Lisbeth

Lisbeth sits on her mother's throne

All the riches of the world she owns

You'll have to kneel in front of her feet

Or else "off with her head" says she

...

Serve me quality

Serve me fakes

Serve me a head

On a golden plate

Give me jewels

Bone and tooth

I'm the privileged

You all lose

I'm the one who'll rule you all

Bow before me or I'll make you fall

Born this way, yes I was

Born into a world of love

Now, now, please don't cry

If you continue you will die

I can't ever fall from the old gum tree

I'm the best there is to be

I'm the highest of you all

The king sitting atop her golden wall

-----

Maya

Maya sits below the old gum tree

Forever the lowest worst is she

Never rise to the top of the tree

Forever scouring the ground for her feed

...

I wish to eat from a golden plate

Even if the food is fake

I want to become the well loved queen

And maybe even find my king

But whenever I try to climb the latter

The rest of them hiss at me

I can't ever rise to the highest branch

Though the highborn make it look easy

Lisbeth's the one who decides it all

Sitting on the top of her golden wall

Born this way, yes I am

Born into the lowly world of the damned

Now, now, scream your name

Maybe it'll be returned in same?

I can't ever climb up the old gum tree

I'm in the worst position there is to be

I'm forever the lowest of them all

Looking longingly at the golden wall

Who can win this game?

It's a game that doesn't have any set rules, only little fakes to "guide" you around.

It's a game that lasts almost forever. Your turn ends with your first life, and starts again when you're reborn.

What's this game, this competition between billions of people?

It's called life.

A war between yourself and the rest of humanity, between yourself and nature, between yourself and...well...yourself.

It's very unique, because this game has no set rules.

It dances a string around you and makes up all these silly little requirements, taking you for a fool and telling you what to do.

You can't play by those rules in life.

In the near future, there's going to be overpopulation problems. Why? Because we have defied the natural law of evolution and survival of the fittest.

There are no rules you have to obey in this game. As long as you win your turn, you're fine.

"This won't help you win the game of life!" my father used to say.

I just retorted, "I've already won it."

Sit back, relax, and let the fun flow.

I stand in front of the mirror, my hands gripping my cheeks and tears running down my face. "S-stop...stop...can't you see I'm dying?"

I suddenly withdraw my hands with a twitching movement and cackle loudly. "I'm dying, haha! I'm killing myself from the inside! Heeheehee!"

The demented sound reverberates through the small apartment, bouncing off the cold gray walls.

My hands return to my cheeks and I start sobbing again, in more pain. "Please, stop, get out, get out of me, stop this...!"

My hands start jerking uncontrollably and I scream, scream, keep screaming until the sound is abruptly cut off and my hands fall motionless to my sides. "Don't worry, darling self, it'll be over soon~" A sweet, hissing voice emerges out of my throat and I laugh through my tears.

Footsteps are at the door and I hear gunshots. "Where are you? Get out! Come out here!"

A mob of reapers, coming for me.

I laugh again and the shots come nearer. I slowly inhale, the breath rattling through my windpipe. "Goodbye, world~" the sweet voice says.

Then I return to myself and my world and scream again, desperate to get out, out, out from this madness and wake up and find myself in my bed with my blankets and pillows and perfume.

I blink, sobbing, and blink again, trying to escape, but no! the hissing voice is back and my arms twitch up to my hair, stroking it and braiding it while the gunshots are next door.

"I'm beautiful," I hiss, shedding my worn coat and slowly stepping into a red dress, pulling up over my breasts.

"Come out here!" the reapers yell as a bullet goes through the door. I collapse to the ground, screaming and crying and ripping at myself, blood everywhere. While they try to get the door open, I stand shakily and look in the mirror. My face is pale and distorted, my mouth stretching to my ears in a black moan of despair. My eyebrows have turned pointed and high, my eyes large with the bags looking like mascara running down my cheeks.

With one final scream of fear, despair, and horror, I fall to the ground as the bullet runs a clean path through my heart.

A reaper rushes to my side and pulls the bullet out along with my tortured, demented soul. He carefully sets me to the ground as my face returns to its original natural beauty and inspects the bullet closely.

"Demons of the soul," he says emotionlessly, adjusting his glasses. My lips curve into a final, peaceful smile as my haunted, used, torturous soul is disposed of, never to cause pain to anyone again.

______________________________________________________________

I'm going to have nightmares.

