Where do I go when I'm lost?

It's a funny question,

I suppose I only know when I'm angry.

I know when I'm sad that the anger comes in to guard me

My shield,

my sword sharpened on the splintered edges of my protection.

I turn within,

My eyes glazes,

my heart starts to slow.

And you might ask.

Where are you going?

I'm getting there.

I'm on my way there when I'm feeling hurt.

I go within.

And then they speak.

She speaks to me.

He speaks to me.

Their minds interweave into a new story.

I cannot see my world anymore.

I'm living, breathing, watching theirs.

I'm watching my characters make marks,

explore feelings that I know I have felt.

Feelings that can be and will be my own when I return to the world.

They make the drowning stop.

They make the pain feel less so.

And if you ask me again,

Where did I really go?

I went within.

Do you see?

Do you see with your kaleidoscope eyes?

Whispers of colors

Rainbows made of shards

Dancing colors,

Twisting and turning.

Like the glass of great Cathedrals.

The image we share.

Do you see?

Do you see with those glistening eyes?

The robin perched above me.

The roof hanging over us.

The sun cast aglow by the overcast sky.

Do you see?

Do you see through kaleidoscope eyes?

The twisting of red.

The brown flicked away.

The eyes are all tiny.

The bird flies away.

Do you see?

Do you see what with we touch?

My fingers are burning,

The sunlight is churning a new set of rays

That dance over my horizons.

Can you see?

Can you feel the way things break like the kaleidoscope eyes?

My hand,

though it falters.

The things I touch now further.

No closer.

I cannot tell with what I am on.

I cannot see.

I cannot see without kaleidoscope eyes.

I am prisoner here.

Sitting on the windowsill.

I have been trapped here.

My wings are stiff.

My breathing labored.

Dust collects on me where it had been beneath me before.

When I stare out into the open, my hands will touch.

My glass prison,

That keeps the sun just out of reach.

Do you know what happens when I close...

my kaleidoscope eyes?

I do not know either.

I don't remember them closing.

Can you see my body?

Dry and crisp.

Adorning your windowsill,

Like a doll, a display for the whole world to see.

I am sure no one will view me.

I am quite tiny.

But here I will rest.

My four wings will lay.

I was the representation,

Of nature at play.

I'd write you poetry if my heart was there.

I can't seem to stop thinking of the times before here,

Something's wrong with the future,

The past is upset,

The world is tipping balance but I won't regret.

To fall upon the world,

I'd like to see that,

To cover mountains in my darkness

and the desert with regret.

I'd flood the rivers with my tears, break the dams with my screams,

You are about everything I regret,

But I regret nothing,

I can't.

I can't forget about the times that we spent together,

But as easy as it is to remember,

It is to deny what we once had.

I can easily cast aside my feelings,

Beget the hate and leave regret.

You are nothing that I wanted,

But the emtions that you flourished were but a tempest of a storm.

They were the high glossy sands that encased the storm.

They made it all look so real that

I almost forgot.

I regret nothing,

Your words mean nothing,

The world is but a toy

For my hands to destroy.

I can remember the days we used to spend together.

They're so meaningless now,

there's no point in remembering.

In reality I was the storm

and the fleeting feelings were just the norm,

a façade amongst the reality,

our situation isn't like gravity.

It isn't real.

So let it all fall down,

because I am the storm

and what we had was but half a façade.

[Author Notes]

[December 14, 2012 - I'm trying to recall where I was, what I was doing... What I was thinking to say this. I can only recall one word that comes to mind. 'Mothers' and that is enough for me to know that very well was me expressing my anguish and giving up.]

I am... for the better part, here.

Here?

Really?

Yes.

I am here.

Against my will.

Americans love to spout about freedom,

but a quick label of 'incompetence' is all it takes to bind you.

Cream colored walls.

No shoe laces.

Grippy socks.

Big metal heavy doors,

and a few bald headed security men to stuff you back into your bed for your happy juice.

I think I heard an old woman scream down the hall.

It's lovely.

Real- quaint.

How I ended up here?

Funny story.

I have a wild imagination.

Sometimes serious,

sometimes over exaggerated.

I told my therapist that I dream.

I dreamed of murder.

I dream of things I would not do.

Other times, I wish I don't wake up.

She said it was concerning.

She asked if I would ever go through with it.

Ah.

The trick question.

I stupidly said 'sometimes,'

and that was enough.

A red flag on my file.

I left that day.

I mentioned my family to her.

Mentioned if we ever crossed paths.

Even incidentally, it might end in bloodshed.

She probably believed me.

I believed me.

But that's not what did it.

I had cast aside the notion of them.

The strangers who didn't know me any longer.

The people I no longer associated with.

The people who told strangers that I 'eloped' and 'ran away' when they did nothing but chase me away.

Me.

The literal black sheep.

The only black thing in the family.

The one who - in name - I wished died sooner.

The one who - in name - threatened to end me several times over.

Crass, evil, vile woman.

Ugly with her dentured teeth.

