Wrap me in the mysteries of your dreams, oh, sweet one with your eyes of green, where the magic pools and smiles go to dip beneath that inner glow. Wash us deserving in the shadows of your pain where the struggle is real, no longer a game and all that once was becomes real again.
There is a whisper laying heavily across the hills outside our back window. It calls of frost and aching joints amid pale rains covering all the land in pure bone shades before the grime of cars and feet tracks humanity across that softest of faces.
Forever replete in an incomplete cycle washed to bare sticks and the legend of struggle through the flames of Summer which left vaunted few standing into the withering of Fall. Not in perpetuity do the giants stand, rather, they grovel to the wind and vanishing sun as it takes it’s yearly rest deep in the night.
Ground down over a mashing of ephemeral gears as children romped across their veins sucking desperate gulps of life through buried tendrils. Survival as a gasp to share their essence revealed finally as they die beneath the weight of Winter.
Meandering feet fall between the scent of wildflowers and moss, deeper into the mountain side this long trail winds. Water courses on a ceaseless tract towards the valley, runs furiously far below where the air is cooler and the sun rains its heat against the rapids.
Summer becomes the tone of fresh and old love mingled. Of exhilaration, fascination, inspiration, all put in skin sacks, given names. Each heat riddled day the sun bakes us, we are entwined in passionate reverie, where no mere words will penetrate the sanctum.
You brittle sword blades that play at being soft, with your fucking allure and goddamn velvet looks. All supple and inviting, green and enticing, even though I know you’re full of bugs. I’ll lay down, Sucker for your edges on my skin. That’s Spring, time for lying shoots, stubborn goofs.
Give me back the good ole’ days, when I didn’t know I had been a dick, before my eyes got opened wide when I didn’t know I was supposed to think that I was slick. ’cause now there’s nowhere left to run, the drugs aren’t making new connections, copper wire all stripped bare and caked in black, who knew that feeling guilty wouldn’t be so fun. When disassociation was best friend, wide-eyed ignorance was true enough shame comes boiling on like napalm from the surface of a once forgiving sun. So self-important in critique that I’m burying the good parts inside the shit convinced that its still black and white and regardless of the truth, I deserve to be punished. for the right, the wrong, the sick, that stupid mindless babble even my well-intentioned songs. Keep it all so serious now, that panic seems always at the door, instead of basking in the freedom from that monster inside that damaged so much the world. Enjoy the chance to roll again, spin through ridiculously insane normalcy, let feet hit a brand new road and leave behind insecurities, all fallacies–
Tongue twisting word misted lofty ethics suddenly shifted. Verbiage awry crooked context, sand quickens sickens the truth with maddening lies. Bullheaded bully vacuum packed morals gone dead done right presented cleanly above suspicion heartless lips soulless head. Accusations flutter steer recklessly fly rashly land poorly eventually die. Miserable life distorted denial avoids change ever always engarde tromping a perilously pointless and petulant hike. Existence’s trials trails marching for miles dust caked grins always grimy shiver obscenely spit softly back at ’em –shake the fear off and smile.
I’ve been on both ends of the stick I suppose at different points, something that I’m not proud of, but can admit readily enough. Whether it was spawned from fear, trauma, etc, doesn’t quite qualify as an excuse for how I behaved at points during my life, it was my responsibility to “not be an asshole”. Feeling someone play out their own internal sickness in the same way towards me is an eye opener.
Tattered, tired, and angry though someone may be, it has to be an echo of some truly painful and unresolved issues to advise an individual dealing with a mental illness that they are despised and everyone is in the eaves waiting for them to die. Shitty and deeply manipulative behavior,knowing that the recipient can literally do nothing other than just sit with themselves, absent means to defend themselves without seeming more culpable as a perpetrator of something justifying such vicious and cutthroat suggestions. There is no power in the words themselves other than what the recipient gives them.
Maybe though, in some ways, it might just be how a person deals with their particular brand of sadness and pain–the only way they know how, lash out. Go for the throat. God knows I’ve done it before more times than I care to think if not totally in that literal context. A whipcord reaction to hurt those that hurt you, even if it is based on incorrect judgement calls and assumptions.
Everyone heals in their own way, and while that doesn’t make it right, finally, I can put myself in the other pair of shoes and understand the feelings behind the words. Temper my own frustration and resentment at the unnecessary cruelty with patience and accept that it is what it is, and life will continue to move on. It’s not worth giving though or dwelling on someone’s words when they are bent on hating or hurting you, let ’em go by the side and don’t look back.
Someone once told me, if someone’s an asshole and lies or treats you poorly, at the end of the day, they’re the asshole, not you.I’ve been an asshole plenty across my life, and that makes a lot of sense.
We have only ourselves and our actions to control–for better or for worse.
if only it didn’t get wasted on recklessness and flair.
A heart of gold that’s caked in grim so foul by
denial in fluid form quite thick with salty accusations.
The entropy which held his corroded soul?
Only his own beautiful and despairing wiles,
his mental contortions and poorly calibrated machinations.
Knowing where to breach the wall starts up a new trip,
destination target of personal acceptance where he wouldn’t have to be so slick.
So out the fingers onto board,
let introspection guide–it’s time–
now to scour honestly at what really is inside.
The good, the bad, the disgusting and the brave.
Let’s turn the light where it should shine,
come to love yourself and be unafraid.
Written during an interlude to personal evaluations that have been a long time coming. It’s not all black or white, and that’s how I’ve looked at it for so long–either I’m a good person or a bad person. Reality is I’m a good person who has done and does bad things wrapped up with a bad person who does good things as well–happens to support the delusion that while I’m doing one I’m not the other. Ihave despised myself, been hopped up and arrogant, placid and timid, confident and sincere, dishonest and truthful–but I have never really sat down and recognized the individual parts of the whole to welcome them in and actually come to peace….my hope is that for whatever reason, that process starts today.
Actually doing some of the work for once instead of just expecting understanding to shit brilliance on me at some random point.
This runs in conjunction to me getting back into treatment though I never thought I would and despite still (poorly) struggling with the old demons. And, while terrified that I’m just wasting oxygen while doing it, I’m finally engaged with a full PACT team of recovery specialists to help give me a pathway and outline to work within to get healthy mentally and spiritually–become a viable member of the community instead of a pariah.
Last thought I suppose, because I know I’ve ground out so much vitriol here on my vomit board over the years–self indulgent and caked with inconsideration at many points–unappreciative of much that happens around me because I don’t understand the workings of the world nearly as well as I once pretended. Today I’d like to express some gratitude for the strange things that happen, both the uncomfortable and the “saving grace” moments. Times when you find that missing pot which vanished, or you forget to turn your headlights off for two hours but your car still turns on, your friend just happens to be there right when you turn the corner, or that any of us find love to begin with. Thank you and my gratitude to the invisible universe that makes it all happen. I’m going to marvel at the beauty of it more and perhaps be less confuzzled and distressed by the parts I don’t understand.