28 Sunday Jul 2019
I used to say
My memories
Were like razor blades
Inside my veins
They hurt
To rip them out
But they hurt more
To leave them in
But what happens
When the words
To pull them out
No longer heal
What happens
When every mask
Becomes too heavy
To even wear
These things inside
They often hurt
The boxes I keep them in
Are too many to count
So tell me
Someone please
What happens
When I’ve nothing left
14 Friday Oct 2016
Close my eyes
Be elsewhere
Anywhere other
Than in this dark
And dusty room
This isn’t my body
Not in this moment
I’m far away
At least for now
There’ll be time later
To be back here
Nightmares
And dark
Lost angry memories
Those will be the times
I’m back in this fucking room
But for now
I’m somewhere under
A deep blue sky
Not trapped
In this dark
And dusty room
12 Wednesday Oct 2016
10 Sunday May 2015
14 Sunday Dec 2014
That corner
It offered no shelter
No protection
From what you knew
Was soon to come
That corner
Listened to your tales
It never judged
It knew the secrets
That no one knew
That corner
You haven’t seen
In so very long
But still see in nightmares
Far too often
That corner
With its scratches
(Your scratches)
And it’s tear stained paint
(Your tears)
That corner
In that dark
And dusty room
How after a while
It felt like home
22 Monday Sep 2014
As a child
Some of my scars
Had names
I held onto them
To the point
Of self destruction
Some of those names
I held onto
Until I was an adult
When I went back
And remind those names
Of the things they did
There were times
That I left scars
On those
That scarred me
Call me a monster
But it felt good
16 Tuesday Sep 2014
Tags
Gently she cried
I never knew why
I just held her
Until her tears
Had dried
I never knew her name
She never knew mine
Our stories
Unknown to each other
But forever
Intertwined
This is an odd but true story. About 15 years ago I got on the metro riding home after working very late one evening.
The train was almost empty when I got on, but there was a woman sitting near the door with her head bowed down. I remember she was probably in her late 30’s, early 40’s, dark hair about shoulder length.
That was all I could tell because her head was bowed down. At first I thought she was sleeping, but after a stop or so, I noticed she was softly crying.
I don’t know why I did it, but I switched seats to sit next to her. She never looked up, I never saw her face. I leaned next to her and slid my arm around her shoulder.
In retrospect, I’m surprised she didn’t react violently… a giant 6’3 man in his mid twenties sitting down next to her putting his arm around her. We’re I in her shoes I think I might have.
But she didn’t. She leaned into me, head on my shoulder and cried.
I missed my stop, but knew I couldn’t move, so I just sat. For several stops she cried, but at some point she stopped. She still didn’t move, she just sat there. And so I sat there, not moving a muscle.
We never said a word until one of the stops she stood up, and muttered thank you without ever looking at me and she left the train. I didn’t respond. To this day I can’t remember why not. Whether I was stunned, afraid to break some spell, or simply lost in the moment, I still don’t know.
I could have gotten off, I still needed to switch trains to back tack, but I didn’t. I sat there almost stunned.
Some times I regret not speaking, not finding out more. But usually not. There is something almost spiritual about that event.
I still think about that night sometimes. Wondering what her story was. Wondering if she wonders what mine was.
It’s interesting how our lives intersect; sometimes violently, sometimes gently, almost imperceptibly.
01 Monday Sep 2014
It’s getting harder to remember
What you looked like
I’m scared
That once I forget
You’ll be gone for good
Why is it
That the memories I want
Seem to fade away
And the memories I hate
Seem burned in, here to stay
Too many memories
More bad than good
And I wish I could pick
The ones to keep
And the ones to lose
I swear I try to keep you close
But when I close my eyes
I can’t see your eyes anymore
Please don’t leave me
Not again
23 Saturday Aug 2014
Tags
Night is always a paradox for me. The day is filled with masks, I’m never me. The night is the only time I feel close, but not exactly, myself.
But the night is also when the nightmares come out. Demons and monsters from my past, my self included, terrorizing me. Flesh ripped from bone, and skulls crushed with stone.
I’ve had nightmares for as long as I can remember. Certainly I’ve had trauma in my life, terrible things no one should have to suffer, and they all play parts in my nightmares now, but my nightmares started even before then, when I was 3.
I’ve never told anyone exactly what those dreams were, and I expect I never will. To be honest, it would probably seem silly now, but to a 3 year old, it was terrifying.
Maybe I was wired wrong from the beginning. Who knows. Hell, if I go more than a week without them I feel… off. As if something is missing. They have become, no, they have always been a part of me.
Still, I hate them. I nightmare more nights than I don’t, and over the years have resisted sleep more and more. The only time I get to sleep peacefully is when I’m drunk, or when the sun is out, as if it were a Devine flashlight scaring the demons away.
So… The night. The only time I feel something close to the real me, but also the time that my demons get to feast on me. I sometimes wonder what happens when there is nothing left of me for them to devour.
The paradox of the night. My savior, my prison. My paradox.
30 Wednesday Apr 2014
He led me down the hall
Past the door with the lock
I would see it soon
That dark and dusty room
This is where monsters
Made other monsters
In that dark and dusty room
I was told to trust
But learned not to
In that dark and dusty room
Something was lost
Never to be found again
In that dark and dusty room
The walls screamed silently
Telling tales of sins and sinners
But no one hears the screams
In that dark and dusty room
I learned how to turn it off
And be someone else
Those cries weren’t mine
In that dark and dusty room
Wounded Memories 