Picture (c) LightningStar, 2014

Today I will do absolutely nothing while I lay in the rain-drenched streets and listen to them argue over a hundred dollars and city tax and her say "it's not the damn fish market" and him say "it's not fair I'm your customer" and all the while his child me waits in the rain-drenched streets listening to their rude arguing and my heart pounding heavy.

______________________________________________________________

Milan, Italy, August 26th, 2015

misnomers.

contradictions.

euphemisms.

fucking-pathetic-isms.

yeah, maybe i have some fucked condition where my arms are always either on fire or as numb as my empathy.

yeah, maybe i live in a house where the only relevant dinner conversations vary between divorce and ambiguous cynicism.

yeah.

maybe sometimes i lie on my bedroom floor for hours.

but that’s not why i’ve run away.

that’s not why i’ve been AWOL for so long.

it isn’t because of sadness.

it isn’t because of self-loathing.

it isn’t even because the floor is comfortable as fuck.

it’s because

it’s because

i’m

apathetically

unconditionally

horribly

irrationally

inevitably

scared.

of what?

well,

maybe it’s because i happened to luck out

because i happened to write something that isn’t shit

scared that maybe it’s done.

i’ve hit top.

oh bottom!

i’ve hit you so much

i could call you a slut without even blinking.

but top?

fuck this is scary.

it’s scary being appreciated.

it’s scary having things expected of you.

it’s scary to not be useless.

fuck i must sound crazy spouting all of this

but i can’t help it.

i have words.

i do.

but me?

i’m just a person

just another guy

just human.

and i will admit to all of you

that yes!

I

AM

FUCKING

SCARED.

“Come here, come on.” A soft voice cooed. I poked my head around the large green dumpster.

Two hands held out a red container. “Come here.” The container waved back it back and forth.

My mouth watered as I smelled something sweet and salty. Waves of steam rose off skinny golden sticks. I crawled closer ignoring the urge to run and hide. Two large orange shoes stepped closer sending me flying back down the darkened alley.

I peeked around a bag of trash only to find golden sticks laying on white paper. I crawled closer to hot food my stomach yelled with excitement. Within seconds I had devoured what was on the paper. As I licked the salt off my lips, my eyes caught another pile of steaming yellow sticks. I ran towards them forgetting about danger. I had gone too long without food all I wanted was the warm salty sticks. I was licking the paper when the soft voice spoke again.

“Hey, look at this.”

This time I didn’t shy away instead I crept closer to the road. There was a line of yellow straws that led to an open car door. On the seat lay a large sandwich. Fear gripped me, but it was food, good hot food. Finally I couldn’t help myself I jumped on the seat and buried my face in the sandwich.

I wasn’t scared when the door slammed shut. I only looked up when the other side opened as a boy with shaggy brown hair slid in. The sandwich dropped out of my mouth as terror set in. I banged my body against the door trying to get out.

“Hey, there. It’s okay.” The car rumbled under my feet and I began to whimper. The sound of crinkling paper made me cower. “Hey, look. Look at this. I bet it’s better than what you’ve had to eat in a long time.”

My attention was drawn to his hand. There was the prize of all foods—a doughnut. I lunged, trying to grab the pastry out of his hand. He laughed and patted me on the head.

“Sit down. Sit. Good that’s it.” He set the white circle next time me, I dove in. “Hey, watch the fingers now.”

After a few minutes I sighed and slumped against the seat. For the first time in months my belly was full. I looked over at the boy who kept stealing glances at me. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warmth.

I woke up to strong hands gripping me. Fear over took me. I let out high pitched screeching sounds as I clawed and bit. This wasn’t right memories of the dark gripped me making me thrash more. The boy wrapped his arms around as he pulled me to his chest.

“Hey now, it’s okay. We’re home now.” He grunted when my teeth found his arm. He pushed open a door, blinding white light hit my eyes.

“Mom!” The boy called out. I shoved myself out of his arms. I landed on a hard white surface. I sat there for a moment until I heard footsteps. Footsteps usually meant bad things were going to happen. I scrambled to find a hiding spot. The floor was slippery like the ice on the pond in winter. I couldn’t get a grip on the ground. Finally I shoved myself in a corner my eyes darting around wildly.

“Mom!” He shouted again.

“What?” A tired voice responded.

“You have to come to the kitchen.” The boy was facing me, his legs spread wide and arms held out ready to catch me if I ran. A tall willowy woman stepped in the room.

