Hundreds of years ago we sat downtown and you told me about being happy and sad at the same time. There was a word for it, but either I never knew it or I've long since forgotten. The way I remember the sky was washes of ink, diluted to(more) palest grey, almost white, almost nothing at all. And I remember herons flying across the sky, but I know there were not any. Today when I woke up it is a morning like that.(less)
I broke to shards
Shards did this
Wracked my body with Aphroditian pleasure
Stabbed lungs with a thousand steely syringes
When we fuck, he hissed, it'll be glorious
(more) Fill the pipe, light the butane
Fuck and eat; create
Paint and write; nonsense
You notice your mouth; smoke
Hallucinate and eat; only because you know you have to
It's like chewing ash
Cement mix grinds in your teeth and claws at your throat
You have a craving for something else
your scabs ooze and I wont be like you
sitting on the street corner
vanishing into alleys
returning to the light and sprinting from the concrete bed on which you've slept for years because the compound makes it goose down
from those blue lights
from those name tags
from your family; friends
filibuster your life
Bust your wife
Fuck somebody wrong
Try and be strong
You can't figure why
You can't get up and try
The only thing you've found
Is this damn compound
My home was supposed to be waiting for me in the canyons,
dormant until my weeping eyes woke the snails and snakes,
roots of my womb extending arms outwards,
I was supposed to come running towards their silences,
microorganisms reveling in our communal awakening,
the crows would cry out(more) in jubilation,
at seeing their sister return,
back to this place she has tried to reach all her life.
But I'm too saturated with smog and excess,
they don't recognize my shampooed hair
or my fashionable-yet-functional clothing,
and I don't recognize their wildness,
I can't taste the freedom I am entitled to anymore.
I don't remember how to get back home
because I'm so full of shrapnel from living in this warzone
that my skin is shatter-resistant and coated with rain-repellant,
and my bones are the shards of fiberglass my cigarettes gave me.(less)
Once, I considered myself beautiful. Perhaps not perfect, but beautiful. But that was once upon a time.
My childhood was so serene, peaceful, happy. I was accepted, I had friends, I succeeded in school. But then we moved.
Far away from the friends who loved me, in(more)to a hostile community full of sassy judgmental piranhas, never even blinking an eye to tear you apart.
I remember that first day, those harsh, approving glances, that snicker at the back of the room, those unfocused eyes, as if just by looking at me, they would contract some sort of disease.
I did not understand, until I heard the words in which my new classmates greeted me:
"Hey pig, didja have trouble getting through the door?"
As you can expect, my life was terrible from that point onward. Night and day I was tormented by those grating words, torn down, bit by bit. And night and day I bore one, hoping against hope that someone would stand up for me, help me, support me.
But no one ever did, not a soul ventured near me. Not a single light shone in my personal hellhole. No, I groped around in the murky darkness without hope of ever finding my way out.
I have tried many things to get thinner, to no avail. It is set in my genes, you see, in stone, weighing me down.
I am done trying now. I have arrived at a conclusion, one that will trump them all.
I contemplate the shard of glass in my hand, cutting deep. The smashed mirror stands before me, reflecting thousands of images of myself, as if it were showing me the thousands of different choices I could have made.
Shiloh looked up at the night sky. Shards of glass were falling like snow. In the glow of the ambulance lights, it looked like brightly-colored confetti at a party.
For a single moment, a cold blue flash illuminated everything around him, as if from very far away. Shiloh(more) saw that massive, megalithic structures rose around him on all sides. They seemed to be breaking up into large jagged shards, as if they had been carved from a single strata of bedrock that some unseen force had cracked to its core.
Then, very slowly, the world began to fall away from beneath Shiloh's feet. He held his hand out in front of his face. Glass twinkled gently between his fingers, as if moving through honey. He turned to look at the cool, white orbs of the street lights, but instead saw bright streaks writhing on either side of him. He realized his body must be moving parallel to the ground. He turned back to his hand. It was covered with deep cuts and streaked with blood.
Shiloh was beginning to sense some kind of vague panic in the world around him, but couldn't see or hear anything to indicate what it was. A distant part of his brain seemed to be shouting at him, demanding that he question what was happening, but he found it hard to pay attention. He was concentrating on the fact that the ground appeared to be getting closer.
Shiloh extended his hands toward the earth, in order to shield himself from a possible impact. But when he next looked at his hands, most of the flesh had already been torn away from the bone.
Don't. Just pace. Breathe, in and out. Try to calm the static that is creeping in the sides of your eyes and making your hands shake. The urge is an itch, just wanting to be scratched. Pace more, so locked inside your own head, you can't even hear the floor creaking un(more)derneath of you. You don't even register that someone may come check on you. They all try to keep a watchful eye on you, but you know the truth that when this comes to a head, if you really want, you can self destruct and no one will know until you are done.
So breathe. Just try to calm down. The mirror on the door is cracked, spider webbed out, from the time you couldn't pace enough. You couldn't hold on, so you drove your knee straight into it, giving a clean slice across your tender flesh. You stop pacing. You stare intently at the mirror. Not at yourself, but at the cracks... at the shards of the reflective glass staring back at you, and be reminded that it is just a reflection... (less)