The Death Of A Living Corpse

Sharp, twisted, gnarled fingers pointing up from their grave like skeletons

 

buried alive. They point from empty sockets glaringly without eye balls, clang and make a hollow. rattling noise. As if they were not here in the cemetery but above from the crumbling yellow ceiling.

They want to attack me, anything of me, worming their way into my brain and every patch of skin. This is how you make me feel, you get to me like no one else. You always had that capacity you just covered it up with charm. But not from me, fire ants slip under my skin, itching, burning, scattering.

The throngs of white rodents biting wire, wood, any material to get free, gnawing every which way to go even deeper under the once soft layers of my skin.

All of a sudden you have turned on me, licking your lips. I am the one who is hateful, crazy, contradictory? You are telling ME that? My fingers and toes are burning with fire, a fire that has gotten out of hand. It has spread to every limb, every DNA molecule.

I see from afar my hair is in red-orange flames. No, I didn’t put myself on fire playing with matches, this is arson; a talent you have always had without a shadow of a doubt. You play with fire often, I used to blow out the evidence for you but not anymore.Never again.

I am no longer the one who will protect you when you are lit up like a Christmas tree,

English: A Christmas Tree at Home

lights wrapped around your head. At those times you were so kind to me, warm, streaking through the streets, waiting for your get-away car. But, only then.

I will not help you anymore,  I took care of you all my life, I had no teenage years, went straight from childhood to adulthood without even a whisper of gratitude, just attitude.

Leave me alone now. Don’t talk to me in your premeditated voice that has struck other people  before. Of course I am not innocent either, but mine is not planned like yours, wrong yes, but not premeditated. You are a poisonous snake that has struck again; one of your dear friends spent years in therapy because of you. I was loyal to you, defended you.You tossed her out of your life like she was the rotting garbage in the smelly city streets that had not just collected after a long brutal summer weekend.

You don’t think about anyone’s feelings, you blurt things out because the only feelings that matter to you are your own. Let others clean up your messes.You have no filter, no filter, no filter.

I will be polite, in front of others but I will not allow you to talk like that to me again. .You have gone too far. For years I have wanted to get you out of my life, why live with such abuse and negativity and drama? But, you, persevered and I let you. Stupid me, I wanted peace.

You may be charming to others, outsiders. but you are not loveable. You have no interest in old friends? What are you hiding? People have asked me what was behind that and I gave no explanation but it is odd. Sectioning off people like little girls with their sweet smiling sections of hair.

This fire cannot be put out, you went too far. I will hurt nobody on purpose but again, that was on your agenda, not mine. I don’t care why, I care that I no longer stay in this imitation of a relationship with you.

Of course, I can play the game too, but not for you. Never for you. For the only person that matters.  I gave and gave to you and what did I get back? Nothing, nothing that wasn’t engineered for you. You were never my friend, but I never expected that. Friendships share trust.

I have nothing else to give you, you have built yourself a trap, it’s only time that will keep you from drowning in it. I will no longer rescue you from it.  It’s only a matter of time, I’m the keeper of secrets. I won’t say a single word.

Singing background vocals, every single time? But, then again, I expected nothing more. You were always mean-spirited, a dark shadow, why would I ever think you would be fair?

 

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Haiku Horizons, Store

Little brown squirrel

Storing emotions away

As he does with nuts.

**********************************************************************************************************************
Red, dreaded fear, fire
Store front explodes, child inside
Rescue my baby…

*********************************************************************************************************************

FWF, Kellie Elmore. Fire.

 

 

HER

 

Everyone says that teenagers are moody.  I’m not. I’m depressed or nothing. My shrink says I’m in a “Clinical Depression” my parents say I’m very depressed. I don’t care what they call it, I just don’t want to live anymore.

I’m 15, I hate my life or well, I used to, now I just want to leave and not exist. I have no friends.

 

Her

Her (Photo credit: Forty Photographs)

 

Not that anyone would miss me, my parents just wanted to commit me to a crazy hospital and lock me up or drag me to church, every single day and night. My little brother, Billy, well he is okay, he’s five and to him I am,  everything, silly jerk. He didn’t think I was as crazy as a bat but what did he know, he still sucked his thumb.

 

I wasn’t the shrieking, breaking- glass bloody kind of crazy you see on television, or the raging mad screaming in the streets throwing knives and pulling out my gun, feeling ugly angry. Nope, It’s like I lived in the air. I existed, I blended in with the beige lockers in the middle school hallways. http://magicinthebackyard.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/campfire.gif?w=290&h=290&crop=1

My secret plan kept me going, it was the only thing I had looked forward to for over six months now. Today was November 11th, my favorite day and I knew where I would be  tonight. I knew where I would go tonight after dark. I had the place, I had the alibi, people didn’t care about me and I didn’t care about them anyway. I didn’t feel loved or hated. I didn’t feel anything at all. I read that’s the worst kind of crazy-bad or maybe it’s something my shrink said. I don’t remember.

She once said that if I could have cried, “released my inner emotions” maybe it would have been better but I had no inner emotions that I knew about, nothing that I was hiding, no conflict or cover-up, no tragic past. I felt nothing, bad or good, I didn’t complain and I didn’t want attention. I was just empty, all the time.

All I wanted was to go to sleep forever, and I loved playing with fire. I wanted to leave this world in a way that made me disappear for good. I wanted a quick death so months ago I stole a can of lighter fluid from the hardware store. My plan was to spray my clothes and jump, go poof up in flames.

