I've come to suck your BLOOD

I can't
this place is stale, rotting...
I can't
I can't move any longer like a snake making the same mistakes, biting it's own tail; like a child without a Mother or Father to hold her in times of pain
I can't
I can't do this any longer, marking the words of one's past and ensuring that it lasts
I can't do this any longer, this place is stale....where I have been & keep going back to,
Wondering if the taste will change with time.

I stand & wonder if the Earth has anything else to feed me; because I feel hungry, Mother.
This place is dripping from the seams with sadist content, I just can't any longer.

Jesters with masks, they all performed so well. Who are you trying to impress tonight?
Did you practice 3 days a week; made sure all the instruments were tuned and intact.
Did you go through your whole week leading up to tonight, missing the days gone by because all you were thinking of was tonight and how you will look, how you will sound, who will be there to make you smile, make you feel something you don't know for your self?
But excuse me, you can't give something you don't have and you can't fool me ! 
I was bored after seeing all of your expressions and emotionless movements.
You are just good at performing & a performance is cheap and prone to mechanical disease.
My pockets are empty, only keys clinking like handcuffs reminding me of my life that I signed up for. Sigh, this isn't even what I want.
 Pinned, trying to dance & sing my way free from these shackles that bind me.

I bought my first pack of cigarettes last night, because the thought & act of smoking a cigarette would bring me closer to You and it was my only option at that point. It worked, for what it was. The aroma brought me back where I was looking to be. The nicotine; love drunk and ready to close my eyes from all of this. I have loved the smell of a cigarette when it is first lit; ever since I can remember. But, I just always knew it was bad news to smoke. As a docent young girl in the backseat of the car, I liked it; a lot.  & I have always loved the way smoke lifted like a snake from the burning end. There wasn't anyone there that I wanted to speak to or even be by. I tried talking to a dude dressed up as Edward Scissorhands and he just stared at me. I'd tell a story or joke and of course I'd laugh at myself but most of the time people just stare at me. So, instead; I sat and admired all the people in the building. All the costumes and people dancing, like a fly on the wall; I sat. But there was no one there to sit with and be with. There wasn't anyone there to share my mind with. So, I left and smoked a cigarette on the way home and tried listening to music that'd take me where I needed to be. I felt more embraced in the darkness of my car with the smoke circling in and through me. A cool wind flowing through my windows and the thick fog surrounding me as I moped on down the 46. I felt more embraced in that 40 minutes then I did in that establishment filled with jokers & thieves. I needed something last night. I needed something; I really did. Maybe it was just myself and I've been looking for Me in all of You. But come to find out, Me is kinda boring and really fucking weird. I'll probably say something to hurt you and you'll end up not liking me anyways. I'll make you think twice about yourself & what you believe to be true; because that's all I do in my free time.  I'll jump up and down like a child because all this energy in me just needs to be released. I'll dance with my arms wide and swinging; along with my hips and winged feet. But I still feel alone even when the Stars, Moon and Sky are dancing with me. There is just no comparison of shared union with your same species. With someone that has a mind of yours and with someone whose heart beats in tune with you.  But I'm serious, who wants to hear theories about human evolution & talk about aliens, or poke fun at each other and laugh at our dumb selves & the dumb shit we do. I'm still feeling lonely and the cheap substitutes I keep bringing in don't last very long. They are stale in comparison and it seems that all I can afford these days is just that. Cheap and fast.

