Well, okay then

I enter this with an I Love You

And that in itself may speak volumes

Who I am

Has not even an inkling of who I am

Who is to say I am no one else

Inside the impermanence of body

Belonging to nothing

Or belonging to you

Who

Is to say?

Not I

A shaft in all its glory

Is no way to

Name this pest

I wake

Girthy smile a'dribblin

Snailing trail upon my chest

I leave

I return

There it is again

Sigh...

(I love you...hehehe...)

Hang me out to die first

Now

Place me carefully

Between your favorite lines

The ones that remind you

Of me

For some reason or another

Paste me flat

Wreck my body

Watch me dry

Let me lie

And just

Forget

You

Ever

Put

Me

There

by @MilesNowhere & @AmandaCary

core pulse

- - - - - - >

140 BPM

exhale to breathe

white light

red eyes

feeding / feeling

...............it ALL

I stumble and....

thaw

flawed and raw

floored by

gravity's law

lost between space

somewhere......

thoughts won't go

at least......

they shouldn't

not in this place

not at such a pace

that beautiful face

keeping me bound

weight me down

<please>

hold me down

I kiss the ground

at your feet

I am

f a l l i n g ........

I do,

I flail and I fall 'til

The black bottoms through

Suspend in your call while

The Earth makes its rounds

And it opens

Bound at the base

But it flowers

A slow pry to a pop

In scarlets, in violets

All amber in hue

There is you

Wading in rhythms

That I never knew

Riding on riddles

That should never exist

Cradled taught in your fist

I play safe

In your fingers

I kiss the ground

At your feet

I am

f a l l i n g...........

core pulse

----------->

180 BPM

remember?

I dreamt you....

what sweet hell!

water

theres always water

a trickle etched

a half baked sketch

my mongrel masterpiece

of longing

from decay

it wasn't the dream

but the waking

lucidly shaking

in (meta) boots....

of rusted dead roots

the crippling

penance of years

now

breaking away

to dig this tree

I kiss the ground

at your feet

I am

f a l l i n g........

I do,

I remember the sound of your

Heart as it cracked

Under pressure

The static reining of voices

Erasing the fissure

A hard mend was our ferry

To prod us through

And I knew

In an instant

I knew it was you

I had waited

So I kneeled to the distance

A heed in its cue

I pulled stops

Peeled the plaster

Shredding cords to a master

And I watched as you splattered

For this

Splinter frayed edges

Pry fixtures

No more treats for the tricks

Shift your salt through an

Air wave

As you fell into flew

Onto me

Thank you

I kiss the ground

At your feet

I am

f a l l i n g.........

core pulse

----- --- -- -

your history

a page upon mine

into the carbon

of friendly fire

<pfft>

we claim the pyre

perhaps our flame

will mark our time

back to element

we find

our way

dancing as cinders

together alone

together as one

together in always

to the very end of things

where breath

returns to air

and life

returns as grace

to rest in that place

I kiss the ground

at your feet

I am

f a l l i n g...........

I do

Too

I won't catch you

We weren't made for a count

A fire built to braise numbers

Fasten time to a tilt

I will

Fall

With

You

Meld right into your wind

A surrender

My hook looping your skin

Anti-clockwise we'll fail

Twisting backward

For presence

For half-taken tocks

Ticking twice on the kisses

Crush these overturned rocks

Until everything

Stops

And our soul is left

Weightless

And our stitches give in

To our beating

To our One

Now not torn from within

We kiss the ground

At our feet

We have

fallen..........

I drink a cocktail of moonlight

But you see

I do not swallow

I breathe

The glow of that rock

It's remnants hushed

To a dust of humbled rays

Boasting the warmth

Of a million lights

Pulled by the touch

Of a blackened nothing

It crawls to the very corners of me

Into each and every crater that craves

To taste these memories of centuries

Traveled by the

Sun

Unknowing

And boiling in her own innocence

Her majesty all but aware

Of the weight she holds over

Countless souls

Who are one in the same

Once filtered through the teeth of time

Softened in broad strokes

And spilled graciously over us

Through this blessing of the

Moon

Nor am I

Christian

Catholic

Baptist

Church of Christ

Pentecostal

(Insert other Christian denominations here)

Buddhist

Hindu

Jain

Muslim

Fondu

Etcetera

Etcetera

Etcetera

I'm probably Agnostic, which I've been informed is the most cowardly and faithless of all belief systems, but I conform to nothing and refuse a label because I don't really care. I hate the very limiting term "belief system."

