With thudding, laden steps, she heaved each door shut and bolted them; nothing left to flash before her eyes.

He relaxed against the doorframe, sighing into its sunlit depths; afraid to muddy it with his calloused hands.

She flung them all open, sunsets and sunrises cascading from each doorway; her laughter an immortal chime.

Slamming it shut, he fell to his knees, forehead pressed against the worn wood; some doors should remain closed.

His studious pacing counted the polished doors, opened and closed on command; never any dust to linger.

Tiptoe steps led her to starlit skies, ignoring doors creaking open at the corner of her eyes; don't look, don't remember.

He strolled, chuckling and patting each doorframe like an old friend on the back; a life lived he couldn't regret.

Prying the door open, hands bloodied and scarred, she stared into the void; embracing the pain that made her whole.

Flames licked at her heels, doors flaming and falling to ash revealing steel bones; no danger of rose colored glasses.

I'd never seen her as livid,

and terribly ticked off.

I couldn't even pretend that we

could pick up where we left off.

All my promises rang empty,

like my apologies.

I had said them far too many times;

begging her forgiveness, please.

So I gloated when she gave up

and admitted defeat.

She swore she'd never ask me again

to put down the toilet seat.

However, she knows my routine.

She knew when I'd stay long.

The very next time I had to sit,

the damn toilet seat was gone.

false crescendo of effervescent of youth bleed through the wall,

there has been unrelenting war fought between pensive sadness and something hollow over the highest level in hierarchy of pain.

i watch this universe-made hole in agony, understand the gravity,

but what’s really matter in the end?

early AM wasted winning nothing, reaching for more hands to hold

badly beaten somehow,

but feelings are still valid in this well-crafted bullshit with or without chemicals involved.

another meaningless sunrise

announces the absence of something new.

i flail around in the pile of broken pieces, shouting colours while everything's black.

what a disgusting pseudo optimist during the day

master the art of play pretend,

how much longer until i fall?

---Repeat---

#challenge #depression #mentalhealth #breakthestigma #life #surviving

Non-parity used to bring electric shocks 

to this house husband, who wrote the following, 

an earlier chapter of mine existence.

------------------------------------------------

natural temptation found command 

   from divine dada disobeyed

earthbound Olympian of love 

   now dwells amidst mossy glade

in which human guise, 

   she doled out secrets of amorous trade

into dreamland such desire does in vade.

victuals to satiate pleasures of flesh 

   especially erogenous zones

administered by imaginary mistress 

   sin seductive tones

thru this private line, but no other phones

triggering mine little rolling stones

inducing groin seams of pants extreme groans

toward pocket sixty nine without any bones.

a copious amount of adoration 

   suffuses entire body of this man

her, whose gentle and kind embrace 

   promises to be eternal plan

whose healthy libido will probably 

   outlive life span.

royal carpet treatment 

   awaits me each and every day

   as differences between myself 

   and august dweller on high

establish a bounty and glory of compassion 

   to roll in the hay

    atop bodacious, delicious, 

   felicitous fantasy asks me to lie

imbibing succulent atmosphere 

   akin to an eternal month o may

   taking spirit soaring 

   thousands of miles of feet in the sky.

upon hearing sweet nothings 

  nobody else can hear 

a sheer grin of joy 

   lights up countenance ear to ear

despite impish quarks 

   of this divine being so dear

as journey to inxs of nirvana 

   induced from being buck naked bare.

while playboy hallucination 

   at my male member does yank

reality quite the opposite with a wife acidly rank

she frequently pulls my hair as a childish prank

knowing full well that action 

   turns mood sour as a crank

I would escape, but no money in piggy bank.

other times, her karma roars 

   into a tempest with a rage

lashing out like a half-crazed 

   maniac loosed upon global stage

on account of silent battles we regularly wage.

i admit my own fair share of peculiar traits

which only to private confidences t'will now relate

keep on the q-t lest spouse doth berate.

chief among these oddities comprise

   lower gastrointestinal 

   perturbations issuing from the ass

which prompt innumerable outbursts of gas

which range from quiet puff to noisy, windy pass.

after usage of toilet with a bowel movement  

   large enough to sink a sub

wash rectal residue from my behind 

   with a hose attached to the tub.

this couple resembles Frankenstein & his bride – 

  argh what a pair

she taunts when i shower, 

   clean the rest of my body including  hair

dry follicles shaking head 

   back & forth side to side through the air.

there you now know foibles 

   and unusual personal ways

uttering that such antics how she plays

like netted in a one man fraternity 

   undergoing constant haze

pelting this poor soul scraps of food, she flays

until these covered 

   with thick pasty gloppy glaze,

now laugh till you fall over 

   and remain in stitches for days.

his world shattered like glass

and she picked up the pieces.

in the end,

they got nothing

but bleeding hands.

Pic: ©Laura Makabresku

the sun shines

over the ocean shore

so brightly, but she confines

herself to her dreary world

once more

she draws a line

in the sand

with the pain

that she’s swirled

time is not kind

it never was

and it won’t ever be

she has aged

like fine wine

without qualm and pause

though, she’s dying to flee

when the wave gently kisses her feet

and washes the line away

like an irresistible temptation

confinement is now obsolete

so is her dismay

in the gust of old emotion;

she’d once walked away

lost in a fool’s paradise

but there will be no twice

as the ocean calls her

like an old lover

yearning to be rediscovered

ere the horizon line gets blurred

she will sail away

catch her light

with all her might

and let the ocean takes her

with all its might.

#solitude #loss #heal #lifeafterdeath #ocean #former

It is sewn into the fabric which built this nation.

Lives dangling from damaged and tangled thread,

Unable to break free.

While privilege shouts “free yourselves”

But the more they try,

The farther they fall,

The tighter the strings,

And the louder privileged screams.

You don't see anything,

But red, white, and blue.

And when those who are hurting tell you you're wrong,

You wrap that flag

Around your head

And sing the national anthem

Because reciting,

Is easier than thinking,

Easier than seeing,

Easier than hearing.

You don't care.

It's not your father,

Your brother,

Your family.

It's them.

They.

Not us.

You're too good for it.

You support America.

You support the veterans.

But when America and the veterans show you otherwise,

You turn to the president.

Because he's trust worthy, right?

(Wrong.)

It's happened for forever-

The pyramid white at the top-

(You said it was sun-bleached)

But really, you built it that way.

Because you had the resources.

You had the opportunities.

You didn't have a power group oppressing your every step, breath, and heartbeat.

Yet when we called you out,

You told us we were irrational.

That we had no proof.

Fed by the media to think a certain way.

But when every fact, every account, person who's witnessed this tells you otherwise,

We're just not makin' it great.

We're just fake, insignificant.

We told you we couldn't breathe.

Yet still you suffocated our thoughts.

After all, when you build yourself at the top,

Why would you help anyone at the bottom?