’ll be …. anyway

Christmas ramblings

Dark hands fetch

My sodden mind

Dark words fed

By sullen rhyme.

Alone and lost

Each numbed-up thought

Escapes to question me.

Who am i now?

What do I seek, entrapped

Here by my own

reality?

Alone and confused

The ripples elude

I cannot find

Their center.

Each frozen stream

Unsourced, unseen, it

Tangles up my path.

I speak aloud to

Air them out

Though not a word is meant.

How do I leave? Who should i keep?

Why fight this all again? If i could flee

And be somebody, then

Who & where would I be?

If any wish could be my life,

What then would it look like?

Seethe

I know. The ebb and flow

I am familiar with the highs and lows

Someday soon, my joy will resume

The grief will flee to allow me

To breathe.

I feel your heartbeat’s chaos

The fluttering thump of rest

It fills me with dread

Reminds me of death

My own uncertainties flooding my head.

I remember the times I didn’t know what to expect

Medical trauma and the ghost hands

I was just watching a tv show when I saw it. Somebody being lifted from a gurney onto a hospital bed. And suddenly I could feel it. So strongly. The memory of being lifted, just like that, onto an operating table. I think maybe I was supposed to already be asleep. I can feel the many pairs of hands; I felt weightless. I should’ve been asleep. It had been a while since the anesthesia slid into my veins, I think. My specific genetic mix means not all that stuff works the way it’s supposed to. Now I can’t stop feeling those hands. The light in my face. The mask over my mouth. The dim, sleepy feeling coupled with knowing I was completely helpless and at the mercy of strangers. I can feel it like it was yesterday, but it was almost a decade ago.

Where did I go? And did I come back all the way? Part of me was missing when I woke up… or was that a different surgery? They start to blend together. They’ve cut parts of me away many times. The hands have come for me more than once. I wonder if I dream of them, the way I dream of bodies in the road. I wonder if the death that stalks me in my sleep is because my body will not heal and so my mind is eternally fractured. Do you have nightmares? Do you dream of vomiting blood, because some of your earliest memories are of capillaries bursting throughout your body? Can you still taste it in your mouth? Do you confuse the taste of salt, steel, blood, and spinal fluid sometimes?

What have I done with the time I’ve been given? I sleep and relive the nightmares I survived. I revisit the blank rooms, the unknown hands lifting me effortlessly. I dream of death waiting for everyone I love. Because I fear for them after I am gone? Because I know that to live must eventually mean to die?

I feel alone. Does anybody understand this prison in my mind? It was constructed to protect me from all the stunning blows that used to knock me off my feet. But no, they can’t knock me down anymore, because I never take my hands off the rails. I cannot love or live because I am always braced to be struck, hands clenched firmly around the guard-rails… waiting for the next earthquake to come. Is this who I am now? The waiter? The expectant-of-more-pain? Why am I in this fog of nothing? Where do I belong?

It is not in the blank room with the effortless hands lifting me away. No, it is in the sunlight and the stars. The wind and waves. I belong in the day time, under the skies, with the breeze chasing my hair. I belong to the day, one day at a time, each day, not the eternal wait. I do not belong to the shadow-dreams that try to convince me I am not real, my pain is not real. I do not belong to the eyes that see only youth and forget all that I have endured. I do not belong to the shiver of cold that licks down my spine whenever some facet of reality suggests more lifting hands in my future.

I do not belong to the hospital bed, or on the operating table. The sleep-givers do not belong in my veins, and the quiet places of the ward do not own me. I am real. I am real. My past is real. My future is far more solid than the phantom hands that keep dragging at my skin. I shake them off and continue to breathe. Nothing can own me but the Star-keeper, whose hands do not need any assistance to lift me.

I am free.