2001
2001
murder of an innocent
aborted too late
hopeless life
corpse with senses
love's mockery
no one to hear my cry
murdered by depression
foresaken
book of memories
dead inside
rejected
pivotal point
shattering glass
a trip with Nostalgia
cloning a monster
back
murder of an innocent
wrap the child up in swaddling clothes
feel the soothing caress of mother's loving touch
the adoration for the babe-from its head to its toes
fuss about the child, there can never be too much
so innocent and beautiful, a vessel of vitality
a lifetime awaits for it to discover its talents:
in its executor's womb it discovers the harsh reality
an unwanted child watches as mother repents
loathing the "thing" growing inside her--its mother
it feels the cold caress of lethal juices used
wrap the infant in a cloak of death, agrees father
and so it dies alone, to love it they refused
aborted too late
pierce the skin
watch myself bleed from within
no remorse, a useless corpse
an insult to humanity
good-for-nothing
a lowly slave
used, abused, unappreciated
she will die for her sins
a paganist, an atheist
blasphemy shall be punished
kill all that she holds dear
withold no prejudices
watch her tremble
all alone in her misery
a mockery of non-conformists
watch as her life falls apart
no one cares for that lowly fool
for only a fool thinks her worthwhile
she writes about her unimportant sentiments
words heard by an apathetic audience
crying herself to sleep
hoping she awakens for the last time
praying for an end to this torment
in a world where she is the unwanted child
aware of all her surroundings
hiding in the protective shell of amniotic fluid
fear paralyzes her
as dr. love prepares for her abortion
to feel is to live
wallowing in the despair of life
it holds no hope for the neglected
listening to them tell her she's pathetic
she struggles to keep alive
thoughts of death sound so sweet
why not succumb to its temptations?
marvel at the solitude of death
and the comfort it promises
crying in her desparation
searching for a shadow of hope
she looks inside of her heart
and finds it as dead as her soul
corpse with senses
cut myself one more time
watch the wounds bleed my tears
a sad disposition i cannot express
self-mutilation, a human sensation
i am not yet dead
my life has been sacrificed
to the diety of depression
she disposes of the worthless body
a hollow corpse, an empty shell
useless and irrelevant
i wallow in my misery
a pain begotten by this world
myself disconnected from it
a spectator absent of heart and soul
merely a corpse with senses
love's mockery
such a cruel, heartless joke
is the notion that someone cares
i see only strangers' stares
where i expect to find my friends
people speak of a lasting love
yet propagate hatred and spite
hypocrites of wrong and right
making me the victim of disillusions
puzzled by my apathy
unaware that i'm hurting inside
there is no one in whom i can confide
my suicidal thoughts and unending depression
no one to hear my cry
i am so alone in this uninviting world
every other thought suggesting that i end
this wretched existence which came uninvited
searching for a panacea, finding only soma
there is nothing left in this place
a world where i never belonged
suicide seems to be the only permanent escape
in a land where everyone feigns ignorance
a place where no one cares about the shadows
--reflections of people who have been killed
by apathy and a lack of communication
my heart wanting to speak about the pain
but afraid to let anyone inside that shell
built with the remnants of many betrayals
a shattered image of the person i once was
unable to destroy all that self-hatred
a demon within my own mind and soul
dead inside
the emptiness inside gnaws persistently
at the disgusting spirit called a soul;
crying empty tears because the heart
has been exhausted, left with a fire
raging inside, nothing can hold it apart
from the ragged human form, uninhabited now.
the girl is dead they claim, foolish child
took her own life, couldn't stand the pressure;
they didn't know about her pain, it ate at her
painstakingly slowly; no one had a clue
about the demon she hid but could not conquer,
the psychosis of self-abuse she endured.
it whispered to her about her emotional anguish,
a never-ending void inside herself which stung
at the confidence she desperately needed, about love
which she denied, refusing to let her closest friends
into the perilous abyss she hid with a glove,
the self-mutilation, her secret friend and foe.
the sight of blood reminds her of mortality;
she can end it all with a deep slash to those arms,
those tiny, child-like wrists, parallel to the veins
that call out to the shard of glass in her hand;
pushing hard against her skin, chaos reigns
as her life is drained, dead in mind and body.
murdered by depression
they say i am not forsaken
but inside i am dead;
the maggots have eaten me
the cadaver i knew i would be
leeching on the remnants of life
my corpse was their salvation,
but eventually, it was drained;
to remain in it would mean death,
thus, simple-minded insects
understand my suicide.
foresaken
every day, the same thought crosses my mind
a decision which can change everything
it is within my grasp to end this torment
i am merely a waste of soul, a corpse which achieved nothing
a waste of life, nothing left but the bitter rind
what shall be the outcome? i am worthless.
the gods have foresaken me; shunned by humanity
i stare at the world through vacant eyes.
