Archive for December, 2013

Little monster in the corner,

Eating my bones and meat,

Will you at least let me,

Sit before you chew off my feet?

You bark and shiver,

So small and pathetic,

And yet your talons,

Render me catatonic…

Little red beast always chewing on me,

I beg of you let me keep my eyes,

What better way to let me see,

You cutting me down to size…?

Little black monster please go away,

I’m tired and sore from our endless war,

And I’m not in the mood to play again today,

I don’t have the strength to lift my sword anymore…

You’ll always win and I’ll always bleed,

I’ll always snarl at the way you cheated,

And you’ll continue to just serve your own needs,

Laughing at seeing my finally defeated…

But what you’ll never understand is,

I may be beaten, bloodied, and made to cry,

But I will smile, and without you knowing, I still realize,

I didn’t survive that battle just to die…

Advertisements

Image

She wakes in a panic, blindfolded, and with a screaming, disturbingly symmetrical pain around her mouth. She didn’t even try to move or open it, choosing to breathe instead from her nose. Despite her terror, she managed not to panic, if only because she knew it would be hard to breathe rapidly when you can’t open your mouth. Her heart shuddered like a faulty cogwheel, and her ears started picking up everything as she became more and more aware of her body and the aches it housed. She felt air on her skin, not moving enough to be breeze, but chilled enough to let her know she was either naked or damned close to it.

She felt the slightly warmed texture of the restraints on her wrists, metal, tight, but possibly loose enough for her unique skill. She brought both thumbs under her fingers to grasp tightly to both pinkies, significantly flattening the width of her hands. They slid free with dainty little pops. Rice crisp cereal, minus the bowl. Without wasting a second, she tore off her blindfold, and stood, long black hair matted but flying with her upright momentum. She saw her surroundings, (dingy,) and her manacles, (old, and on a long chain staked to a grimy concrete floor.)

There was no one in the room with her, and the door was wide open. It must be a trap. She quickly and quietly laid down the manacles on her exam room type perch, and looked around for a weapon. There was tons of detritus, but very little in the way of weaponry, and still, oddly, no humans. She peered into boxes until she could find something manageable, finally coming across what looked like a box full of theatre props. Inside was housed gallons upon gallons of greasepaint, a hearty litter of sponges, brushes, and pads, as well as other oddities…including a pair of impala antlers for some reason. She grabbed them and was about to run when she saw the gallon of black greasepaint. Looking around to ensure she was still alone, she grabbed the black greasepaint and ducked into a corner behind a stack of boxes. Using her discarded blindfold like the equivalent of masking tape, she painted her entire body, save a band across her eyes, which she kept white as the full moon. That was when she discovered the metal plate that had been bolted over her mouth. It too was smeared with midnight paint.

She heard noises… people coming into the room. She ducked down again, blending into the shadows the room seemed to need like it was air. Only her eyes were visible, but the three men didn’t seem to see her. She tilted her head a bit, and then was struck with the overpowering scent of whiskey. Ah, yes, the good old smell of death. They were drunk, that’s why they didn’t see her. Not completely out of commission, but far too rough to be anywhere near sober. She wondered if they had guns. To find out, she chucked a stray screw in an arc over their heads, sending to rest with a loud tink in the sink on the other side of the room. Both men ran over there…without weapons?? One guy had a Tazer, and that seemed to be all.

She gripped the impala antlers and stood quietly, sneaking up behind the two men with their backs to her, and she somehow managed to be quiet enough to bury both impala antlers into two fat, smelly, hot dog smuggling necks. Drunk wanna be thug number three pulled out a handgun, but she kept the antlers buried in the hot dogs, and used the their meat to take her heat. After the third shot that missed, the last hot dog smuggler started to look a little nervous. She loved it when people underestimated her, and only brought an older, slower six round shot with them in case of extreme emergency. She loved it even more when that once confident face began to know real doubt as she kept advancing on him despite his gunfire. At the last moment, she toppled him with his friends, deadweight fat guy bowling. She laughed at the thought, and that only made fat guy number three even more nervous.

She jumped into the air, landing solidly on his sizeable gut feet first. She folded herself to the point that her legs were resting behind her arms in a squat. Without looking, she snagged one of the horns and jerked it free with a muffled growl, feeling, but ignoring, the wave of white hot pain rushing over her from straining her bolted mouth. She took the antler, and raised it over his head. Fat guy’s face was unimaginably red, and she thought he may be having a heart attack. She let out a shrieking, ragged, primal closed mouth verbal emission of fury before jamming the antler into fat guy’s right eye. He was still alive. Looking down, she leaned in, and looking into his remaining eye, she tilted her head to the side, and reached a hand up to the plate on her mouth. The fat guy started to blubber out horrified ‘No!!s’ that meant nothing and went nowhere as she affixed her grip to the edges of the plate, widening her heterochromatic eyes, one mossy green, one milky white save for the pupil.

