Lost

“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.”
Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water   

 

Lost
                                Ships wreck

Walking through the question marks
Where will I go in this dark?
With the light dimming behind
How will I go being blind?
Screaming in my head, holding the candle near
Where will I go from here?
The path is crooked with cliffs along the way
Fear says never to go but only to stay

When there’s no sight from lack of light there remains no assurance in the steps. My soul’s being torn between ravenous beasts manifested by my torment. Faith, will you save me now? Will you come on the white horse of sanity and redeem my soul? These wasps follow me, stinging me where ever I go. I can hear the buzz of their wings while I sleep. There’s no healing from the swelling injections filled with the puss of their rape. What parts of me have died or are dying? Why can’t I tell? I know that bricks are missing in my wall and deleterious eyes stare at me from the holes. With all of this hell raging in and around me, I call out, as we all do in the foxholes of life, “GOD HELP ME”! He will, but how, it escapes me, but when, it eludes me, and in this moment I hang to what I know from His dealings with me in the past. I know He’ll help me, I know He’ll come, I know I’ll survive and be stronger yet for the next wave of human devils and demon thoughts.

Quiet Retreat –

“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” ― John Keats, Letters of John Keats
Forsaken by sanity, forgotten by humanity, she fought just to keep from fighting. Barely one step ahead of the encroaching madness, weary from the race, she laid down her arms. Passive resistance to no avail, giving all to go beyond today but consumed by fear of tomorrow and an unspoken dread of a foreshortened future. Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout her beautiful body hung from a leprosy filled soul. Her mind wasn’t empty but overcrowded with thousands of thoughts every minute, from the mundane to the complex, the raucous sound filled every crack and crevice of brilliance and care. She died long ago, resurrected once, only to be crucified again by the same love that brought her life. This cross she bears through life, stumbling in the crowded streets with the roar of the past and the horror of the future the foreboding songs of the morning. Hear her silent scream, silent lest the world hear the echoes of her demise. In the end, only God knows why she’s alive, why she persists, why living is a threat and death a quiet retreat.

 

First published at Opinions of Eye

The Pain Of Being Good –

“He’s not safe, but he’s good (referring to Aslan, the Lion, in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)” ― C.S. Lewis 
jimmyfungus
Monotony is a life I cannot endure and like the Chinese torture of a thousand cuts, each ordinary minute, and every plain hour, is an excruciating drain of my sanity’s blood.  My brain, being calloused by experiences that nearly destroyed me, craves danger and manipulates me to destroy success to create the drama I’m addicted to. I’ve an endless thirst that cracks my tongue and mind with desire for the spiraling waters of a hurricane, a wind blown vertical rain that stings my eyes and gives me a desire for living, if only for another second. My thoughts won’t wander from survival in this storm long enough for the pain of worry and boredom to take effect. The pressure of being good, i.e free from crisis, for to long leaves me open to the tedium of thoughts that pin me beneath their weight, but when I’m fighting for survival, struggling to gasp another breath, there’s no room for the mad thinking that sickens me and drives my weary soul deep into the blackness of insanity. They push me toward the edge and as I fight to keep my ground, I’ll smile at the fight that, if only for a moment, gives me release and a reason to live…then a moment of clarity comes to me. I look outside and see a squirrel eating the seeds I laid out and a smile crosses my lips. Little things that start a new way of thinking, of living, of dying. Maybe by bringing sustenance to the world, I’ll keep my shit together and not go stark raving mad. I’m in the boot camp of recovery, and this is my training to rebuild a broken mind.

Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinions Of Eye

Self Induced Blindness

“Alcohol ruined me financially and morally, broke my heart and the hearts of too many others. Even though it did this to me and it almost killed me and I haven’t touched a drop of it in seventeen years, sometimes I wonder if I could get away with drinking some now. I totally subscribe to the notion that alcoholism is a mental illness because thinking like that is clearly insane.”
Craig Ferguson, American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot 

“It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard drinking people.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald,
The Great Gatsby

 
misunderstood-journey

And with a deep drink, the battle begins inside. The poison seeps through every fiber of his mind, blinding it with anger. The blindness is absolute, the thinking stops and in the blackness of lost souls he wrings the sanity from every moment. Ripping the last shreds of innocence from the hosts of his sinking life, the cup’s thrown, a gauntlet of challenge against imagined foes. He pounds the friends and family surrounding him and crushes them beneath his inflamed ignorance. The pain is not enough, hearts fall deep into the void of his addiction. His breath excretes his venom of choice. No love in that world, no understanding, no chance for any to live and be well. It is a suicide, a long slow suicide, that takes everyone down with him. Nothing left, nothing gained, lives wasted. 

Unrelenting

“The basic thing nobody asks is why do people take drugs of any sort? Why do we have these accessories to normal living to live? I mean, is there something wrong with society that’s making us so pressurized, that we cannot live without guarding ourselves against it?” – John Lennon

pow-pow

Coming in a sudden burst, forcing itself, peace a detrimental casualty
Pressure from expectation, performance under intense scrutiny

Unrelenting, the pressure builds
Unforgiving, the anger burns
Undelivered, the solace capitulates

Closing my eyes makes me a target, can’t hide from the squeeze
speaking in halted phrases, tongue on fire with words that tease

Undeniable, the pain is exquisite
Unbreakable, the vice of lies
Unchanging, the facades of players

Praying for release, the knotted feeling in my stomach grows
a fist pushing its way up my throat, agony in my neck it shows

Unprovoked, the attacks keep coming
Unstable, love’s foundations destroyed
Unanswered, questions form opinions

Where is the breaking point of my brilliant mind and tenuous sanity?
What will happen when it all falls, without conscience, no lucidity?

Unrelenting acquisition of carefully sifted fantasies 

09182012