What happened.

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photographer unknown

It had me at the throat.

It was anger I think. Anger that had me pulling at my shell, picking at the falsehood. Once I started peeling back at the pieces, I realized that I didn’t like them and one by one they repulsed me. I didn’t have to look far for the culprit, her eyes pierced mine and followed me in the mirror.

More anger, more tears and more denial. It didn’t make sense, here was a person that everyone loved and got along with but I hated her. I hated how she felt against my soul and how she didn’t quite fit. I hated how she held my words and how she suffocated my screams and dreams alike. My pleas, screams and even the quiet whispers that I released when I thought that someone – anyone – was listening were held hostage so wickedly by her.

Piece by piece, each concealed lie fell out, each more deviously conceived. In the end I wasn’t sure what killed me more, whether it was the mountain of pieces that lay next to me or the stranger that stared back at me in the mirror. I couldn’t handle it; more anger, more tears and more denial.

A pungent smell sat in the air. It invaded my nostrils and had my stomach reeling but what horrified me –  chilled me to the bone – was that it came from a corpse. I had killed me. There I was on the ground with glossy eyes, staring into the vast space of nothingness. Before I knew it, I was crashing and hurdling towards the earth and nothing could stop me or the sobs that ripped through my body.

I had killed myself and now I had to live.

Me VS all that I am not.

It isn’t easy to grow under the weight of all you’re supposed to be.

However I killed myself and I had to live,
Regardless of the fact that I was terrified.

candid
Adjective:
        truthful and straightforward; frank.

quasar

Astronomy

noun: quasar; plural noun: quasars

a massive and extremely remote celestial object, emitting exceptionally large amounts of energy, which typically has a starlike image in a telescope. It has been suggested that quasars contain massive black holes and may represent a stage in the evolution of some galaxies.

Welcome to Candid Quasar.
Light from Lita

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Idiosyncratic

Idiosyncratic

Weathered photographs turned at the edges
after taking residency in the breast pockets
 – right above the valves of the heart –
of the men whose feet stomped in unison.
who prayed any defeat would be an illusion
like the tears they shed in the moonlight’s wake,
while their thoughts called to see miracles;
like the birth of the new day.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Bereaved

Bereaved

They say it gets better with time
That the gaping hole that you left behind
will some how find itself filled with time.
When your coffin occupied the ground
and your soul left my heart,
I began looking around
then started falling apart
and all the words heard and said
all went past my head.

I wish you could be here now;
it’s not getting better at all
I still see your favorite coffee
and your running shoes in the corner,
Screw them and their stages of grief,
Everything is still falling apart,
you’re gone and it hurts

for my father

Light from Lita
See you soon

Are we living?

Are we living?

Realities 2

It must feel like wanting to implode,
to shatter in your own existence
but being held together by a force;
One you cannot rebel against.
So you exist in upside down frowns,
Hoping for sanity to find you.

I must have been around 9 or so when my friend told me how ‘unhappy’ he was. However our unhappy’s differed, mine being the lesser. I didn’t know it then but my friend, let’s call him J, was depressed.  Depressed like a nine year old wanting to throw themselves off of a swing set, hoping for it all to end. See J had a problem, one his parents shamed and denied because they didn’t want to have that ‘kid’. See J isn’t alone, there are millions even billions of people who are ‘unhappy’, clutching on to the sliver of existence they can maintain. 

Sometimes they kill themselves and other times they fail – that’s the reality.  Then shame follows from all angles, failing to address the real issue. How many coffins go down into the ground carrying the bodies of tortured souls? How many of those coffins do we malign once they are out of our sight? It becomes more about the suicide than the person who managed to live in a world that suffocated them. The death was bad yes, so was the living – you can’t acknowledge the one without the other, wouldn’t that be “cowardly”?

I’m not saying much more than this:

What if we can be more open to creating an environment where these issues aren’t looked at as a sign of a “defective” or “lesser” being then perhaps more people could take the step to say ,” Hey, I need help too.”.

I say this because I can’t help but think that I wouldn’t have to look a six year old in the eye and tell them that their mother is no longer alive (whether it be from empting a barrel into their mind or drowning their demons with pills.) and hope to have them understand that it wasn’t their fault that she’s not coming back.

It’s not their fault because society failed her. We the society, failed her.

If you know of someone who is need of help (including you), please take a visit here.

May your souls learn to breathe.
Let the fallen fly above and watch over us.

Your existence has purpose.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Oanoski

 

Oanoski

This is inscribed
Knowing that you shall never
Possess knowledge of it.
Sans the fear of repercussions

Your absence is prominent,
No one will admit to it,
However our eyes keep on
A lookout for you;
Like lone lighthouses
Looking past beautiful seas,
Just for you

Your absence is known
In the lack of security
That blankets us in the nights
When loneliness commits
Acts of treason against us.

Your absence is felt
In the tension that pursues after
Mention of your fading existence
Lurking in the holds
That love once occupied

Your absence is loathed
In the fact that it was incapable of taming
Nor reversal; because death can be given
And not taken back.

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Light from Lita
See you soon