Skip to main content

In a Mood

I knew you had the blade when I turned my back on you
the straight razor with the pearl handle, stolen from your grandfather's old shaving kit
I knew you were behind me, knew you were not going to let me walk out
and when I felt the cold steel whisper on my throat,
I knew this was the way it had to be:
your breath, hot in my ear, saying
I love you.

So I'm in a mood.  I am filled with anger, and when I am, this is what comes out.

In the white room, there is silence, solitude 
When I cut my wrists, words pour out, black and white, seething, choking
filling the space, building a new world, 
one in which I am not welcome

I live a good life.  Solid, responsible. Why, then, this fire inside? Why is my head filled with these terrible images?

I feed the pages to the flames, one by one, 
the lives I created burning to ash,
I can hear them cry out
page after page, burning cities consumed by fire
I will never be free, will never be empty
I will never be alone

I have insurance.  I have a reasonable mortgage.  I have a station wagon that I drive, every morning, on a very reasonable commute.  I have a loving family and a stable relationship.

When the ghosts come, they tear me to pieces,
take everything, leaving only empty memories,
a husk that can walk and say the right things
They return to the darkness, laughing
The hollow vessel walks into the future

I have done everything right, have achieved everything I have ever dreamed, received every gift, had every prayer answered, and somehow this has filled me with rage. 

Stability is a chain.  A blessing.  A curse.

Still Writing,

RP

4-22-16


It has been a long time since I have written anything interesting, and I have been feeling bottled up.  I decided to purge some words and this is what I got.  I don't know what it is or what it means, but it isn't boring, so there's that.

I'm fine by the way.  Really.  It might say something about my writing that I have to constantly reassure people that I am OK, and not considering something unthinkable, but I promise you I am fine.  Maybe out there is someone that isn't, though, and maybe they will read this and feel less alone.  Maybe.

Cheers. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fighting for Clarity

There's this to be said about fighting: while you're doing it, you don't have room in your head for anything else, not your busted ass car or your worries about your family, not the leak under your bathroom sink, or how you're going to pay your bills.  There's only breathe one two, step out of range, shift off the center line, move breathe one three two slip the jab level change three to the body check the low kick counter one two...  it is a better escape than most, and I've tried most of them, believe me. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I get humbled and beat up at every session, I don't understand why I even go. I'm feeling defeated; everything is so fucking hard for me, and I don't know why I'm doing it. I should just quit, right? Fuck you.  I'll show you motherfuckers what I am capable of. I'll show you-  And then I go and I try and my knees give and I get pummeled and twisted and what the fuck man how humble do I

#FFF

So as many of you must know, November is National Novel Writing Month and writers everywhere get all wound up and try to knock out a novel in a month.  It is abbreviated as NaNoWriMo or something stupid, presumably an event created by and intended for writers and that's the best thing that they could come up with?  The world's most garbage portmanteau?  Writing circles generally call it Nano, which is only marginally better, but at least its shorter.  I never do it because November is a terrible month to attempt to do anything other than watch football and dream of turkey and mashed potatoes and whatnot.  Who has time to sit down at the keys in November? I don't know about y'all, but I haven't been able to do jack shit creatively in the last year, what with the pandemic and the election and protests and civil unrest and the many and varied other goddamn attacks on my peace and sanity and holy shit it was all I could do to hold it together and not run screaming out o

We Would Be a Song

I seem to define my life with soundtracks, playlists that encompass epochs or periods of change or development.  My earliest music was my mother's: Van Halen and Judas Priest, Def Leppard and AC/DC.  I remember a friend of hers explaining to second grade Ralph that the big balls that Angus was singing about were parties, but even then I didn't buy it.  My teen years were heavy on grunge, Nirvana and Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, and that was the first time that music ever felt like it was mine , that I discovered by myself or through the radio, or like minded friends, that was the first time that I took it and owned it and loved it, and even now I'll hear Black Hole Sun or Rooster or Smells Like Teen Spirit on the radio and back I go. In the fifth grade, I moved to Kelso, Washington. I want to say that it was hard, but what I remember mostly from childhood is just this sense of taking every day as it arrived.  What else do we have except our own experiences to measure th