More blubbering, and with a roar and a crunching tear, the plate came free. She opened her mouth wide to scream in her uniquely terrifying voice right into his face, raining blood down on his greasy sweaty existence, adding to the levels of fetidness his mouth created without her aid. To earn her freedom, she jammed the metal plate into his manatee like neck, over and over again, until not even vertebrae remained. With a grunt so forceful it caused her cogwheel of a heart to skip again, she stood, bloody plate still in hand. The wall was torn down outside the room she was in, so she bolted for the woods, running until she blacked out.

She woke about 30 minutes after her fall, wondering if she’d had a nightmare. Then she moved her mouth. The pain was intense and immediate. Not a nightmare, then. She stood, looked around, and saw that she’d managed to run for 6 miles straight compared to where she knew she’d been before. She looked around, panicked, and saw no one. A deer saw her, watching the filthy, deranged mad woman whose mouth was stained black with blood on the only non-painted part of her body other than her bizarre eyes. She wouldn’t notice it, but the deer didn’t even flinch when she loosed her insane voice, shrieking out a plea of help. Five calls, rapid-fire, the sound was wholly unique. It was neither words, nor growls, nor shrieks, but some horrible mangling together of the three.

After the fifth call, she collapsed again. The deer emerged from the shadows, as black as she was, and he settled down beside her still form. The buck seemed to guard her as she slept. She would not be alone when she woke up again, but for now, she dreamed of nightmarish things…

She awoke to a world coated in pain. SO much pain… She whimpered. In a second her love was by her side, pulling her into his arms. She still didn’t dare talk, her mouth hurt so badly. She felt her mouth with her frozen fingers. The wound had actually healed significantly, but her mouth still ached. She felt a warm, firm kiss press into her forehead as she was gathered even closer to him, and as always, he managed hold her close and snugly without hurting her. She looked up at his familiar face, she didn’t need to speak for him to hear the question in her mind.

“Five days. You’ve been out five days, and your mouth is clear of infection. Once it doesn’t hurt anymore, I wanna know how you managed to yank that plate out of your face, and why it took me two days of trying to take it for you to let go finally. But one thing I want to know right now, which can answered with a simple shake or nod, is this…Are the people who did this to you still alive?”

She shook her head and looked around, wanting for a notepad and pen. He saw her looking around and produced both. Suddenly, she was even more glad they were so close they didn’t NEED to talk to communicate anymore. She drew three large men, each with bottle in hand, one with a gun, one with a Tazer, and one bare handed. She pointed to them, looking into his eyes. This is who they were…

He nodded, and she didn’t miss the tear streaks imprinted on his cheeks. She looked at him again. This is what I did to them. She flipped to the next page and drew the sharp black corkscrews of the impala antlers, then mimed holding one in each hand. She flipped back to the page with her crudely drawn attackers and again mimed holding them, and stabbing the first two, then holding them upright on their tools of death. Then she pointed to the third, and mimed a gun. She mimed holding up the impaled bodies and advancing, then throwing them at the last man left. Then she held the one antler in mime again, she made stabbing motions and point to his eye. The she took a deep breath, and flipped to a third, clean page. She drew her mouth plate. Then she pointed to her face, and mimed tearing it off again. Then she pretended to hold her plate, and jammed it repeatedly towards the picture of the last abductor, then scrawled violently around his neck to black it out.

By this point, they both had rivers of tears flowing, and with shaking hands, humbled shoulders, and a slightly lost expression, she shrugged and finished her gruesome tale by miming running half heartedly. He cradled her close, rocking her, and clutching gently at her sleeves and hair to try to pull her closer everywhere, limbs included. When he could speak, he managed to get out his last question for the day.

“How did you survive?”

She looked up at him, eyes watery, and she gingerly opened her mouth to speak.

“Because… I love you…”