In turn, I suppose none of the above matters.

In my observation, to be atheist simply means to believe only what can be proven factually and scientifically or otherwise obviously.

I have total respect for that.

It doesn't mean putting faith in theories, as some would misunderstand and use to call flaw to the atheist "non-existent belief" belief system. It simply means understanding what has been proven, which also means understanding that even these things can (and inevitably will) change.

It means a surgeon is given thanks for his twelve-plus years of medical school when he saves your life.

It means exploration into the unknown and (theoretically) infinite universe.

It means questioning everything on the table that is deserving of interrogation.

It means half of the reason (probably more) that human beings in first world countries have the life expectancy that they have today.

It means that thunder is a result of lightening and not a result of an angry dude throwing bolts down from the sky.

It means, before we damn and shake fingers in the faces of all atheists, we may want to thank our lucky stars they exist or we might still be chanting prayers and bleeding ourselves out of fever instead of taking antibiotics.

It means not using an uppercase A when spelling the word "atheist."

And I have total respect for that.

    We spent our end side by side as we should have, but open to nothing, mapping our existence in your cynical glory and nicotine stained fingertips.  My eyes bright and naive in the beginning, drawn to your dark circles and fog and magnetized by what felt like a never-ending, beautiful melancholy of a-minor.

    The first time I found you hanging from the end of a noose, I lost all use of my legs.  I never told you that. Our child in my arms and too young to remember any of it, I dragged you down with one hand, screaming and cursing at you for doing such a horrible thing to yourself and your family.  You were angry with me, and I understood why soon after.  But I would never be the same.

    The pills were next, then your wrists, and after that I lost count of all of the threats, the plans, the attempts that never amounted to anything more than emergency calls.  I did begin a tally of psych visits, however, as my life became a sleight of prescription exchange after exchange.  My evenings turned from a sigh in a glass of blood red Cabernet to praying to God that it would not be the day that the rush hour traffic would keep me so long that you'd have time to finish before I got home.

    I learned when to speak and when not to, and I learned that it was best I didn't express any negativity around you in the event that my words would be the focus of your next attempt to kill yourself.  I knew they had been in the past, as you'd told me, and I began to pick away at all of the parts of me that allowed anything but a smile to peek through at you.

    I write you this, John, not because I want to make you feel guilty or ashamed.  I know you were sick, and I loved being by your side regardless of the circumstances behind what became an ever-watchful eye.  

    I write you this because I spent the last thirty-seven years of our marriage together in a cold well of silence, muffling my own voice in order to keep yours alive.  Every moment I breathed was for the one that you would tell me you were happy in our life together, in your life here, and you felt you had something worth living for.

    I write you this to bury with you because I am numb, and do not know how to grieve a loss that I've waited for over three decades to come.  

    I write you this because I gave myself into you to keep you from going out, but now you're gone.  Now you've left me - no goodbye, no kiss - having died of nothing more than heart failure in your sleep.

   So now I'm saying goodbye to you and your pain, and I will send it with you rightfully so that I may finally let my own take its place.

                                                                                                  Love Always,

                                                            Jane

Leaves fell to the ground that day

I could not see them hiding where they'd land

Beneath a fog, who was awake and waiting to scurry that trail

Behind me, to disguise my own toes from the air

I could feel them slide between the concrete and soles 

The tearing of tired skin from a brittle bone 

But I could not hear the crunch of their fingers

The trees were too loud with their shrieking and mourning

Having lost what they'd grown from sweet buds

Even knowing before their leaves spun into gravel 

That a racket could never save the end to it all 

They were always destined to fall that way

It was a gray day, but she waited nonetheless, counting aloud the lines on the sidewalk the same as she did every day. A gangly family of pigeons scuttled around her worn leather moccasins, as they always did, and she sat complacent and smiling on the same metal bench beneath the same dying oak tree. She was here every day at seven in the morning with nothing but the company of a cheap bag of birdseed, and I imagined she probably didn’t travel too far away at any given time.

