Finish me.

This the deepest agony, here deep in the well

this is the darkest place that I know oh so well.

And maybe this is all there is

all there is for me.

Maybe it is fitting for him to finish me.

From psychopath to psychopath,

I’ve bravely run, made each escape

But I’ve no more place to run to

I’ve got no sanctuary place.

And I’m tired from the running

and i’m tired of all the pain

every man i’ve ever met

has treated me the same.

They put me up on pedestals

then push me to the floor

and I am just a human

I can’t take no more.

I give them all attention

I give them all I have

but I don’t have any more to give

there’s simply nothing left.

This is the deepest agony, down here in the well

This has become my second home, down here in hell.

And maybe this is all there is

all there is for me.

Maybe it is fitting for him to finish me.

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Can’t cry your tears

And I just cant
cry your tears for you
After I’ve already bled for you
I can’t be dead for you
you can’t want me
To cry your tears for you

Episodes of romance
Descendants of dysfunction
Different sides of the planet
We went from being estatic
To being tragic-but I just can’t
Feel your pain for you

I write out -for emptying
Early morning pain drain
thinking back to that accident
on West Chester Boulevard

the black out. That Trail of fears
Exactly how did my heart
Become yours? (and it did)
But I just can’t
cry your tears for you
While I’m still crying tears of my own

With our past as our future
we are doomed to repeat
using echoes as a weapon
Distilling love into fear
Triggered memories, both yours and mine
Sacrificing love for pride
Making the inexperienced the new virgins
Offerings to the gods of indifference
and I just can’t
feel your fears for you

In my heartland insecurity
Pretending verbal erruption
Isn’t personal terrorism would be a lie.
(Promise talks while the innocent listens)
It has me paused on one who thinks different-
Verbal seduction with a casual acceptance of death?
You will never hear me tell a conscious lie
And though I love you, I just can’t
feel your fears for you…

Misusing the respect
Turning freedom into killing talks..
Mass murdering the affection
Weaponizing the psychology of fear
All fueled by addiction with
A substitution of new desires faking instructions.
My bill of rights becomes an apprentice
to this -your pain, your fear. A broken respect treaty
And you just asked me to
feed your fears to you..

Way this story is unfolding
We may end up crying together
As in crying at the same time
But I’m short on tears to cry for you

Because I’ve all these tears I’ve cried on my own
So I’m not able
To cry your tears for you

( Thank you John Trudell).

The love kill

a void exists where you once lived

where you were in my life

the ashes of a fire short lived

where part of me just died.

So I sit here in the dark of chill

where once I held you close

and something really did get killed

that love for you, that hope.

Could I have done differently?

Could i have done any differently? Not spoken out? Held my pain within

until it would have built and come out sideways somewhere else?

Could i have responded differently? Not told my truth. Not said “ouch”

when it hurt? Been stoic and dishonest? Be untrue to myself?

It’s a rare day for me when I cannot talk. The pain so palpable that I hear

the breaking of my heart.

It’s a rare day for me when I cannot walk. The focus on moving forward

pulls me quite apart.

I don’t know what else to say, don’t know what to do.

But I know I cannot hold back on what for me is true.

The statement that was made to me could not be ignored.

To passively agree with it, would have me thrown overboard

-when this relationship set sail, there was no chartered course

-I’m in unfamilar waters, and I’ve been thrown by its force.

I don’t know how to get back to land, I don’t know where to go

But what was said, can’t be unsaid and the trust froze into snow.

Heartbreak the Odyssey

Tell me, O muse, of that indigenous heroine who traveled far and wide, after she had embodied the famous woman so destroyed. Many men did she visit, and many were the relations with whose manners and customs she was acquainted; moreover she suffered much by lack of intimacy while trying to save her own life and bring her soul safely home; but do what she might she could not save other souls, for they perished through her own sheer folly for insisting on the battle of the the Goddesses Athena and Venus; so the Gods prevented them her from ever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, O daughter of Jove, from whatsoever source you may know them. 

I know of Persephone, her descent into the seven levels of Hell. I know the darkness, the salt and sulphuric smells. I know of the survival skills needed to navigate the place where pure evil dwells. I know of the sorrow there, of the unending spirit pain. I know of the ceaseless heartache, deeper than water wells.

I know the place of courage, when Demeter sent down her rope, when I was pulled up towards the light, where I relearned how to float. I built my little house with little pebble stones, I rebuilt my life out of ashes from my bones.

