Burial on the Presidio Banks
I remember a time where the only thing that consumed my thoughts was death… that I should die, be slain by some tragic misfortune — the sapling of an oak, cut short far from its time; long before it was ever given the chance to blossom and grow into a mighty figure, lifting its limbs high into the sky, stretching its leaves wide… well, oaks don’t have wide leaves but that’s beside the point.
I’ve come a long way since those days. I don’t wish such a fate upon myself anymore… I want to live, to love, to see the world, to marry and have children, to teach them and give them wonderful lives and be a wonderful parent, avoiding the same mistakes my parents made with me…
After I came to the conclusion I wouldn’t kill myself, I began to wonder, in those tortuous, scarring moments, how much more my mind could take. When would I break? When would I lose myself to the bitterness and anger which flowed in place of blood through my veins?
Again I wished for death. Not for myself, but for those around me… no, it wasn’t death I wished for, it was pain. I wanted them to know just how they made me feel… How else, though could I grant them this understanding? I figured I’d have to do something drastic, impulsive, in a frenzied state of mind when sanity had lost its value. I wanted so badly to lash out, to let the red in my vision be all there was between these hands which thirsted for blood and them…
Then years passed. Things got better.
But we humans, we never truly forget, do we? I still feel this beast, caged, tombed beneath the sands of my past.
But don’t worry. Every now and then it just likes to rattle its cage a bit… those bars will hold.
That doesn’t explain this useless rant. My apologies… goodbye.
Suspended in a Sunbeam
Sometimes I find myself lost in these moments, thinking about my life. Not about anything in particular, just… my life.
So often we view our lives as fragile and meaningless. We see ourselves as temporal… impermanent, finite beings with little purpose outside of sustaining ourselves and those our minds have connected us to. “Why are we here? What good are we,” we ask ourselves, “that we should be gifted — or perhaps cursed — with the burden of life?”
It is moments such as these that I find myself on the outside, looking in. I feel as though I can see the stage of the earth as it twists upon its axis and dances within its orbit. The actors which populate this theater are us members of the human race. God sits in place of the sun, watching the dramatic improvisation unfold.
I see the strings of each man and woman, connected not the hands of some demented puppeteer, but to each other. For a moment I can see every action and every reaction caused by the pushing and pulling — the tightening and loosing — of each of these strings. I watch downwards to see these billions of actors sitting upon this crowded stage as they bump and struggle to stay on, to reach the center, to climb to the top, knocking and bumping fellow men and women off this stage as each presses inward. I look within and I see myself, fighting this same fight, still holding my own. Still hanging on, sometimes by several threads. Sometimes by just one.
I reach down and scream a voiceless cry to myself, beckoning that my body should join my mind here in the audience. We could watch together, in peace.
I weep for my own blood. I feel as though it is trapped within me. I must release it from its tomb, lest it wither away and speak to me no more.
I want to cut. But, I can’t. I still find occasions to wear clothes with short sleeves.
I am too controlled by the opinions of my peers… far too controlled. Perhaps contained is a more appropriate word…
…I’m not sick anymore. Except for this cough and the grossness in my throat. Ick.
I can’t believe I cheated on the one I love…
The Beast
An old poem I wrote. 2002 or 2003, I believe…?
Just as one and one is two,
And two fives equal ten,
Between us churns the war machine
That feeds upon the dead.
Mechanical and lifeless grind
The gears, once were a soul,
Now calloused, cracked, and petrified,
Emotionless and cold.
This stigma and what lies behind
These vengeful eyes of mine
Have lingered far beyond the care
Of all of mortal kind.
And so I sell my soul once more
To feed the beast again;
To keep this hole I call a heart
Alive to thirst revenge.
I’ve never seen this side of sin;
The beast within the well,
Who’s willing, wanting, needing me
To usher you to hell.
Pull back the reins on your demise
Before she charges in
And all I’ve done is fed the wound,
The poison from within.
It’s killing, mutilating me…
It’s beating me… it’s burning me…
I curse these chains called common sense
That’s keeping me from hurting me.
I wish I may, I wish I might
On crimson-coated steel tonight
That someday we will meet again…
I’ll make my pain alright again…
I suppose those chains in the second to last verse couldn’t hold up forever… right?