Milk Maiden; please Save Me

I just can't do this anymore...my seat is beckoning me to get off of it and reach for another place to be. The whispers have gotten to me and have created cracks and seals in my skull that make my head pound with anger and guilt-ridden anxiety. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations when I am stuck in 2nd degree waiting for the blind to see me. How am I supposed to live with grace when all I am doing is scrubbing clean the fountain that you truly, and I mean truly only see as dirty. Where is the branch that fell and hit you on the head back when you thought you had it all figured out and had it all typed up ready for press and print, all to see, all to read and misinterpret degenerately. For fuck's sake, this service has gotten me spinning in circles. Set up, eat up, clean up. I am paying for this, I am paying you, I am giving my time here to be looked at with critical glasses and never enough glances. And I left all behind me to pay my dues for the paycheck that comes with clocking in and clocking out day in & through. Driving to and from, here early, running late...running in circles, never really feeling the actual date. Your fortress has been cracking at it's seams for some time and you never seem to really fill those cracks up with ease. The truth seeps and wanders down the blades of your shoulder and helps you to think that maybe all this back-breaking work is worth something, enough to wonder? All this blood, sweat, and tears is what you are actually after. But the day goes on and the work must be done in order to produce the affect that we need. To produce something that was never needed to begin with. Busy work, work of the devil, work of the malice that seemed to be gaining an ounce of freedom and sanctity. Consuming your very heart for food on the table, addictions relayed and Netflix or some dumb cable reality T.V. How about a remodeled kitchen, new floors, and a trip overseas. Is this all you ever wanted ? And what about the tales lurking in the shadows, did you ever read them and think that maybe this is why you can't seem to stop and look at your life honestly? No, really...just stop and do nothing. But rather use things, fill it up with white flour, eggs, dairy and cheese. The milk of the Maiden, here to comfort your dis-ease. Here to cradle you in her bosom and let you rest her head on top of pasty-white cottage cheese thighs; a suit made only for milking everything under the Sun in soured distrust and needy lust. I wasn't made for this, but you made me believe the tale you've passed on through generations of recipes and sentimental tendencies. I could easily burn everything around me and feel more free than I ever have, even with you looking at me. Even with you worrying about me, especially.  A rebel with a cause, a fighter with no more than a tear left to add to endless Sea of never enough's and hey, look at me, Ma & Pa ! I want to live like a Tree and swim in the Sea, without an agenda of sorts or a need for pity and sympathy. I want to attend my own Party, where flowers grow wild and ideas are thrown into the sky and lost in the endless Galaxy of my own beating heart, with glittery giggles and tears made of salt water. 

A letter to Me...for You.

Oh, how that taste lingers. That familiar taste of something lingering in the air. I am caught between my intuition and my fear. Which is lying; which is real and looking out for me? Self-sabotage is real; it is there. I cling to the fear of never good enough; nothing right, everything is wrong. I learned to manipulate the emotions of others to feel something that I could never find. But, I just knew it was lingering somewhere deep in the caverns of my heart. In the dark deep caves where I did not dare to go; posted: NO TRESPASSING. But, everyone I meet leads me back to that place. They lead me back to the dark corners of my mind. To the darkest corners of my body. Holding me down, dragging me behind to that place I used to be. Holding on for dear life ! The fire idling; the corpse deteriorating and slowly decaying. No energy; just stagnating melancholy. How will I ignite the fire? Anger rising, emotions surpassing. Those emotions stirring inside, rustling the dead leaves. Learning to allow the dead to fall peacefully; lovingly, with no attachment and no degree of what is right or wrong. Why must I resist the heat? Why must I hold on to everything that doesn't serve me? I am addicted to the taste of malice and decree. I'd like to be friends with you but sometimes we meet each other with the taste of distrust and fear which only leads to misunderstanding and finger pointing. And that is when I know; I must go into my cave and swim in the depths of the sea to find me. Go in there and find the one hiding; the one crying and just hold her. Hold Me, and love Me. That is my responsibility. I beg of you to not take on the task. No matter how hard I try to be seen and felt pity for. No matter how hard I cry and stamp my feet. This is mine own. You owe me nothing; as I own none of it. Humble me, forgive me when I am down; when I have presented my arrogance to you for a turn in the wheel of life. To survive, surpass, and steal. The shadows in my heart are there; I can no longer deny them. So, leave me to find love in the pool of tears, in the waters of loss, and in the blood of life. And know that they serve me well when I do not place on top an opinion of which is right or wrong and know that it is all one.

And in just one moment, with the snap of a finger, a thought unraveled, a snapping of a twig...something changes and your whole life is thrown in a different direction that you never thought possible but silently wished for all along. Flipped upside down, shaken up and out.