i feel the parasite take control of my body
unable to stop these immoral thoughts and whims
i want to kill this vessel which does not give me peace
an end to this eternal cycle of mortal sins
i relinquish my feelings of what's good and what's naughty
because in this world, morals are an impediment
they are an obstacle to overcome in order to progress;
a suicidal soul awaits the end to all life's lies.
book of memories
tearing away at the pages,
but memories remain unscathed;
the past returns to haunt the pages of history
presumed burned and rewritten.
life continues towards the future
but nostalgia summons the heart back in time.
the phoenix has re-emerged.
chaos reigns in the land of memories,
of childhood tales, of adolescent nightmares;
nothing alters the mind,
experiences return to terrorize the town of its banishment.
the dragonslayer has become a coward,
the prince no more than a well-dressed peasant.
in the land of the past, nothing is concealed
everything is painfully clear.
those memories believed to be burned and rewritten
were simply put upon a high shelf,
neglected for seemingly an eternity,
but the shelf is eventually browsed
while searching for other books.
rejected
understanding is all that i asked for
but alas, i am denied that vital need
i cannot continue living this way
my mind on the verge of erupting
and your only words to me are cruel:
stop making excuses
the only one to blame is yourself
you want to feel this way
snap out of it and be happy
why are you trying to hurt us?
words cannot express how much that hurt me
i tried to tell you how i felt
a difficult task in itself
but you merely condoned me
and made everything i said to you seem irrelevant
you asked me what i thought
and i answered you honestly
but all you had to say to me
is stop lying and making up stories
if that is the truth
then my entire life is as worthless as i believe
if i am making up stories
then my entire existence is based on fallacy
i refuse to live a lie
why do you refuse to understand?
i do not know what is going on
yet you force me to endure it alone
i am so weary of all this
i cannot think clearly
suicidal ideation has clouded my judgement
i just do not care any longer
nothing i do is important
my thoughts are not important
so why should i bother to live?
death is better than a life of lies
when i tell you i want it to go away
you accuse me of wanting to feel this way
i hate feeling like this!
i took those pills in an attempt to make it go away
alas, the bottle was empty before i had my fill
still you blame me for it all
i isolated myself because there was no one to turn to
no one who believed in the pain i am feeling
finding temporary comfort in music
but you took that away from me
so i retreat further away
alone for all eternity
pivotal point
self-hatred is seething in her soul
how did it come to this?
never a moments peace.
the disease agitates every living cell
her attempts to cure herself have failed;
more permanent measures are needed.
what shall she do?
mimic Sleeping Beauty without a Prince Charming?
win the same game Plath and Sexton won?
or perhaps follow in the footsteps of Kurt Cobain?
anything to stop the pain sounds appeasing.
she can no longer handle the suffering of life
breathing is difficult for her now
she cannot see clearly--life is a blur
invisible hands crush her chest
her head is pounding with every sound
the vitality of youth is extinguished from her
wishing to cry, but her eyes are dry
desiring to speak, but she has the lips of Daedulus
she is confused and alone.
weary of all the obstacles thrown in her path
she has fallen several times
giving up the will to trudge forward
her attempt to quit was in vain, her body acted against her
though it made her suffer for her attempt to quit
she questions the purpose of this journey
living a life where she is the enemy.
day by day, the hatred grows
as her will succumbs to the disease.
shattering glass
glass is shattering
can't you hear it?
it is crying;
the world is so unfair.
such a beautiful ornament
seeming strong, but in truth, delicate.
it can draw blood from those who handle it carelessly,
but it is vulnerable itself.
improper handling harms it
the damage occuring so gradually,
no one notices its depletion.
the people who handle it most frequently
ostentatiously deny their lack of care.
the glass slowly wears on.
it cries its transparent tears
but no one pays heed to it.
the glass cannot withstand the expectations,
it wears on still--it has lost its will
no longer caring that it is cracking.
they give it no break, no chance to rest;
the pain becomes unbearable
but they do not notice it cracking,
the cracks are internal, invisible to the naked eye;
it tries to mend itself, in vain.
finally, it breaks under the immense pressure
the cracks are now external.
all the world can see the cracks now;
they dismiss it as a weakness.
the glass continues to shatter.
a trip with Nostalgia
a man took me on a trip today
his name was Nostalgia
i saw so many things - funny and amusing
but mostly sad and depressing things
at the start of this trip, he showed me a child
she looked about seven
sitting on the grass, frowning.
each time she moved, the invisible shackles cut her wrists.
i watched as her mother tucked her into bed that night;
she cried herself to sleep
i watched her in her dream--it was like an old black and white movie
but it was wrong.
a little girl shouldn't even know those things:
a child wanders about a dark alleyway
stumbles upon a gun
she picks it up, aims it at her head-- BANG!
a sound, and nothing more.
she throws the toy against the wall in frustration.
not a tear in her eye -- tears are cowardly.
