Bloodied

Bloodied

laid with another
in our marriage bed
sans protection
covered it with new sheets.
                        tests came back
 – now I am positive –
 that it’s our deathbed.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

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Side effects

Side effects

no one ever said
that I’d still worry;
that I’d find myself
thinking whether you’re alright
whether you’re eating okay
sleeping alright through it all
if you’re coping in general.

That even though we severed us,
scorched all the remains,
me and you would still be a reality.

It’s the one side effect I thought I wouldn’t get.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Pyrotechnic

Pyrotechnic

I miss you,
the sparks we shared
still ignite in some ways;

Your smile the match.
A short fuse in the quiet mind’s
loud thoughts of regret and devotion.
The “I still need you” that escapes me
like a smoker’s hand to a lighter,
all have me in flames;
wishing to burn in your existence once more.

Yet knowing that is all up in smokes.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Zua

Zua

Failure sweeps in
like a leaking roof
held together by bare hands
in the midst of a thunderstorm.

Or it drowns
like broken promises
teetering on snapping heartstrings
and dancing on wounded souls.

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.