Found&Lost

And nothing, I mean nothing is ever enough. Or it is too much. Too often I am here and then I am there but never truly here. Fuck. Do I have control in this? Do I have a say as to what direction this will take me. Am I living in misery purposefully or just wishing blindly. Oh my, oh my do the stars shine but I only notice it for a split second before I seek out another source of validation. Wow, oh wow where have I been ? Just spinning in circles in a pretty dress. My ancestors needed it. I, however, am beginning to realize it is a source of frustration and less than forgiving results. I would like to be free of this need. This need for validation, this need for love from you. I am needy. Am I? Aren't we all? I bet my neediness bugs you and reminds you of yourself, yet you aren't able to realize it. Just push away the need for love, the need for attention. Push it away and let it rise some other time. I am learning; I suppose to not need you, or this or that. To not need things to be a certain way or to have them perfectly in line with what I believe is inviting. At this point, everything I thought I needed and now have...I just want to throw it all way because it is hitting me in the head two-fold. It's like I have what I think I want but I'm still standing outside the glass, drooling and banging my head until it bleeds. Ouch. To produce an affect, to produce a stimulus. Evoke a thought, a feeling. This magic has got me twisted, blinded, spinning in circles of self-deluded theories and hypocrisies. So, it leaves me to want to get lost in the sounds of nothing. Of something, of a heartbeat, of the wind in the trees, lost in the warmth of the sun. But that's no way to live in this society, what are you really doing with your life? Is it everything you wanted or are you waking each morning wanting more. For me, I'm going to choose to stay lost; not in thought but in feeling.

She has Died

What does it mean to die? My rose colored glasses have changed color. To the color of, well I don't quite have the name for it yet. But I'm wondering, what does it mean to die? What does it mean to be vulnerable. To be real, genuine, heart on your sleeve in the heaviest storm. What does it mean to reveal yourself in an authentic way. Is it even up to the other to be loaded out onto in terms of spilling your guts to them so they love you. Spilling your guts onto them so all they can do is say to themselves, "Wow, that is a lot of blood...and now you've gotten it on my sheets." What does it mean to be real. To be humble, to speak of lovingly, to diminish, to spit on, conspire against. What does it mean to hold on tight in the wind where everything is going full speed and you've got only two hands, and the sky is tearing apart into a great black space of time. I am getting sucked into time, into space and it is everlasting. The piece is new and shiny, the thought is fresh and crisp. I can smell the sweet grass, I can hear the bird vibrate in my lungs. To be seen, to be heard, is to be. What do I have to offer? I have to make a scene, I need the attention to be felt real. I need the validation, the stamp on the letter. What have I got to give other than a few tricks up my sleeve. The joker is a thief. and the child is the mother. I am lost...again. In between reality and delusion. The person I want to be and the person that is me. I am lost. In time and depth of being, the scene twists, it turns into oblivion. What am i doing here? Is it something that could be held onto? It is but a fleeting memory. I just like the way it is to feel keys underneath my fingers. The fluid movement of all my fingers and watching the bones pop out of my hand as I type. I'll lead you onto believe I'm dumb, because I already know you think of yourself as dumb. What a waste of energy. To think and believe in an altered reality. Where have my feet been. In the sand, in the heat. Soaking up this whole body. And the beat of my heart, I never let myself feel it. I couldn't regulate my nervous system. It was too hard, it was too tough. Like a brick lie on top of me and I had nowhere else to dive in deep. Move through the door onto the other side. This is where all the magic lies. Yes, lies. Magic is lies and deceit. You cannot run from your life. But I will try. The wind danced neutrally with my body, light as a feather. the answers of wisdom came flooding to my mind as I moved my hands in perpendicular motion set forth from the bottom of my feet and the tip top of my forehead. Wow, what a feeling. I allowed the messages to flood in and I instantly began to analyze, throw away, keep close, leave in the dust. It was all too real, the scent of the stench, the stale and wretched corpse lying in the dark. I came to realize that I am no longer able to wear this disguise. You will not meet the martyr in me nor the victim of disbelief. She has died.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJRJ73MmmTU

