Reasons

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Sometimes I do not know the reason why.

It hurts to realize I may never know the answer.

Living a life in the dark.

Wondering why.

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The End of Days

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The End of Days
These are the end of days.
The light you see is numbered.
Just like the breath you took reading this.
In
And
Out.
Hold that air in your lungs.
You will not have it for long.
Time keeps ticking away.
I hear it in my chest.
thump.
thump.
thump.
thump.
My heart whispers…
“Your days are numbered sweetie.”
As if I can find comfort in-between those beats.
I have one friend longing to die.
The phantom grief of missing loved ones haunt her like the ghost of Christmas past.
She day dreams of an afterlife filled with love and happiness. Everything she is not.
So days go by in a blurry unfulfilled day. Day dreaming of non-existing in this universe.
The state of apathy winces at my time clock heart.
Another friend is inhaling all the air she possibly can.
In fear it could be her last.
Over living a life she wants to be forever part of. The unknown is unfathomable. So she does everything she can to prevent the decay of her body. Knowing some day she will have to face the reaper.
Until then she pushes it out of her mind.
Why?
Well Why Not?
And then the other friend smolders in crystal smoke.
Looking for any reason to get euphoria.
That friend realized you could feel alive and dead at the same time.
It is easier to face mortality in clouds of smoke by your own demise, than to let someone else control a life you have little to say in.
My addiction is negativity.
It pumps through my arm like an IV pumps though a 2 year coma survivor, receiving their nutrition.
It’s not the negativity that I would say is what defines who I am.
What I would call it is…
Well?
It is the lost of hope that I have.
Not having hope is what saves me.
Expectations is something I fear.
It is like this to be Frank my Readers..
Picture this…
A Sophia moment from the Golden Girls appears across this thing you are reading.
Being in a sunny field with hay growing all around. Letting the vitamin D radiate in your skin, feeling the pores inside you. the pores are filled with a pure loving warmth.
Then all of a sudden.
With a blink of an eye.
You are in a grave.
Seeing your loved ones pouring dirt on top of you.
You try to scream but nothing comes out.
You try to move but everything is numb.
Your breath stifles with each clump of dirt that is flinging on top of you.
And that is when you realize it is the End of Days for You.

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I have visions of a child screaming.

Screaming into this nothingness void.

Screams so hallow and cold.

It is as if the child absorbs all the pain through which it sees with its little eyes.

You cannot unsee.

You cannot unhear.

Neither can the child.

The child molds from the environment it grows in.

If the air is polluted so is the child’s lungs.

Sometimes love can over power the dark creature lurking around on the inside of us. Waiting for the moment we are most vulnerable. And catching us as we fall. So it can penetrate us. To release all the hate and suffering we try to fight.

And sometimes…

The dark creature wins.

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It’s indescribable.

Yet, here I am attempting to describe this feeling.

It is the kind of feeling you feel when you feel empty.

But home sick at the same time.

Like you have this pain because you know there is something wrong.

Yet you cannot feel it.

Everything in your life feels wrong.

And you’re  irritated but you are stuck in a rut.

You want something more.

But you do not know how to obtain it.

Everyone feels distant.

Work is miserable.

All you want to do is lay in bed and wait it out.

Laying in bed still hurts too.

So you are just there hopless.

At a loss.

Waiting for that feeling to go away.

 

Mendacious Happiness

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Happy (adjective) -“Feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine.”

I cringe on the inside everytime someone asks me that question.

Mom: “Are you happy?”

Me: “Yes”

If I think I am happy I must be.

Showing pleasure by grinning these teeth.

I do not feel happy.

A memory floods my mind of an encounter I once had in Kansas City.

An older lady speaks at this conference for teenage girls.

I didn’t want to be there…

She says, “Smile and stand up girls when people enter your home. If you look sad or mad people will think your parents did not rasie you right. You should not disrespect your parents. Watch your manners.”

I thought to myself, “this is a different type of crazy.”

I was so involved in my inner angry at what she said I forgot she had children.

I looked up and saw her four children dressed in white with the biggest smiles on their face.

I wanted to cry.

Those girls did not look happy.

They appeared to be.

But they were raised on the saying, “Momma knows best.”

I felt their loneliness.

Being told negative emotions is disrespectful, is a whole different side of child abuse.

“You represent your parents,” still echoes in my ears.

No-one really ever asks if you are happy.

They ask, “How are you doing?”

A generic question for a generic answer.

“I am well”

“I am fine.”

“I am okay.”

Who really cares emotionally how you are.

We our wrapped up in our own emotional state.

If you admit there is something wrong you are bound to be labbled.

“Dramatic.”

“Crazy.”

“Needy.”

So we sew our mouths shut, with generic answers.

Inside of us we whisper, “Please just carry on.”

But inside our hearts we cry, “Please help us.”

We continue on like this.

We cry at night where we are truly alone and no-one is there to judge us.

Because, for some odd reason we think the pain and the pretending is so much more bearable to handle by ourselves; then to let someone in and possibly be judged by them.

We even turn to things that will kill us faster.

Just so we don’t have to have that confrontation.

We are like a bottle glass, we are okay as we are fermenting. But as we start to put our negative emotions down into us filling the glass bottle. It causes the fermentation to become carbon dioxide; as we add more pressure to the bottle…  The cork will not be able to hold everything in. Causing the bottle to explode.

And so shall we.

 

Soul Searching

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I’m searching for pieces of my soul.

I lost them over time.

I did not want my soul for a time being.

I did not like the sad feelings it felt.

That hole in my chest was okay.

I could deal with that.

But you see.

When your soul is missing, your feelings of happiness, joy, regret, sadness, and etc are gone also.

The things that use to matter do not anymore.

You feel numb.

It’s a lonely feeling.

Something is just not right and that’s what you feel.

I’m on a mission to find the rest of my soul.

I say a prayer

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will”…

I stop.

I don’t believe in this.

So I meditate.

In a field of hay and one tree I lay.

Breathe in and out long breaths.

I feel the wind in my safe place.

I put a hand on my chest.

No beat echoes back.

Maybe there is something wrong with me.

That maybe it’s really there and we are distant relatives.

I throw a message in a bottle into my heart.

Hoping it reaches my soul in enough time.

Before it’s to late and this blackhole consumes me.