something sacred

My heart’s gone slack in this flesh covered cage called ‘my chest’ where the paleness of bones feels lighter than light itself. It’s a cold feeling that numbs my body right down to my toes like I’ve walked all day long in 2 feet of snow, barefoot as I go on and on. I stack books but never read them. I no longer care to escape from the end. Eventually, it’ll all catch up to me and the words and the worlds will yield as they bend to my will. You see my mind has become a place, filled with the monsters that lurk in real life as I curl up in my bed. I haven’t had time to rest in weeks since I gathered all of this strife.

He says I’m an occultist. I conjure the ghosts that moan in his attic within walls and boxes. He tells me I’m a pitch-black starless night sky and my soul’s been consumed by the lust in his life. Well, if I’m a witch without a cat or a broom to fly away on why are you so familiar with the ways of my hips and my waist. Why do your eyes wander, to my body and never my face? So, I guess you’re a charmer at least that’s what I’ve heard as I walk into lobbies and run out of hospitals. There’s a baby somewhere crying out that man’s name but it isn’t mine, it’s yours. 

I wish I had magic to burn or a spell I could learn to erase all the hysteria in my mind but an illusion won’t do what my memory reminds. I’ve got weight pressed against the back of my spine and it’s you that hovers around like a dark cloud. It’s him again as his voice says my name aloud. I’m not some kind of feat that you can play your tricks on. All at once I feel sick as you talk about thongs. Thongs that are pink and thongs that are blue. Strings that hold places up like a bound whore at least she gets paid and consents to “what for” while an hour of time feels like forever to me. 

Tell me to go. I plead in my brain. I pray to all the gods. Maybe if I act deranged. Will you tell me to leave? Permit me to escape? I’m asking for answers but you lock me away. Here in this dark cell of dismembered hell. You can keep what you stole from me. You can have what you wanted but allow me to leave. All the parts have been left all over the floor and under the sink. You can keep me. You can keep me but let me break free. Get out of my system! I’m dead can’t you tell? You’re just fucking a doll that you thought you knew well and I’m screaming inside. I’m tearing up every page that used to define my loathing and rage. You can leave. You can go. If you can find the key but the door’s always locked and I never flee....I freeze. 

I thought I was all grown up with my education and licensure’s but every drop of alcohol burns my tongue. I swallow bitterly to shed the day that I’ve already run out of. I go to bed early but lie awake. I wait for the numbing, sweetness of slumber. I awake early, exhausted but ready in haste for a job that I loathe, with these new fancy clothes. I walk down 4 flights of stairs from my apartment. I toss my bag over my shoulder and place my keys in my pocket, exiting out into the street. I don’t look both ways. Perhaps, I give people too much credit for those also living but really I just don’t care anymore.

It’s supposed to be easier, that’s the thought in my head like I’m already dead and laid out. I hear their loud mouths yelling in glory, “get out you idiot! get out!”. I don’t heed their warning I just continue to go, as fast as I can heavy with a burden of woes. Maybe I’m selfish or just spent. I can’t keep up with the traffic of words or the timing of my rent. There’s a window, a tunnel, a small green hill and my spine crawls with the feeling as my body chills. It’s supposed to be better. I’m supposed to be well. Yet, here I am in this winter feeling as if I’m roasting in hell.

I’m an adult. I’m all grown up and I still feel like I’ve never grown past infantile. When my parents loved me and I’d always smile. Now, it’s all just lights and a very great relief that the burden’s been lifted from me. I’m no longer heavy. I’m lighter then air. I hear the jingle of my keys crashing and wonder if an Angel will be there with it’s wings all aglow from my very own ringing bell or maybe it’s only darkness again. Did I? Did she? That thing on the ground with her body all crooked and the contents of her bag all sprawled out. There are no onlookers just the flashing of phones. Was that man a murderer? or Did she go on her own?

Why do we call it a battle?

When we inflict this pain

on ourselves

starving it out like a fever

of cold fingers

wrapped around

bruised thighs

to measure

whatever the amount

of bones that cry

why?

why?

why are you so?

ignited by

a fire raging in my blood.

the war of nerves

always disordered...

so, why do we call it a fight?

when it’s not.

because strength has to come

from the vacancies

that leave us hungry

‘Hey...’