You are Dead

And then I realized that I didn't need anything other than you. Or was it me? No, yeah I didn't need anything else other than me, myself and I; to be full, to be whole. A full heart, a longing for myself surmised into the depths of laughter and lightweight fortitude towards something that was tender and small yet big and enveloping in the most awful way. Blinded, deceased sense of love and breathe. The same story, the same words. When will I ever cease the running away from all that is a part of me. I look into the mirror and only see what I want to see. I only see what I've been looking at since I recognized my face. But what about the reality? It is two dimensional, that damn mirror. You see only what you choose to see and only what you choose to believe. But when that veil is lifted, when that shadow is looming, it is interesting. No longer am I scared, no longer am I afraid of the parts of me that are less than lovely. The sad, the angry, the arrogant and loathing blackest parts of me. The blackened wood seethed from the tip of the flame, it emitted a lovely aroma of death and life. It swirled in the air and into my body. I was lifted, I was held up in the strongest arms. It was not hard, it was easy. It was easy to burn me. To burn my self, my thoughts, my cares, my worries. It is easy to burn in flames. Death is beautiful. Death is life. Death is eternal. I am dying and as are you. We will strive to live and continue forth with trying to keep alive something that is withering and dying. How do you keep it alive? Is there such a thing? Or we will rejoice in the death of our old selves and allow something else to grow. Allow the energy to surpass a new way of life. A new way of breathing, of seeing. Forget all that you know, forget all that you grew up with. It is dead, that is dead, that person is dead. Are you going to continue living as a zombie with all these memories? Or will you rise from the ashes and begin anew, like the Phoenix in the depth of the darkness. Bright, red, fiery, and passionate. I love death and will allow it wash over me and cleanse me as the smoke clears and the water pours down from the sky to nourish me and these new seeds.

Enveloped

There is something about the way you look at me. It makes me feel something. Like some lost fire that got buried over the years with ash; dead and dried up wood. I thought I had left this place years ago; only to find myself back here again. As if nothing changed and nothing ever happened. I can't let go now because you have burned me into your head. I feel the pull and I come. I hear the waves and I turn with each day. I am here; I am breathing. I need nothing more than my heart to pump blood to my parts. My skeleton aches with each breath I hold in. My skeleton breaks with each moment I forget. I am lost in space and time has told me to slow down. To wave a gentle breeze and come back to me darling. The moon is aglow up above the mountain tops. During the day, the blue contrast makes my heart jump. I need this Earth; maybe more than she needs me.
I am dusted and old as if lost in ancestral identity. I forgot how lovely it feels to be free and in love. My dirty hands try to wipe my face clean; only to reveal that I am dead again, in the tracks of what I thought was meant to be. I caved; I crashed. Again and again. My lungs grasped and fought for everything I thought I didn't have. I thought, I cried, I wasted it all with one last goodbye. How dare I think that I can win some more cheese; to win another cup full of this fleeting memory. I am done; I am gone. I am found and then I am lost. And just as the Moon hides her light in the darkest hour; I stand with her and know that we will live to see another starry sky. Whether it be holding one another or apart; I love you forever & forget you not.