“Brent, do you realize I had to stop in the middle of—oh my God Brent!”

“Mom, can we keep it?”

“Brent where did you find it?” Her eyes were wide and her voice trembled.

“I found it in the alley digging in a dumpster over on 56th street.” Brent shrugged his shoulders. “I figured it needed a home. So—can we keep it?” Brent’s mom sank to her knees in front of me. I bowed my head and looked away.

“Brent! This is a kid! A human being, you don’t just pick them up and take them home.” Tears flooded her face. “Go call the cops. We can’t keep this child.” She turned towards me and opened her arms.

“Come here, child. I won’t hurt you.” I turned away from her, facing the gleaming cabinets. She inhaled loudly.

“Who would do something like that to a child?” I flinched as she ran her fingers over the scabbed over welts on my back.

“Yeah, so can we keep it since nobody wanted it?” Brent asked eagerly.

“No.” The woman responded. She wrapped her arms around me, rocking me gently. For the first and last time I felt the love of a mother’s touch.

i’m 19, and a college student--

no, strike that,

i dropped out after a semester

because i couldn’t afford it--

no, strike that,

i flunked out because i couldn’t handle it.

the truth,

the honest truth?

a month before i turned eighteen

i was raped.

and with fingers on my throat

and in my skin

and in my dreams,

i only barely made it

through senior year,

but i thought that i’d be better,

for sure,

because i didn’t know what else to be,

but the fingers never left me

and it took all i had just to keep on

being.

and then two months after college started,

i listened to my friend kill herself,

heard her sob into the line,

and the bang, and the silence,

and i hated myself for not saving her

and i hated myself for hating her

and i hated myself because all i thought

before bursting into tears

was

no fair.

why did she get to do it,

why did she get to leave?

all my problems,

all my pain,

and she got relief,

and i was left behind.

and i couldn’t do it,

couldn’t go to class,

couldn’t go to work,

couldn’t find it in me to crawl out of bed

and look at the world.

everything was shit--

no, strike that,

i was shit,

and everything went wrong.

so i lied,

because it was all i remembered how to do,

and after i’d been kicked out,

i’d been taken in,

because i cried and crooned,

and wove a tale of not how i was pitiful,

but how i was poor,

because it was easier to deal with money issues

than mental issues.

but i made it through the year

and back to a place

that everyone else called my home,

where i was beaten and cursed

and told to die

(and what kind of home charges rent,

by the way)

by a person who didn’t even know how useless

i was.

as far as my mother was concerned,

i had a 4.0 gpa,

but even that

wasn’t good enough.

and now,

i’m out, or will be soon,

but i’m poor, for real,

working as a waitress at a job that doesn’t cover

my rent, and forgetting my past,

my skills,

in favor of the lunch and dinner

menu.

(i knew languages once, didn’t i?

built websites and programs,

spoke with natives in France

and learning more)

and what was the point?

no degree, no experience,

no money, no pride.

the fingers haven’t left.

i hear his voice,

and hers,

and mine,

all screaming.

i don’t know where i’m going.

i’m scared.

She makes believes her house has new walls and creates allegories about rotting foundations. In her mind mildew crumbles at her feat and the stench of disillusion is so thick in the air she cannot breathe. She has never seen these wall, but she pretends that there are terminates nesting in them. They come out while she sleeps and crawl into her ears, breeding in the crevices of her brain. They feed on her will. She calls countless exterminators, but they look at her like she's lost her mind. There are no walls, there are no termites, it is all in her head. The stench of disillusion is so thick in the air she can not breathe, mildew is growing on her body, it starts on her feat. She begins to imagine that the walls are stretching, they have created a labyrinth around her that she cannot escape. The termites are back. They are nesting in the walls. If she stills long enough she can feel their babies teething on her brain.

Growing up piss poor

Treated like a whore

Eating food off the floor

Sleeping uncomfortably

Back always sore, period pads

Used up blood flows continuously

While the spell of vagina ligers

Through the room, no water to shower

Time is moving slow minutes seems like hours

Rats crawling on the counter,

Roaches are crawling out of the baby's crib, while one just crawled from the baby's ear

No water to clean baby bottles

Screaming baby in need of food

Baby vomits from the spell of its mother's breast that hasn't been

Washed in days

She cries because she's helpless

Walks to the bathroom, and screams while she urines from the

Burning piss