Grinning from ear to ear as they wore too large for her lips to cover.

No.

That was not it either.

What was it was my turning over my possessions.

My anger and wanton for the woodsy life.

To give up my possessions within society.

A woman screamed over me.

She thought me to go to the road.

Oh, what be.

No.

No.

I didn't plan to die that way.

No.

No.

I had other intentions.

And then the officer came.

And then the pretender came [the suicide aid].

And I told them all I was done.

What they made of that?

I was trying to run into traffic.

No.

I just needed my councilor.

I just needed to sit down with them again.

To express how truly desolate things felt.

How angry I was.

How done I was.

How much I wanted to just stop struggling and fighting and live quietly.

Key words.

Quietly.

But no.

No.

No.

No.

I looked like I was ready to play in the street.

No.

I looked that way.

Thankfully I didn't go completely postal.

Now I'm back where I wanted to be.

In that very chair.

My hands are shaky.

Sweaty.

My eyes won't meet her.

I'm feeling flighty.

What?

So I can have someone else misinterpret my intentions.

What?

So I can visit that place again where I fight these giggly nurses,

robust security,

and placid doctors?

HA!

If you can even call them that.

Still.

Still.

Still.

It is nice.

This is where I ought to be.

Talking to a stranger.

Venting my thoughts.

So I know I won't go postal.

This is my tithe.

This is my way of climbing back down the rope to reality.

I was in a daze, you could almost say it was like a fishbowl effect.

The world felt obtuse and round and I felt bloated meandering within it.

I would step foot over painted white over green.

Cross it and down the porous steps of off-white stained with red dust to see him.

He had black hair that reminded me of ravens.

Oh, I loved the black hair.

And he would stare down at his little phone, the device merely a trinket to sate his bated interest.

The silver letters of the brand would gleam at me and I'd poke my head around, always trying to spook him.

It never worked.

And in turn, the sharp eyed boy - soon to be a man - would turn his head as if on a swivel, expecting me.

Always expecting me and I'd smile, jerk back as if in surprise.

No.

Never surprise.

I just loved how he smiled at me.

Delicious, beautiful, handsome and alluring V.

Probably a devil.

I already signed my life away. I even dotted it with a heart.

Beautiful, beautiful, cunning man.

Dappled nose, crisp long-sleeve shirts, buttoned to the height of a throat.

Quirky smile, like that of a man fresh from a robbery and unscathed.

I would spend my evenings and late late after noons floating away with him.

Blissfully, floating away.

I would.

I did.

And then like a dream,

I danced along with him.

Hard to believe I danced so far.

I love it how we waltzed to life together.

I still do.

We still do.

For Rathsha.

The deep dark allure of her nearly translucent skin.

For Rathsha.

The shape of her mouth, splayed wide and long.

For Rathsha.

Her name.

Her name a cast of the 'rah' of the waves,

the 'th' as they peeled back

and the 'sha' as the wind whistled through the coming sea,

tempted to sweep her away again.

Her eyes would open,

deep coins of gold.

Gleaming, brightly staring in bated curiosity.

I thought, she was beautiful and I reached a hand out to the curious

yet monstrous thing beneath me.

She almost bit me.

RAH!

The waves grew angry, the clouds rumbled an echo of agreeance.

I was not permitted to touch the beautiful,

yet deep sea fish that beckoned me forth.

Her hands were webbed,

a long lantern hung over her face, bioluminescent I'm sure.

SHA!

The wind screamed, calling for her to go back.

It was whipping up a strong brew,

dark gray moody clouds spinning up as the waves peeled back.

SHA!

They screamed again, whistling louder in my ears till I glanced up from her,

seeing the wave peel up from the ocean floor, ready to slap me down for touching it's beloved deep sea dweller.

I could see her forming a word on her lips.

A language I didn't know and then a rush of black before I was smashing up against the seaside shack behind me.

Rocks, branches, trees and limbs of things I could not see were colliding against my body.

Cold.

Then hot searing pain ran through me.

I was sure I would die.

I could see the opening maw of her finally, the weight depressing as she scooped me up and a twinkle of white above as I sank into the further depths.

Breathe!

My lungs ached for breath, but her embrace was beautiful and warm.

She hugged me, sinking down till the pressure was too great and choked the very last air from my already breathless lungs.

I must have reached up, my hand longing for reprieve, for air.

And then she was pressing her sealed lips to mine, something forcing into my lungs.

When I opened my eyes again, I was at the bottom.

Gleaming yellow all around me.

Gleaming lanterns.

I could see the gleam in her eye.

She wanted me.

I smiled back at her.

A tawny gleam of color in my own dark eyes before the dark overtook me.

I was hers.

And she was mine.

Sweet.

Dear.

Rathsha.

Dripping wet,

pools of plenty.

Her blood.

A tongue laps at the air,

catching drops.

Satisfaction rolls through him.

Sick thoughts.

Twisted.

Curling twists of fingers,

wrenching her arm like a towel that is wet and slick.