I jogged this path religiously and always wondered if she’d noticed me as I’d noticed her. It seemed no one else who followed this trail paid any mind to her at all, but against the drab landscape of the city park, she stood out like a spotlight to me. Faded pink floral trousers and a tattered white Donald Duck tee were her mainstays, but today she wore a yellow crocheted beanie on her head, pulled all the way over her ears. Yesterday her hat was green, and I’ve even once seen it red with white stripes around the Christmas season. Her head was the only thing about her that ever changed.

Today I stopped. Today I said hello and gave her my name, but her expression didn’t budge. Her counting, however, ceased without a hitch as soon as I spoke. She continued to smile her nearly vacant smile and said, “Hello.  My name's Amanda.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” I wasn’t expecting a response, so, surprised, I could only reply in observation, “I see you here every day, ma’am.”

I can’t be certain why I decided to approach her. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps concern, but as I attempted to read what may or may not have been amusement at my disregard for well-mannered conversation on her face, I sure wished I’d taken the time to think of something thoughtful to say.

“I see you here every day, ma’am,” she replied, and the corners of her mouth rose towards her ears by only a hair. Yes, she was amused.

I didn’t have an intention of being rude, but I couldn’t help but study her. She sat silent, still gazing into the direction I’d come from, so it was easy to stare. Lines had formed in arcs where her mouth curved, as if she had been frozen into a grin for a lifetime. Crow’s feet tapered into soft, pale papery cheeks, and she was tiny, thin as a rail, smelling of peanut butter and mildew. She must have been at least eighty.

“M-may I sit for a moment with you,” I was hesitant for the split second before I asked, but I did so with a friendly nod of my own, and she answered, “May I sit for a moment with you?”

I made sure to seat myself close enough on the metal bench to feel amicable but not too close for comfort, and I attempted to carry on this seemingly one-sided conversation.

“So, are you from here - from Chicago?” She faithfully kept her sight locked on the tunnel I’d emerged from and repeated me once again, “So, are you from here - from Chicago?”

“Um, okay. Yeah, I am. Are you hungry? Would you like to get some breakfast together?” Somehow, her reply was easily predictable, “Um, okay. Yeah, I am. Are you hungry? Would you like to get some breakfast together?”

Obviously this woman was a little loose mentally, so I stood slowly and bent towards her, my palm open for hers. I thought I may as well take matters into my own hands.

“Yes, I am! I’m starving. There’s a little diner right around the -"

Before I could finish, she gripped tight to my wrist - wild, bloodshot eyes burned fervently into my own.  They danced with an ominous menace I'd never seen, and her smile was now wide and maniacal, filled with rotten brown teeth and reeking of decayed meat.

Her voice was different than before, something like a deep Creole accent shot from her putrid mouth as she continued to smirk, "Di'nt you Ma-Ma evuh tell you to don't talk to stranguhs, gal?  That how you get took!"

The "k"she cracked with her closing "took" annunciated a warning so vile that my head spun.  My heart stopped for just that moment, her cackle filled my air so thick I could not catch a breath.  I ripped my hand from her grasp, tripping backwards on my heels, and hit the pavement.  

Then I just ran. I ran away in the style of a campy horror movie victim, knowing I was doomed to something, somehow.  I couldn't hear her laughter as I fled back through the tunnel I'd entered by, but I didn't stop. I dug my feet into the concrete and pushed my knees into the light from the other side, racing for dear life.

But something wasn't right. My heart was screaming, and I couldn't breathe. A sharp stab tore through the back of my skull, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was having a stroke or something worse. My ribs cracked as if I'd never run a day in my life.  This didn't make sense.  I ran marathons on my goddamn period, for heaven's sake!

Heaving, I found the main road beyond the park's tunnel entrance. The little diner I wanted to bring her to sat with an inviting wooden bench out front, so I stumbled towards it for relief.

As I approached, the window caught a glimpse of her yellow beanie. She must have followed me somehow.  How the hell was she so fast?  

I twisted to catch her, aching left shoulder blade and crackling knees, heart still beating out of my head, but she was nowhere to be seen.  I must have imagined it.  