the girl looks older now -- she's nine
but the sadness in her eyes is still evident
i wonder why no one else can see it.
she is in a classroom filled with children
but she does not belong.
they ignore her, or worse, they taunt her.
she simply sits still, staring at the sky
nature is so much more beautiful than humanity.
but they will not be ignored.
one of the children pulls at her hair
the others stand and stare, cheering
the teacher tells the children to wait until recess to play their games.
the little girl retreats further into herself.
she arrives home only to be scolded for messing her hair
--a disgraceful child:
she'll never marry. she's too ugly to be loved.
the girl looks at her mother, saying nothing.
her lips speak not a word, but her thoughts scream:
"i'm ugly. i'm stupid. i'm worthless.
what do i have to live for? i want to die."
she retreats to her room--the daily ritual:
crying herself to sleep, dreaming of dying.
the child, now eleven, whimpers in a corner.
her brother is assaulting her
she does not even attempt to defend herself.
what do the bruises represent?
they prove she is worthless, a waste of space.
"i'm accident prone," she explains to her mother.
"you stupid girl. think about what you're doing."
she goes to her room to think:
it's a sin. i'll go to hell if i do it.
but isn't THIS hell? it can't be much worse.
lots of people have done it. they had to have a reason.
if the reason is good enough, can't it be justified?
my parents would be so ashamed. they would disown me.
they wouldn't even visit my grave.
nobody understands.
i am so utterly alone.
tears are streaming down her thirteen-year-old face
she can't believe her friend is gone.
life is so unfair.
a girl who loved life and people,
taken so suddenly.
she had everything to live for!
a future Olympian and Arts student
with a kind, caring boyfriend.
why would God deprive her of this happiness?
she decides there is no God.
but she still cannot bring herself to do it.
Catholic dogma resides deep in her subconscious.
she shuts the door to her room
and with the closing of that door,
she closes a part of her heart
as she slowly drifts away.
again i see the girl, she's sixteen now.
she's sitting on her bed, listening to music.
the sound is soothing to her
it helps to heal the invisible scars procured throughout the years.
she is scribbling words onto paper;
it is cathartic to her as well.
the only one to hear her pain is the apathetic paper
but it does not serve its purpose.
poetry is not enough.
music is not enough.
the pain is too much to bear.
she needs another outlet.
she stares at the broken glass on her dresser.
picking up a shard, she brings it to her wrist
she presses it hard against her skin
tracing the blue veins as a guide,
each layer of skin, a new sensation.
she mutilates the vessel of life she loathes.
she hides the cuts with a cloth
everyone is oblivious.
she has developed a talent for misleading people
--a smile says all is well.
at eighteen, all is obviously not well.
her hands shake uncontrollably
she cannot breathe
her head is spinning, everything is a blur.
the headaches are more severe now
but her woes fall upon deaf ears;
no one takes her seriously
she endures the pain alone.
her appetite is gone
she has no energy left
but still she cannot sleep--she never could.
she tries to avoid their questions:
what's wrong?
why are you ignoring us?
are you anorexic?
what are those cuts on your arms?
they don't understand.
how can she tell them how she feels?
no one will believe her anyway.
she isolates herself from her friends.
sitting in a corner, she opens the bottle
she ingests all the pills the bottle holds
she is sick and dizzy.
she falls asleep hoping she doesn't awaken,
but she does.
her mind retreats further away.
she is beyond help now, a worthless mockery of a human being.
she sits on her bed, performing the familiar ritual.
that was the last event that i saw on my trip.
i hate what that little girl has become.
didn't anyone see the pain and sadness in her eyes?
or am i the only one that understands her?
i depart from Nostaglia, with tears in my eyes.
upon entering my room, i look into the mirror
and see the little girl staring back at me.
cloning a monster
beauty resonnates from his face
an ethreal glow is about him
a masterpiece of humanity
a perfect specimen to clone:
his sweet aroma fills the air
with euphoric dreams of bliss;
he has a masculine voice,
deep and smooth and sensual;
his lips, manly, but soft to kiss
a brush with those lips
promises pleasure to the recipient;
that virile body, a visual aphrodisiac
arouses the interest of the innocent girl;
his eyes, such alluring eyes
captivate his audience.
he strikes her with his fist
the flesh is wounded and swollen;
she whimpers in the corner
terrified of the beast before her;
he devours her self-worth
--she is disposable in his eyes
a child's play toy,
to be disposed of appropriately.
they lied!
they said he would be the perfect man;
they described a demi-god,
she found a monster in its place
a deceptive, cunning beast;
he knows of his handsome features
he uses them as bait
trapping his victim unawares
and usurps them in his conceit.
ferocity was mistaken for beauty:
his feral eyes glow with agression;
the sounds escaping from his lips
--merely incomprehensible growls;
with the strength equal to a beast,
physical features -- so superficial
this is the monster they clone.
