Monthly Archives: January 2009





Hope is Gone


This pit of

All abandonment

Last long, I won’t; the gates of

Forward lock and close


Of grief and its sorry weight

I am dark and shapeless

Its leaving has swallowed my suns

I am lost,

Undone in chaos


Knotted flow of memory…

Tomorrow does not breathe

Hope is slight; and I am not okay

I won’t be getting up today



I’m working on new writing now. It sounds different from what I’ve done. There’s less rhyming, and some of it’s sounds even a little silly or strange, which can’t be too bad. This poem above was one I left months ago but have been slowly working on from time to time since. It’s about anything that has left you really, a feeling, a person you rely on or whatever it might be. The dark world depression can throw you into is what it means to me. It could all sound better, but I didn’t want it changed too much from the moment I was writing the idea down. That’s the whole point, to have it as a release, so I didn’t want to lose or change the initial thought behind it all too much. 


That photo above is one I took this morning of the ice dripping from some tree branches. The color is edited a little, btw. 




Filed under Art, Death, depression, Life, personal, poems, poetry, Thoughts

I’ll wait to see

I went for the background check today. Paid almost $60; the last of the money I made from the craft show in November.

I’m actually relieved about my appointment with the doctor on Wednesday. I just feel I should be shoved away in a box somewhere. I don’t seem to care about the time here I was given. I don’t want anything. Not a marriage, not kids, I’m not a good worker, and I have no skills. When you want nothing, how strong do you have to be?

It’s hard to put together a point here, but one thing is for sure. I cannot have this year go by with nothing having been done. Something will happen. Everyday feels like the end, and as much as it hurts to wait and see about things, I have to. There’s nothing left but my life to lose now, so I’m going to go through the pain and try to be productive for the next six months.

This picture is one I was going to throw away, but instead I decided to paint it since I was bored. It reminds me of a tarot card in a way, black magic or someone sending evil things out into the night. But really, it’s random so it’s whatever anyone wants to make of it.

I’m closing out on my poems now, just a few more to edit. The first one below starts out about a particular death sign/symbol I read about in a book I have, of sighting a butterfly at night. The rest stems from that I guess, wanting the end to come, as usual. I worked closely with this one though- compared to the first draft, I’m very glad about how it turned out.

For A Sighting

Window I stare out, into night
Butter-fly wings I hope to sight
Flickering in moon’s beam light
Flirting, the faces of my knife.

The late hours wafting mystique
Intense silence, I hardly breathe
Engrossed, in wait of memories,
Daring them to speak,

For even one vision to peek, with
My torturous reality, as spread
In flecks of bloody dream, its
Deluge of pain filled musings.

Ghostlike flames, lantern escape
In mind, here at the end phase
Of dark unshaken promises, I’m
Safe and the utmost convinced.

The second one below is one I’ve been working on for some time, but I’ve accepted that I may never capture the moment I’m trying to express as well as I would like. It’s about how I felt when the first therapist I ever had actually examined the first few, tiny scars on my left arm. I remember feeling completely violated (why I never went back to him), and so angry at myself mainly for allowing the conversation to get that far out of hand. I still hate myself for it, but I’ve learned. No one will ever have that much power over how I feel when it comes to anything on the outside again. People will judge anyway, sure, but that’s going to come back at them, not me. Judgment doesn’t erase what’s happened, and I truly don’t have time to even think about it anymore. Why not just be glad that I write more about my thoughts of hurting myself than I act on them. I have a feeling I’ll be back in therapy within the coming month, as I expect to be back on some kind of medication soon. But maybe this new physician will let me slide on going to therapy…that’s wishful thinking probably, but it would be nice…

His Closer Look

My answers were
Soaked in a frozen sweat
Of injuries, not innocent; my
Guilty eyes were swelling red; my
Breathless plea for sudden death

I’m studied closely from the start
And shiver from my quickened heart
As a filth-like feel derides my scars
When keen suggestions lean too far

Then- lost as the loss of a dear secret
Lies continued to pass my lips
Just deaf enough to get me through
My final words most resolute

All hopes of wellness fell in doubt
The sickness flared as I walked out
A ruined, angry quake, I felt
Far redrawn into myself

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My mom has now left for the weekend. I am surprised at my mood right now, better than expected. Usually I’m very bitter about having to be left behind whenever trips come up like this with the rest of my family. More proof I am a part of nothing. I’ll see how the next three days go though.