I collapsed onto the bench seat, slouching haggardly and dripping sweat, panting like a dog in heat.  It must have been the panic.  I couldn't understand what the hell about that old bag scared me so badly, but I'd never freaked out so hard in my life.

Suddenly, a faded floral pattern, pink roses and paisley came into focus as I sat nearly doubled over.  Wrinkled hands pocked in liver spots and mottled with bulging blue veins dangled between my thighs.  My thighs.  

I shot out of the bench and pulled myself to the diner window, searching for my reflection, but I couldn't find it.  What stood in that window was a wretched old witch wearing a Donald Duck tee and smirk straight from hell, mocking me.  A yellow beanie sat atop her head.  

I screamed for help, but no one heard.  I grabbed at passersby, but they took no notice of me.  I couldn't run any longer, I was too winded, so I just fell.  I knew I was sobbing, and I knew this was impossible, but touching my cheeks, there were no tears.  Only a smile that would not leave.  Only rotten teeth and the smell of my rank mouth penetrating my nostrils.

I had to get back to her.  She never left the park bench, and she was going to fix this.  I didn't know what was happening to me.  I didn't know if I was dreaming.  I didn't know who I even was, but this was not my body and those were not my fucking trousers.

The walk back to the park was a blur, probably faster than it felt, and my heart never had a chance to slow down.  The tunnel seemed a hundred miles long in my condition.  I was only twenty five, but I had become a corpse in waiting.

Finally, the bench was in view, but she was gone.  I was gone.  I wasn't even sure what I was expecting to find.  People everywhere, but no one that resembled me, and I was the only person here that was her.  No one heard me, no one saw me.  I was nothing.

Sitting on the bench was a bag of birdseed, so I joined it.  I waited for myself to return, to emerge from that tunnel at seven the next morning as I always did.  To find me sitting on this same old park bench, under this same dying oak tree.  I was here every morning, but I never came.  

********

It was a gray day, but she waited nonetheless, counting aloud the lines on the sidewalk the same as she did every day. A gangly family of pigeons scuttled around her worn leather moccasins, as they always did, and she sat complacent and smiling on the same metal bench beneath the same dying oak tree. She was here every day at seven in the morning with nothing but the company of a cheap bag of birdseed, and I imagined she probably didn’t travel too far away at any given time.

I don't know why, but I decided to say hello today, and I did.

"Hello, ma'am.  I'm Brady.  I see you here everyday, so I thought I should say hello."

She responded, "Hello, ma'am.  I'm Brady.  I see you here everyday, so I thought I should say hello."

A hound that bellows through the night

Wails a cry not wept to muffle

Her howls are only tried and trite

On the tame ear deaf to struggle

Let her sing her piercing call

Do not cease her tireless fret

Her story spirals far beyond your small

And narrow label, "just a pet"

Her eyes have shown a sorrow deep

Harrowing trials wandered through

It is for these reasons she may weep

This untold worry does accrue 

For this, she hollers into pines

A wood for miles behind your border

Her woeful scream will not resign 

Til she restores her family's order

The pain that feeds your hound dog's whine

The tale that fuels her howling

Began two weeks before the time

Your rubbish brought her prowling

She was only looking for a treat

To curb her famine and her pain

So seven children now could eat

Nurse teets and drink her milk again

She was drying to the will of nature

A starving dog without a bone

But she left those pups in way of danger

When she found your home 

And while she's grateful for your love

She only needs one hour of freedom

To find the babes she's speaking of

So that she may warm and feed them

In your fence, you jailed this hag

Good intentions were to salvage

You gave her name and bowl and tag

But left her pups to open ravage

Her bawls they answered for ten moons

Until a storm came from the skies

You scolded for those blinds she chewed

But she could not hear them from inside

And from that night, their whimpers ceased

Although she hopes to hear an echo

She will return with puppies from the trees

If for only an hour you will let go

She will race the hollows of the forest

And find their belly's growling

She will fill them full and make them nourished

Come home with babes no longer howling

But, you see...

She has not the heart to understand

Ten years have passed her bellows by

The hound cries for naught but bone and sand

A mother left in mourning til she dies