Critic's Advocate

I really loved the person I became when I was with you. Every time I look at my red "ACE" brand gardening shears; I am warmed to the core with your thoughtfulness. You encouraged my interest in everything that I loved. You were always thinking of me. Yes, I took it for granted. I know that I must have appreciated it back then but not as much as I do now. Because lately, I've been realizing how much that person is still a part of me today and how much I have transformed into myself a little bit more because of you. In the most amazing ways and out of the dark days too. I did not know how to accept your love. It was big. It was grand ! It made me fear the performance of it all. Was it all just a big show? I used to think, "He's only telling me this because he wants me to assure him that I love him back." I could never just say it when I wanted to; he demanded it and I rejected it. I demanded it too; with my criticism and self-hating flare. Is love not a mutual feeling? And the actions we take part in together; say more about what we do than what we are actually SAYING, which is "I love you", "I love you too." What an amazing feeling to feel love; rather than shown love. What are those but empty promises? I have realized that I do not know how to feel love for another without externally giving them something. How do you fully appreciate a human being without putting on a big show doused with all the tricks and treats?  How do you care for someone? My mind skips to my relationship with my daughter, now 17 months old. How is she feeling the love from the people that are around her? Are they allowing her to be upset; make mistakes, explore her world confidently and live with it? Especially from me and her Father; her true equals. Is my attention with her? Yes, I am present with Winslow. I often seek an independence of the Self. My freedom is colored in the ability to never be at another's will but to live out of my own wilingness and acceptance of my emotions. The choice to love the anger, sadness, frustration, and confusion. I am free to choose me in all my glory. To choose my freedom from the critics in my head that bind me. That is, if I feel like eating something or if I want to sit and do nothing, I will enjoy it. I will not keep the guilt inside of me; to later grow into disease. I strive to be amongst each other;  not asking for love, not seeking love, not acting in any which way as to gain the gaze of admiring eyes.  I am with her and she is with me. And we learn from each other. I go in and out. I have been running away in fear because of it. How am I supposed to care for another human being when I am "unprepared", meaning; I don't quite think I've got my life figured out just yet. I need to be more responsible; emotionally, mentally, and physically. Yet, what if I already am? I just have no time to express it because I am lost in fear of losing it all. My attention is elsewhere and it's not any where near where it needs to be, truly. Trying to find the love of my masculinity that was never developed emotionally. I repressed. What am I trying to say? I suck at loving. Yes, but aren't we all just sucking a little bit? At love. Love is the expression of life itself. My love for the mountains in the distance is the same love I feel when I look at your face. I feel at home. Grounded. I don't feel proud to be by your side; as if you were some trophy and that was the only thing I liked about you. I liked what you did, so I put you on my side and said, "Hey, look at my ride!!", I mean; boyfriend/girlfriend, son/daughter, significant other. Why'd you do that with me? I must have done the same with you. Did you ever just admire the way I was? It was hard for me to do this with you because I was too busy criticizing, pointing fingers and not ever looking at what I was to do. You reminded me of everything that I hated about myself. I just didn't know it at the time. The mirror was dirty and I let it go for so long; that I eventually just had to break it. In retrospect, I really do miss so many moments with you; glimpses of eternal beings. That's the person I liked when I was with you and coincidentally; I loved you too. We saw sparks of great dreams and adventures. Building a home together, having a family, sitting by the fire, being simple folk, really. We let our projections take the best of us. Well, now that the ashes have settled; I'm trying to be the person that I felt a glimpse of then. I give the credit to you, but really it was all me. For some reason, you just gave me that assurance and ecouragement that I could just be. You hardly ever had to say anything. You just knew my capabilities as I did with you and we thrived. We loved and we soared. But did we just get too high? The pressure so tense; ready to bust it all into a billion pieces. Little red tiny pieces of plastic in my heart. We depended on each other for that feeling; of being complete. To love isn't to boast and brag about what you have physically and show it off like some trophy. To love is to feel our presence and know that it's birthright is joy in living amongst each other. I,pledge to honor my independence of another's feelings, I can not make you feel any which way. That is your responsibility to take ownership of your own emotions. I am here to let you know that I still love you, even when you are upset. To love is to know that I don't have to tell anyone what they should be doing with their life. My mind often reverts to all the times Winslow is told no and not to do something. Here, do this ! No, do that ! I must remind myself and others to just let her be. Because guess what, she probably knows just as much as you do, if not more. Because do I even really know what I am doing? No. It's actually more dreadful to live in drama then it is to live in love. There is broken bones, blood, pain, hatred. Love is the wind touching your face and your hair. Love is the way your eyes shine and the way your soft skin feels with mine. Love is trust. My mind races to Winslow noticing the wind and absolutely loving it running through her hair and touching her face. I didn't tell her it was cold and that she had to get a jacket on. I didn't fill her mind with opinions on what she was feeling. She just felt it; that's love. Love is the expression of laughter in relativity. Love is the way Winslow does what she wants to do; regardless of anyone's opinion or critiscism. Criticizing is the farthest from love. The word itself is harsh and zig-zagged. Similar to one taking a knife and slashing you with it several times. I have done it for so long until I had Winslow. But like I said, I go in and out. She leads the way. She is the expression of pure love when left to herself. What I'm trying to say is; existing amongst each other is easier when you just let each other be without the need to critique.