Screams pour from her mouth,

like murder cries till her voice will prick.

Here I am on my day to day habits.

My arms are bent, stretching slightly to the top of my desk.

Finger straining, like if I were to stress my hands any further

my limbs might pop off.

My keyboard sloppily overlaid on my One tablet.

My pen somewhere off in obscurity.

Clutters around my desk,

Clutter in my brain more like [sarcastically].

I cannot prioritize my tasks,

tabs more than I can process.

I cannot delete any and my breathing restricts.

It grips me so, till I'm sputtering and gasping like an idiot

Remembering...

Remembering to fucking breathe!

And then the fear of it all coming crashing down,

the overflowing 'platter' obtuse and only for my gluttony of punishment.

I cannot let go.

I will not let go.

I fear the idea that someone worse than me might undo me,

might sack my life achievements and goals

or bolster me on false promises.

False niceties.

False smiles.

Oh, the fear it grips me so.

Breathe.

Remember to breathe,

like the 'bree' in the breeze.

The 'bre' in the Brew.

The soft churn of the tea,

the swirling turns and wisps of air that lick at me so.

If only to exhale first, rather than inhaling at all points.

Until I feel like my lungs might burst.

If only I could make the moment last forever.

If I could step outside and remember where I am,

who I am.

I am not more than my anxieties.

My traumas.

My experiences,

living here afraid to die.

But not of any death.

Just the death of those coming down to a final, crashing end.

Afraid to fall prey to the heart attach waiting to mask itself as panic.

But there is...

No panic.

No panic attacks.

No longer.

No more.

Only the terrible sudden death.

The death on my lips,

the death I expect.

The violent tumultuous death that I was always expecting

since my eleven years.

Since the dawn of my opening eyes.

Since I was born into the screaming and yelling household.

Since I was echoing, screaming and opening wide till their voices

screamed in tune with mine nearly a decade later.

Where will I go?

Where will I be?

When my final breath,

does come to me?

When we are born, we are not flesh. We are born in thought, born within the beginning of a word. A simple concept. For our parents, it may be a name, a code word, or the slip of a smile across pressed lips, but for the world, we are but an echo of her thoughts.

First, there are the thoughts. The fire our parents breath into us, first the kindling of their emotions, then the large pieces of logs and branches that are their personalities intertwined. The mindsets. Those? Those come from the Earth where Gaia spreads her arms open wide, lifts up our tiny ethereal essence and breathes meaning into us before setting us upon the forming flesh.

Then she sets fire to our hearts at our first breath, to make sure we are alive, to make sure we are no longer connected to her so we might be curious and meander on her "man-made" trusses and brown soils so we might travel a bit. We might move the things she cannot, transform them and will some sort of new purpose into them as we are small gods and goddesses, playing on her playground while she lights the fire of our hearts.

Still, we press on. We guide her new children, the ones we believe to be our own into life and they help gently lay us to our graves when our flesh is spent.

Then we drift up, a collection of new information, of new ideas and she cycles us back into the fray, picking small ideas or thoughts she might like from us to plant into a new spirit that she has molded from us then give it breath and return it back to the Earth.

She is our eternity and we are her children.

As she breaths life into us, so shall we breath it back into her.

She is our Eden.

I can't help but feel this soul sucking feeling.

I'm spiraling, spiraling down.

We've done this old dance,

this singsong again.

I know, this tune never will end.

My lips are chapped, the cracks are edging to the ends,

Making tiny tears at the corner that sting.

My nose is stuffy from my eyes blinking and batting away at the tears that threaten.

I'm not feeling good today.

I've made much progress, but I'm feeling like I'm quietly suffocating.

The pain is so much, why can't I make it go away?

Please just make it go away!

Just go away!

Just stop screaming in my ears,

Stop leading me down to another solution!

I'm tired of solutions.

I'm tired of 'working' oh so tirelessly.

The rewards aren't good enough anymore.

Nothing really is.

But I know that's not entirely true.

"Good job."

"You're strong."

Pats on the back.

None of it makes all the loneliness crack.

The eyes, oh they stare, the expectations high.

When I falter or fall, they all turn away.

When I voice one bit of negativity, suddenly I'm not fun.

No joy.

No course, no meal they'd employ.

I'm cracking.

I'm breaking.

So beautifully so.

But my misery is ugly,

at least I like to believe that they'd say so.

So effortful, so annoyingly

Buried under mountains of paperwork.

I tug and pull, but more stacks come my way.

More deadlines,

more papers.

MORE FUCKING PAPERS!

Just to survive another day.

One less day closer to shut off.

One more bill 'paid off!'

But at what expense?

My expense?

The peaks, the valleys, the red slips, the pink slips, the yellow!

Fuck all the paper!

Fuck all the progress!

I want to torch the desk,

the throw it all into the fire.

Let me breathe!

Let me breathe.

Let me breathe...

Breathe...

Breathe.

I just don't want to be in pain.

I'm tired of constantly 'surviving,'

I just want to fucking live.