Piece of Meat

Posted: December 31, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

The sun burns out one last time,

And I’m cold on the barren ground,

Things skitter in the shadows,

Thousands of old feet begin to pound…

The ground shakes just like,

The traitorous piece of meat inside my ribs,

Screams issue forth without restraint,

It’s only as I die that I realize they’re mine…

I can feel its talons rake over me,

And for once my feet will not obey,

My blood boils from deep inside me,

I’ve lost the right to control my own DNA…

You’ve known my name since the beginning,

And all my wars were fought in foolish vanity,

With every step I thought I rose quickly,

Never seeing the ground crumble under my feet…

Thunder cracks and I smile as my eyes go milky white,

I can’t see the end of the brambles you’ve lain, devil,

But I’ll continue to slice myself to shreds in my fight,

To go out with a fist in your eternal eye, devil…

In the end I will crack like weathered stone,

A victim of my own pride and growl,

Never really knowing if I was free or owned,

But at least I won’t go out with a crawl…

My Skin and Yours

Posted: December 19, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

You taste of the sky,

And smell of the air,

Feel of the Earth,

And move like a river…

A spark lights the tinder,

And I can already feel the fire,

Now that all is quiet here,

I can take in all the wonder…

My luck is strong today,

And I don’t feel the threat,

Hanging over me always,

For now at least, my threat rests…

I won’t miss the spectacle,

I won’t obscure the view,

I evolve into something respectable,

If only to earn my spot next to you…

Elevated as I am I will still,

Wear the scent of the bottom,

The best of us would gladly kill,

To keep from being the corpse at the bottom of the hill…

As long as my skin can still find yours,

I will survive whatever the world throws at me,

I will always get back up off the floor,

So long as you’re there to smile at me…

Slithering little monkeys,

All gathered up like sheep,

Waiting for the slaughter,

Ready to be reaped…

 

Baa, baa, baa,

As they all submit,

Waa, waa, waa,

Crying, ‘I guess this is what we get!’

 

The wolves are already circling,

And all the blades are sharpened,

The monkey’s coats have fallen,

The sheep are being bled…

 

Fast hands move sure and with purpose,

One by one the little monkeys fall,

The echoes of their screams are endless,

Didn’t they deserve it…?

 

Didn’t they deserve it?

Mewling like helpless little piglets,

Just begging for you to take it,

So you can still go very far…

 

The wolves tracking them in the streets,

Feasting on the increasing carrion,

There’s a disturbing lack of bleats,

As black clouds devour the sun…

Stay With Me…

Posted: December 8, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

Image

 

Stay with me,

Don’t go away,

I know it’s not up to you,

But I don’t know what else to say…

 

My hands can feel your skin,

And my eyes can see your face,

Yet you couldn’t be farther away,

Long gone, while stuck firmly in place…

 

I’ll be here when you wake,

I wait, heart pounding, for your eyes,

I smile and hide my cardiac shake,

And wait for you to fully realize,

The world as you once knew it…

 

The scene will always be the same,

Panic would be too unseemly, and too vain,

Instead I reach out and just remain strong,

This isn’t my pain, this isn’t my song…

 

I would kill it if I could,

I’d rend it limb from limb,

I’d eat it in the bushes,

And wait for it to kick in,

If only to set you free…

 

Please always come back to me,

If only to be selfish for a moment,

I need it for my sanity,

I need it so I can breathe…

Image

 

  As of late, I’ve noticed a disturbing and invasive problem in our community. I’m not going to use the names of the examples I’ve seen, because I don’t want to give them any more unneeded attention. No, the point of this plea is much simpler.

 Don’t get me wrong, and don’t forget, there a lot of people in the community who make me so proud every day to be considered a part of it. People like the Stanley brothers with Realm of Caring are the most obvious examples that come to mind. These are the people we SHOULD be talking about, but all I see is drama.

 The horrifying behavior, the attention seeking, the greed, these are the things can wound our fragile community more than anything, and yet, for the past month or so straight, that’s all I hear about anymore…

 Thieves, histrionic displays of juvenile self-centeredness, back room dealings, and in some cases, bold faced lies uttered only to serve the mouths that speak them. Have we all forgotten the point of this movement? When did it stop being about helping the ill, and how did it become so self serving?

 Again, before I get ahead of myself, I don’t want to discount the people this DOESN’T apply to. I hesitate to name anyone other than the Stanley brothers for being the best example of what we should all be doing, because like all of you, I too looked up to the fallen angels for a while.

  So my plea is this…

  To the quiet ones, secretly making and delivering medicine to the sick, and who AREN’T being talked about publicly. Thank you. You literally save lives, and give sick people their lives back. Please don’t ever give up despite the tarnish that’s being cast upon our community by people who don’t belong.

  To those who are already ill, and fighting to keep your medicine safe and legal, I feel your pain (literally,) we have a long battle ahead of us sorting through who is genuine and who is greedy. Don’t give up just because some people don’t know how to play nicely with others.

 We’ve already been fighting for so long now the image that we are ‘snake oil peddlers,’ just ‘dumb stoners looking to get high legally,’ and so many other superficial, uninformed things, that it just kills me to see the people in the spotlight right now doing us nothing but more disservice.

 All I ask, for those who read this, is to remember that not all of us are looking for profit or fame, the majority of us just genuinely enjoy seeing children get to learn their own personalities, and see those struck with pain or cancer put down the canes and chemotherapy and get their lives back.