I hear the voice

through my cell phone.

and it’s hardly a replica

of how this person

actually sounds.

a broken connection

layered with static

my heart swells up at once

before seized by 

the knowledge

‘they’re not calling for you’

it says.

I wait silently on the line

whilst the other side

breathes in.

I cannot answer 

the question

I haven’t the words

it’s a crumpled up letter

placed inside my pocket

as I express 

‘how sorry I am

for being so 

scatter-brained’

all at once

there is an acknowledgment

a polite sympathy

before 

we hung up

without

When I was younger the need to feed a cyber addiction in the growing age of the world wide web was far from a necessity and more so an oddity. The thought of sitting at a screen of static and long chains of chatroom speak seemed like a dauntless task when you could just go outside and talk with whomever. Nowadays, we’re like prisoners to our devices: assigned ringtones amidst the resounding noise of a text, tweet, or snap. It’s annoying but oh-so-excruciating not to know who it is or what’s trending. We’ve become little monsters in our digital obsession. I for one am guilty of this self-indulgence. Why I update my status and social medias more than the average teenager smokes weed.

Tumblr’s my vice as is online shopping, twitter banter, instagram feeds. I have to know so I am in the “know” for people I know next to nothing about. Online or high speed internet rather, is a dangerous place full of liars and cons even during the old days of AOHelL as a stupid 13 year old I would pose to be 16 to gain more people to IM. It was beyond ignorant on my part as most of the people who sent emails and instant messages were males in heat, literally “rapping” at the bit to exchange pics of each other. Luckily, even in those decrepit days of illiterates and phasers the longing to be someone different would always abound. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I was too young to do anything in real life without consent or parental approval but online I could do anything.

I met a lot of cool people or other prevaricators I believed. I guess now the term is catfishing but I never got online to form love attachments. I mean sure everyone had an internet bf/gf but it was easy to just ‘log off’ and disappear for good. I liked having that control because in real life there are always limitations. I met quite a few of those IRL ‘authority figures’ who basically objectified young girls like myself then. So, I retreated to a screen full of faceless people because at least ‘on the net’ I could vanish without a trace. If someone found me out in my string of lies of gaining a license permit when I was barely able to ride a bicycle without crashing I’d just delete the account and create a new screen name.

Life was manageable inside this box of lies when my current ‘box’ was unstable. Sometimes I miss those days but I outgrew them rather quickly and those ‘cool people’ I’d chat with began to fade one by one. It was like we were all ghosts trying to find ourselves in this cyberspace masquerade we’d call bullshit just by a hunch. The internet is too sophisticated now. There are loopholes even to the loopholes and abusers of information because it is so simple to gain the knowledge of who is whom. There are kids talking to pedophiles and adolescents becoming cam-whores making the spread of this viral hysteria like a mass ctrl alt delete. It’s disgusting and radical how the world has become one gigantic extreme and here I am reminiscing of when I could hide behind the glut of hyper-facades. 

I need to stop chasing dreams like I do rent control apartments. The government has got it’s eye on me with my ‘always paid in full’. I don’t stay too long or too far off from the distance because the further I go the sooner I’ll slip away. I miss the skyline. How I could open my window and unlock my door without suspecting the drunk from 40C would come bounding up the stairs, to do god knows what with his vodka tonic. He’s very posh for a lush. He speaks fluent ‘economics’ and I vouch for him like any sane person would because his litany on life, pleasure, and consumption are like sticking pins in your eyeballs.

I hear the sirens wail even from miles away. I’ve got bionic hearing or something. They wake me up daily sans the piece of shit alarm clock I own. I bought it at a flea market because the hipster in me thought it ‘retro’. It ticks like a damn bomb in Vietnam and it’s incessant sound turns my skin to sharp needles. I can’t stand it, so it’s been smashed in quite a bit but regardless of any amount of bashing it still tick, tick, ticks. I’m hoping to move soon. Someplace warm for the winter. Where the travel between New York and Florida is somewhere between the sun melting a snow-cone. I think I’ll be happy but then again I also think I’ll hold a steady job.

if the moon was nothing but a figment 

would you believe 

there were gods 

still in the sky?

he said 

“angels were meant for falling, 

so, Andromeda’s pretty to vie.”

for what reason? i ask him.

she’s a hell of a stunner

so, she’s a front runner?

yes.