I feel a little hollow,

like there is a hole where my heart used to be.

Ripped out by my own hands

to avoid pain and suffering from another.

Maybe it's better to be numb

than to feel the weight of everything.

So I'll just stay where I am,

keep those around me at arm's length,

not allowing others to see the damage

that is already done.

I don't want to be seen as a passion project,

I don't want to be fixed.

So please, let me be

my empty self.

“I have no feeling when I kill! I feel no remorse! I am not like other people. Killing is only a means to an end for me. I have certain goals and killing brings me closer to my destiny. Can you explain to me why I do the things that I do? I’m afraid I will continue killing but I want to know why,” Jade related to me with a stone cold face.

Jade had only contempt for the emotions of others. Her sole gratification was based upon her need to delude, control and exploit. However, she was so narcissistic that she wanted to feed upon my deeper emotions since she knew that I cared about her well-being. She really did not care if she had the understanding or company of others but I realized that she could not survive a solitary existence. Thus; she used me as a sounding board. I understood that her emotional persona could not subsist without collateral damage. I knew that I could not let myself become one of her casualties because she was quite capable of victimizing, persecuting and tormenting me as well as others.

I am Dr. Stanley Cohen and I am a psychiatrist working on a research project to further my own understanding of this psychopathic young lady and others like her. Because of medical ethics, I can never share this information with legal authorities so have no input in establishing whether she will, in fact, kill again. I want to understand why she feels driven to act out her desires in such a murderous way. She has admitted that she is unable to change and is completely lacking in empathy. The young lady in question is self-referred to me and is a fascinating case study. The crimes that she has committed are brutal, heinous and without any reason or merit. Her exquisite exterior belies that which is beneath the surface.

Although I fight my own feelings when dealing with Jade, I must admit that, sometimes, I feel a vicarious thrill when she tries to justify her actions. I do my best to fight my reactions but despite these efforts, occasionally find myself unsuccessful. I wonder if this is why some psychiatrists go into this field in the first place. I want to help my clients but have to admit that after years of dealing with psychiatric patients, I have developed almost an understanding of their behaviors. And, if truth were to be told, I almost feel a deep affection for this particular patient, Jade, although I would never admit to this response when I counsel her. I strive to remain objective at all times but have to admit that I am imperfect at times. I can’t realize it as I write this, but my feelings for this client will ultimately lead to a disastrous ending which I will be unable to prevent no matter what actions I take. The story that I am about to tell will snowball completely out of control and will culminate in a catastrophic conclusion for which I will be unable to suppress the consequences.

I have changed the names, places and most of the locations of these murders committed by Jade in order to preserve the sanctity of my profession. I wish I could be of help to this disturbed young woman but I honestly don’t think I can. Here is her story as related to me and as I understand it.

Tears behind a painted smile.

Never again will you see me cry;

look in my eyes and they will be dry.

My feelings I bury down deep in my brain.

The emptiness there, I’ve no way to explain.

My laughter to my own ears sounds quite insane,

I love you, I guess that will always remain.

Letting you go, watching as you fly,

swallowing my pain, I wave goodbye,

tears behind a painted smile.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** Note: This form is known as a SYMETRELLE, and is less than 20 years old. Its rigid syllable counts (7/9/9/11/11/11/11/9/9/7), its rhyme scheme (A,b,b,c,c,c,c,b,b,A) and the refrain line, which bookends the poem as the first and last line, make it a lot of fun to craft -- even when the subject matter is painful.

Do you really need more?

Do you really need your war?

When the world turns dry

And Mother Earth grows cold

Will you breathe your money

Or will you drink your gold?

And do you know what they feel?

So they're different, but their pain is real

They suffer

While we spread their bones

They cower

While we sit on thrones

So let it go

Don't need your gold

But Mother Earth

We need her

Do you really need more?

Do you know what you're wishing for?

When the world turns dry

And Mother Earth grows old

Will you breath your money

Or will you drink your gold

And do you know what they feel

We share the same sky and the same fears

When the world turns dark

And you walk alone

Will you still be smiling on your throne?

So let it go

Don't need your gold

But Mother Earth

We need her

I love all the very unique and talented writers on Prose but if I had to pick only one, it would be @Mel. I feel such a strength emanating from her and yet a sadness which she keeps buried. Her words are melancholy slices of life which take me down lonely streets and introduce me to misfits and people who just don’t fit in any niche.

The way she writes makes me feel that I am there, experiencing her deep thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, I want to cry for the lost souls and sometimes I just want to cocoon Mel in a place of safety and tell her everything is all right. The rawness and honesty of her writes captures me in their grip. But make no mistake, she takes past misfortunes and transfixes them into new beginnings in which she goes to school, takes care of a younger brother and works very hard as well. She has developed such character in facing her past, molding herself into an inspiring, young writer. Her kindness and decency in dealing with others shines through, although she keeps a stiff upper lip in the face of hardship. 

She is both a liver of life and a conqueror of all she has seen. How do I know all this? All I need to do is read her latest story to understand her and want to see her succeed. And all of this, she puts on paper, capturing my heart and the heart of others. Well done, my lovely friend.

As for picking my favorite piece of hers, I love them all and so do other Prosers. Perhaps the last write that she submitted to the literary agency would be a good choice. I hope they recognize her talent. https://theprose.com/post/141560

There once was a scientist named Bellows,

he did research in Antarctica with some fellows.

Between layers of earth in the permafrost ice,

they discovered living bacteria so very precise.

Bellows stroked his beard and laughed savagely -

he knew the bacteria was the key to immortality.

But how could he possibility smuggle it from view

with all the other scientists trying to snatch it too?

Well, Bellows liked jello, unlike the other fellows,

he liked all flavors but was partial to lemon yellows.

But he knew using cherry red, it’d be easier to hide

so he scooped up the bacteria and hid it inside.

Bellows iced down the jello and laid it on dry ice,

absconded with the bacteria without thinking twice

for he knew this bacteria was unlike any other -

it had arsenic inside, not phosphorous or another.

Bellows extracted the bacteria from red cherry jello

and injected it into himself, feeling quite mellow,

knowing full well that it was an alternative life form,

believing it would extend life span above the norm.

Bellows first had tried it on fruit flies and mice

and on human blood cells more than twice.

When he tried it on himself, he never caught

the flu or colds or diseases others fought.

Bellows never died, he lived longer than wife

and his children and friends without any strife.

But he no longer knew anyone on earth

with alternate life form ingrained in his girth.

Bellows was lonely so he injected some others,

knowing he wanted friends if he had his druthers.

Everyone was now comprised of alternate life forms,

not so alternate any more but more like the norms.

So Bellows and the new experimental fellows

lived on forever thanks to the cherry red jello

with the bacteria which wiggled and jiggled,

danced and pranced and sometimes giggled.

I’m marching under flowing skirt of death

after smoking and drinking my existence away

        Whiskey, whiskers, whisked away

fateful initiation to my hastened demise.

Why, oh why, didn’t I take care of myself?

I will be sailing with the free spirits soon

        Whiskey, whiskers, whisked away

floating above, I’ll look down at my friends.

This note is to warn you that you won’t

still be here, I’m taking you with me

         Whiskey, whisker, whisked away

Together we’ll skim above our friends.

I’ve lost my appetite thinking of death -

But I could use a big shot of whiskey!