I know of rekindled passions that rose up from the clay, of love’s manifestations that carried me away. And I was a bride four times, in south, in north, east, west, but each lover left me homeless, each husband just a guest. They made themselves at home in my very juicy heart, then stripped it bare and cleaned it out when they chose to depart.

And every time Persephone was there to guide me down, to the place where I’d descended, after shredded wedding gown. Each time I rose for spring, each time I rose to shine, each time I had to pull myself out from hell, the upward climb.

I’ve wandered through the desert, with Athena’s papered hands. I’ve sat in class, I’ve mastered arts, I’ve maps, directions, charts.

And Hera was embraced, by kitchen stoves -I cooked. I cleaned I scrubbed and I obeyed, I was aproned, but overlooked.

Artemis took me deep within, the wild and wooded lands, where I painted and created with my own very hands. She held me together, after Venus had had her way, she bandaged up the heartbreak, she taught me to pray. She taught me to sing, with the birds by glossy lake, she taught me how to grow my wings to dance, to drum, to wake.

Demeter could not hold me, for there was no father there who stayed, each time I swelled with life, they each took turns, betrayed the woman I could have been, the mother I would have made.

The ones who proved the hardest to love were the ones who needed it most. But in the end I lost those loves, I was just the vampires host. The hero and the heroine, the archetypal king and queen, have evaded me, slipped through my grasp, like some evasive dream.

So Venus comes for one last time, am I her or am I crone? I know both will bring their wounds, I know each has their own throne. Will Venus bless me one last time? Or will she leave me cursed, to the descent into the abyss, to end the non heroic verse?

to love or not to love

To love or not to love. That is my question.

The being is there, but without love is it being?

To love? without question, I do love.

But to love- the one sided kind- is a type of sleep;

a non being state, a dream built on hope.

Hope, the last of Pandora’s gifts

as if

that would make up for all the other contents

that came forth from her horror filled box.

To hope for what may never come is a kind of deep

dark wishful state. An unreal limbo.

Limbo, the place for the unchristened

as if this ethereal prison

manifests any kind of contentment.

To love or not to love, that is my question.

To love? Without question, I love.

who would I be

how can I be

what would I be

without love?

Clouds in these eyes.

I am on the edge of the empty abyss.

It is there ready to swallow me into it’s dark.

This is blank place devoid of the kiss

facing this is always the hardest part.

Echoes of the questions that hunt this haunted mind

hiss out their expressions to taunt with their unkind

condemnations, activating a grief that is always near

the surface. Always clouds in these eyes.

Death of the loveless.

I can go without water for days in the woods

and I can go without food for weeks.

But I cannot survive without love.

Maybe my heart will shrivel and I will follow it?

Maybe this ache will take me in the end.

I can survive cuts and bruises, the scrapes and sprains

get through fevers and aches.

But I cannot survive without love.

Maybe my soul will dim and the light will go out?

Maybe this darkness will take me in the end.

The worst lie

The worst lies we ever use, are the ones we tell ourselves.

To people please, I’ve self deceived to a point of overwhelm.

I’ve loved so hard, my heart has broke, it’s vitality decreases.

and all the loves stand end to end in disaster masterpieces.

For I’m too old to do what others want, and leave myself neglected

it always ends the same old way: once pleased they then reject it.

And I’ve always been left on my own, to rebuild, restart, restore

but I just don’t have the strength left to start over anymore.

My self respect means more to me, than offers of false hope

I can’t abandon me again, can’t walk that tense tightrope.

The words that smother me thick with dreams, set up expectations

and lead to disappointments that see me collapse in lamentations.

I’m not made of the stronger stuff, that others are built by

I’m fragile and I’m easily broke, I’m wrapped in silk and sighs.

So don’t tell me that you love me when the words don’t match the practice

for it breaks my heart, kills me inside, there’s no center, there’s no axis.

Nothing sound to build upon, no foundation stone was laid.

Just me floating round the promises, with the promises delayed.

Each line upon my face, each furrow in my brow

each mapped out little heartbreak from every broken vow.

I will shrink til I’m invisible, like your shadow on the wall

until I disappear and I won’t be seen at all.

Burden of truth.

The burden of his song

was like the Jolly Millers

he cared for simply no one-

alone in his hall of mirrors.

But the saddest part of all

is that everything he’s done

will double back and return to him

and render him undone.

No universal principle

is truer than this truth

for what you do unto others

will be done unto you.