Release


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 

 

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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1 Comment

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

One response to “Release

  1. lucienlachance

    It worries me, what you talk about sometimes. But just know that I would never judge you—I have my own forms of what you are talking about. It would be hypocritical to say that doing things that hurt doesn’t help, because it does. Sometimes the most grotesque of acts can keep me from doing something worse. “Deterrents of death”, as you put it. I know that I should reprimand you, get angry and try to convince you to stop, but I’m not going to do that. It’s your life, not mine, and I know that if anyone told me to stop I would just laugh coldly and say, “What for? Would you prefer me dead?”. If it keeps you alive…. That sounds sick, doesn’t it? I don’t mean it that way, in fact I’m not sure quite how to put it, but I think you’ll understand and not take what I’ve said the wrong way. This is my fucked up way of telling you that I care, even if no one else seems to want to intervene and help you…or me for that matter. The world would stand by and watch as I slit my own throat, because that is the way it is, but you are always there for me, and I will be for you. I would always try to stop you.

    I think I know what the untitled one should be called. Hurricane? That’s what came to mind when I read it. How there are times when I am so overwhelmed I wonder how the world cannot possibly know, feel the rage and sorrow that floods through me like a poison. But they never know, do they? Blind. So damned blind.

    I hope that my comment isn’t too depressing, but know that I am really trying. I don’t want you to die, and somewhere, I don’t want me to die either. But I get it, I understand. There isn’t any way to just silence it all and hide it away without doing more damage than was already done. If writing about it helps, then by all means. Write until you cannot anymore.

    Anway, I hope you are doing okay. I wish you would stop hurting yourself. I get the feeling that these poems are much more literal than they seem.

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