Run wild

That was the motto

Of course it didn’t address

running wild

in the streets

and away from angry shopkeepers

and the police

and rival gangs

and betrayed friends

It all starts with a

run from responsibility,

evading reality

“Think you

can live like that?” father had said.

“Go ahead and try. C’mon, not

like you’re of any

use round here. Go!”

He went

and the years have passed and

he was never missed

But tonight he would return

with a couple of

friends

some rope

and a few sharp objects

A dim light was flickering in the kitchen

meaning the old man

would be at the table with a belly

heavy with drink

and a head light with fumes

So not much changed

"Well, let's go."

When you looked me in the eyes

There was no sparkle in your soul

I knew then, I know now.

You don’t look at me no more

You don’t love me any more

I knew then, I know now.

When you didn’t visit last night

When I slept all on my own

I knew then, I know now.

When Mako and Maya whimpered

When you didn't merge from your retreat

I knew then, I know now

When you didn’t return my calls

When you didn’t answer the door

I knew then, I know now

When you didn't leave a note

When you didn’t say goodbye

I knew then, I know now

I can’t seem to hold you close

I can’t seem to let you go

I knew then, I know now

You were never coming home.

Cold metal never solves anything,

The piercing eyes say as a hand

Gently rubs his leg and a voice

Begs him under the words spoken.

She didn’t know yet, but soon,

The world would finally hear them.

“Shame we have to do this.”

The words were cold and heavy.

The piece adjusted, his eyes squinted.

Shots rang out, then the sirens and tires

Simultaneously appeared from nowhere.

The cold metal was now hot lead,

And hot lead is often a problem solver.

My mind is a tidal wave of thoughts, roaring over the heavy roads until at last the engine dies. They trigger me like a gun without the bullet, observing my reaction, its damage insignificant to those around me. I am not wounded by sight, yet I feel crimson stains beneath my skin.

I am sad, I think. And yet I smile.

I am happy, I know. Yet saltwater slides over my cheeks.

Will the mind’s perplexities ever be understood as they intertwine and dig deeper into the pit of my subconscious? Thoughts hold blind control over me. I am merely the fallen apple in Newton’s theory, reacting to the forces around me. The cause of my actions reaches to my conscious, begs me to understand my own reactions.

Yet I falter in the maze of my mind. Forever I am a mystery to myself.

and my rivers overflow

swallowing your emotions

into this terbutaline

current, forcing you

to drink or drown

within them

They say sorrow floats

So I put mine in boats

And float it away –

Couldn’t bear it to stay.

You can’t drown sorrow though

As the records all show

If you drink to forget

You’ll remember it yet.

When I float it away

It will come back one day

Often worse than before

Beating down my mind’s door.

So there’s no other way

Face your sorrows today

Deal with each one by one

’Til your sorrows have gone

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gG5AdGWnVU

I posted this about 4 months ago, but it is appropriate for this challenge, I think.

People, animals

flowers and trees

all created equal

existing to grow to be

see them, hear them

feel them

gently close your eyes

and just sit still

there’s no need to travel

breathe deeply in and out

rest your body

leave your worries behind

escape for just for a while

listen to your heart's rhythm

hear the melody of your inner song

quiet meditation just for you

awaken your soul

cleanse your spirit

and sharpen your mind

unlock power you never imagined

discover who you are

what you really need

find yourself in life’s abyss

meditate

and fill your heart

with eternal bliss!

We sit, we type

some might even say

we writers sometimes write

Observation,

contemplation

about the world we share

often daunting and painful

it is what writers bare

Our words - albeit true

are not always dark and bleak

we writers sometimes write

of love and the hope we seek

Why we write

perhaps we are not sure

for a poets heart

is nothing less than pure

She wanted to write fiction. Fantasy, sci-fi...anything else. But all she could write was her truth. All that connected her to the world, to others, seemed to be her pain. That story about being a young girl, her mind so much more developed than her body, and her friend's father...touching her in ways that made her feel strange. Confused and hurt yet not hurting. Not at first, anyway. That was popular.

And then the story about the boy in high school. Who followed her to her afterschool babysitting job. Touching her in that same way, but rougher, more insistent. Who did things to her that she had learned about in health class. She told her mother, and her mother made her quit her job. The guilt and shame...it never went away. That story was popular also.

In fact, all the stories about her body being used, abused. Beaten and brutalized. All of those stories were popular. It hurt so much to write them. It was confusing how people enjoyed reading them. As if she hadn't lived them. As if they hadn't been real. And maybe, that was exactly the problem. Maybe it all sounded made-up. Like fiction. So people transformed her tragedy to her creativity in their minds.

But every word was real. And she lost the desire to feel. So she lost the desire to write. She couldn't write anything else...the only thing that wanted to be released was her sadness. Her emptiness. Her lonliness. Her desolation.

After a while, her tears stopped forming words. Her mind stopped trying to process the pain. But she kept living through story after story. When she was writing, the experience was like a bullet to the heart and the story...that was the exit wound. Once she stopped writing, she was still getting shot...but now there was no exit wound. They lived inside, infecting her. Brought her to the point of no return.

The last thing she ever wrote was her suicide note.

"With a heavy heart, we gather here today..."

I miss you

My door is ajar as

I feel your bitter absence.

With a cast of the die,

your shadows hide behind

radiant moon,

slapping spokes of the stars.

My hammer pounds

your transparent presence -

I try to touch

wisps of smoke in winter.

You are a ghostly stowaway

hanging onto my pants leg

as I fluff pillows

with dreams

of fleeting apparition.

I reach up

to feel your mist

and play the piano

of your soul

as your spirit

vacantly stares.

Stuck between floors,

I exist for what was -

your footprints wafting

just out of my sight.

I shiver forlornly

remembering

breaths of our past

as bare feet patter

down an empty hallway -

a wraith who can only offer

a cup of empty.

I miss you as my tears

fall into yesterday.

Plucking your tunes

from your absent sky

I vacuum away

my sorrows of our past

holding your hand

until you fall

into the deepest sleep.

Translucent winds’ dance,

bathing your skin.

I pray to hear your words,

I miss you, too!