The fire was still burning strongly, I opened the can of lighter fluid, smelled it and it made me cough. I hadn’t squirted it on my clothes yet. I walked closer to the fire, just a tiny bit. The long hem of the left leg of my jeans caught on fire as I edged closer accidentally but instead of jumping in all the way I instinctively fell to the ground and smothered the flames.

What the hell just happened?  I didn’t know, why did I do that? Why didn’t I just go into the fire as I had planned 1,000 times and burn to a crisp? Couldn’t I even get death right?  I really was a loser, I couldn’t even succeed in offing myself.

 

Ian's Big Boy BedI had been waiting all along for a sign WHEN to jump in. Could that have been the real sign? I told myself, that if I was supposed to die I would have. I wouldn’t have instinctively dropped like my old doll, Raggedy Ann, on the ground to get rid of the fire and save my life. THAT was the sign! I started feeling strongly about this. I moved away from the fire and after sitting there a while, I made sure the fire was out. I was not feeling happy but I was feeling something. It was a lot more than what I started out with.

 

I felt like I was in a daze, confused but I knew deep down I think that I wanted to live. I started walking up the hill, eating a granola bar that was in my pocket,to get to where I parked my car. I sat there for a few minutes.  I took a few deep breaths and drove home really slowly. Before I got to my room, I opened Billy’s door, he was wearing his favorite cowboy pajamas and yes, still sucking his thumb. I tiptoed over to him and ever so gently, kissed him on his head.

24-Hour Crisis Hotline – The Samaritans

samaritansnyc.org/24-hour-crisis-hotline/

  • The Samaritans of New York
     

    Samaritans 24-Hour Crisis Hotline (212) 673-3000. With the goal of helping people in distress and preventing suicide, Samaritans free, confidential.

  •  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plinky: What are your obsessions and why?

  • Hurricane Sandy 2012

    Hurricane Sandy 2012 (Photo credit: charliekwalker)

    We all have obsessions. What do you obsess about? Why? See all answers

  • My obsessions
  • Accidents. Terminal Illness. Plane Crashes. School shootings. Any type of shootings, 9/11 Again. Health and Safety Issues. Sickness. Explosions, Fires, Bombs. Natural Disasters, Nuclear Weapons…do you get the picture?Horrible things have happened before and seem to be happening at a rapid pace. I feel scared; I don’t let it stop me from doing things but sometimes inside me, I am a crouched, quivering child.Why?
    Because these are all random things; they are out of my control and most importantly, no one can tell me they are never going to happen again.If only…..The world has become a very, scary place.

Haiku Heights – Storm

Winter Storm 2009

Winter Storm 2009 (Photo credit: merfam)

Inside turmoil spins

I want a piece from two worlds

Red: Life. Gray: Shelter

*****

Ocean waves explode

I am insignificant

Take me over, please

*****

Red rage, fury, fire

bolting out the hostile door

releasing the storm.

*****

Ice cascades through snow

the beauty of pureness, white

black ice underneath

*****

Snow fighting ice, wind

Let’s huddle together now

to seek warmth, safety.

I’m On Fire In A Fibro Flare-Up

Campfire-flames

I’ve been working through the pain of Fibromyalgia for the last few months; today it caught up to me in a bad way. I couldn’t move, walk, take a baby step. Even when I sat down on my pale green modern sofa, my feet ached and throbbed and wouldn’t stop hurting. Drugs don’t seem to help me but sleep does. It’s only 7:00pm and I am forcing myself to stay awake even though I am lying down on my bed, stiff and unable to move. I need help to get out of bed, I am grateful for my husband who comes to my rescue. Very grateful.

I am yearning for sleep; to pull the extra blankets over my head and feel my body try to release its tension and pain. I’m hoping the pain will not wake me up tonight, will not tug at my shoulders or send stabbing pain up and down my legs. I need a night off from pain, just one night and then I will be ready to trudge through the pain again, like walking uphill through a windy snowstorm. It isn’t easy but if it has to be done, it’s sometimes possible.

Everything tonight is black and white, food, books, conversations, life. I am trying to relax my muscles but it is not working, maybe I am trying too hard. I am not sure I know what the word relaxation means anymore since my body feels like an overworked metal machine; I am the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, still searching for some oil.

After many years of believing in the magic oil, the magic pain relief, I have given up on believing in a possible cure. I don’t care about the naysayers either, I know what I feel, what many of my friends feel. Who wants to advertise or brag about pain? Not I.

I compliment myself on my attitude, still having a sense of humor, still looking forward to a piece of a chocolate chip loaf from a nearby restaurant. I have plans to watch Modern Family with my husband on-line to keep me up 26 minutes later before I beg for sleep. I accept what I can do and what I can’t do. There is a handicap rail for inside my new, deep bathtub. My daughter looked shocked, embarrassed: “Mom, please don’t tell me we are having handicapped bars in the upstairs bathroom.” “Yes” I said quietly but firmly. “Why?” her teenage self asked. “Because I need them, honey” I answered. She had the grace to turn away so I could not see her embarrassed and troubled blue eyes.

I need to use handicapped rails sometimes, like I also need tea with milk and honey in the winter and bright yellow daffodils in the springtime. All of these parts represent me, not just one. Like I need my morning coffee, now known as “a red-eye” a strong cup of coffee with a shot of espresso, it doesn’t define me but it is part of my routine in the morning. Fibromyalgia and my autoimmune disease, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis are just parts of me; the parts of me that suffers with chronic physical pain. I have to accept that but I do not have to let them define me.