The painting above is one I did yesterday as a way of releasing some bad feelings I was experiencing. Since I can’t come up with any real ideas about what to paint, I think I’ll do more of these random paintings until things change.



Marked illicit

Their ashen blend

Carved out offenses

      In figures, grown sick


Remnants all over

Arms and back of legs

Shame lost, in the fury

      Of bled distress


Small and foolish

They were back then

How vertical and stark

      They’ve become since


Impulsive spits, still

My chosen breath….  

Licks for the conflict,

      Deterrents of death….


Untitled (no good ideas yet)

Sharp suit of secrecy

My crime and chaos hide

In the quiet fall of mercy

Wounds screaming open wide


Rich in golden coated lies

The succulence of wasted time

Splattered angels, thief of wings

Vicious, bitter flavored dreams


Broken light of stone thick clouds

Illuminations sharply sound

Decisive piercing through the veil

Mirror of memory impaled


The leveling, distract of pain

Another clean and open bleed

Mists a quiet shame filled haze

The storm is settling.  


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New, but old really

The appointment yesterday won’t keep me from moving forward with the training, but it did open up a lot of shame  that I thought was being let go. It was like the lady was trying to tell me I was not the kind of person for this program, let alone the actual job, based on everything I don’t have. I already know how sorry my life looks on the outside, that’s the whole damn reason I’m doing any of this at all.

Worrying about the training has not pulled me away from writing though. I have to finish these poems, just for a sense of closure. So that if and when I do start classes, I won’t feel so tempted to escape away from studying, or whatever else I’ll have to do.

These here are not the best of the newer ones (actually, none of the new ones are better. I think I’ve already written the best I can do…), but they all have some kind of little point.  I haven’t had a lot of confidence in what I’ve written lately, so even as these may be terrible, they took a while to edit. I can’t think very well right now…..

The Guise


You give more than take

Forced smiles for the other’s sake

All’s well; pretend a steady mind

Lose yourself within each lie


But clearly, something’s not alright

If they must ask a thousandth time

Are you okay? You say ‘just fine’

With heavy, cold and shadowed eyes


Giving so much, for this life you hate

Those guilt ridden wounds you create

Are more than screams, more than escape

More than moods you can’t explain


What’s false is broken willingly

For truth can breathe, beneath the bleed

From all distractions you may try

Remains, the rotting sick inside 

(Untitled still…)

Blood, ink quotes

Soaked envelope,

A deep, lifeless fold


Set in stone

And laid in show

Entries to be told


The moon’s glow

Of farewell low

A past is in close


Still and cold

The end is so; hushed

Departs the soul




Shadow I’ve become, the

Worst is no longer enough

My patience, rope to string

In honest gestures of defeat


As good was small and clean

Harmless and hidden well

Yet, I favor the sweet gleam

Of great damage and depth


An open wrist for judgment

My numb and listless form

Restless with an expert edge, 

Smeared across the floor is the 


Gore of strengthened voices,

Of self destructive noises that

Emptied every lie; I’m soaked

In punishment and crime


            Same old ideas, I know. I can’t break myself away.  

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“Red Tears for the Rising Sun”

This is the drawing I did for that line from my poem. It’s only one way of many to interpret it, and I’m really talking about something else from what the image literally is, but anyway. I needed something to work on, and I’m glad I didn’t mess it up while painting.

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The Mid-Point

I’m not sure if I’ve ever posted this image here, but I named it Decay after the fact when writing one of my poems with the same name. The original painting looked nothing like this, and I don’t even have it anymore.

There’s nothing left of it except this edited version.

The tighter rope is round my neck

The better I can breathe

Faster the heal and met wellness

The longer I must bleed


Yes, I blinded myself with light

The hopeful and all good

Yes, I tried and gave it time

As they say you always should


But tell me where the mid-point was

From peace to grievous screams

From living through my decisions

To feeling so deceased


Healthy ways did not feel right

And faith became my failure

To fight a desire to die

In pain, so long endured


I just wrote this a few days ago, so it sounds sort of like a journal entry probably, but anyway. It’s about wondering when exactly good feelings and hopes all started to seem like negative things in my eyes. When pain and darkness, and feeling low became something I’d prefer over the brighter parts of life. It may seem strange but I can’t explain it any other way. I just wonder sometimes when exactly everything started falling apart. I guess it gets lost when you’ve got one failure right after the other, disappointments all over the place. The beginning of it no longer even matters.

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