prayer.
Dreaming of that face again....
And comforting me...
She cries in the dark, writhing in pain. Her breath is short and comes in small gasps. She begs for him. She prays for him. Lights candles, prays, doesn't know how to pray, never really prayed before, but still she prays because it's comforting. Comforting to feel that if she prays, her prayer will be answered and he will come to her again. She knows he was there and her mantra has become spoken and sung. She digs her nails into the skin. Peel the scab raked my nails and back it grows again. She prays for him to come to her in dreams like that time once before. No one knows this insanity she feels. No one can understand. And everyone alienates her. Pushes her slowly out of it. Her life is a growing gap. Everyone else's smiles are growing to swallow her whole... huge and huge, bigger and bigger until there's nothing but teeth and black holes and smiling people, smiling at her, smiling at her smiling and telling her things she can't hear because she turns a deaf ear to those things that she does not believe.
This is how it works. No one needs her or wnats her. They are all liars. Liars in the house of God. And they lie through their wide grins, growing and swallowing. She lies like a newborn baby on their tongues, their tar blackened tongues, shaking and writhing and crying for him for him to show up to appear to comer to her to speak to her. She begs in silence, with tears she seems amazed to cry. She feels the hair prick up on her neck when she's alone in a room and feels the fear that someone may be there but feels the comfort that it may be him. She feels it's him, hopes it's him, he who has become her life. He who had made her life.
No one can udnerstand this agony which she feels. The amazement at the tears. The wretched feeling that she's just a silent ship wreck on the coast of some treacherous island and the waves are crashing hard and fast and she's sinking slowly and quietly with not one blinking eye or battered eyelash in her direction. Who should care? Who should take into consideration? She does itt o herself does she not? Of course she does because she knows everyone secretly hates her. Hates her as they hate the guts of the bug on their shoe, the stretch of the gum to their sole, the jerk in traffic that causes the wreck, hates her as they hate all incessant, petty things of life. There's not one she feels dependable on now. Is that the crime she is committing that causes him to back away? It seems so.
Because she has waited and waited so long so long to see him, hear him, feel him, know he is there. And he chooses then, there is the emotional hole inside of her, the big black part of another universe inside of her that was violently ripped from her loins. She grasped at it hungrily, afraid to let go, and grasps, even still, even more afraid. He is the only thing keeping her here in this lifetime. She cracks a little bit more each time something breaks her down. She's slowly cracking glass. The glass that slowly cracks as you kick the rocks at it. The small pebbles. The pebbles life hands to the angry children.
And he's there speaking to her that night. Looking at her with his eyes so patient and so real, burning right through her. She stands stung, crying and crying. "I thought you were gone," she says. "I missed you so much. I need you. Where have you been?" He looks to her and holds her, squeezes her. Speaks to her but it is not heard so strongly. He is there, he is real, he is flesh and blood in that moment and he begins to fade away and she cries... she cries harder than she's ever cried. Feels her soul being ripped from her once more. The rape of need, of want, of not wanting to let go, of loneliness, of love.
And he fades.
And she cries into the morning light repeatedly, "Come back." But he was never there. Never truly there. It sets in. The emotional barren wasteland. The realization that all is lost and nothing forgiven. Life cannot truly go on in this way, she wonders. She's empty. Emptier than a gutted corpse. Emptier than a skeletal fire blackened body. Is that what he has been reduced to? Is that what he has become?
Him? The great soldier? The silent soldier? The one who did all he had to with no questions, with such skill, with such amazing precision and perfection? Is that what he is now? The cruelty of life.
Thought nothing could get worse than what was before. Oh, how she was wrong. How she pays for that one thought now. Wondering, wondering, just what lies beyond? Wondering, knowing, the answers to all she searches for lie there in the dirt, in the wood, in the earth with him.
Every shadow on the wall becomes him.
He says to her, "Sh, darling. Please. I love you, I love you so much. I miss you, too. I see that you miss me. I see that you need me. I'm sorry darling. I'm sorry."
"Why?" She asks. "Why?" In such pitiful tears, in shaking devotion.
And her heart bursts each night as the process is repeated.
Hell, they say, is being ripped apart repeatedly.
No, she begs to differ. Hell is this. Waking up everyday knowing that nothing could ever enrich this. Opening her eyes every morning to the bright sun and wishing, praying, thinking, God damn you all. You fucking whores. You don't know what it's like to feel this. You don't know what it's like to wake up everyday to the shining dagger digging out all that you are piece by piece, inch by inch, little by little, every second of every day, only to have it happen again, and again, and again. That is Hell. Having nothing. Having it all taken away in one flash of color. Having it all taken away in one peaceful sleep at night. In one wreck. In one firey pit of Hell. That's what it is. That's what torture is. Knowing you were sleeping peacefully, dreaming dreams like you should be.... thinking of the days to come. Happy for once, not coming undone.
And you hear it. The bell tolls for he whose time it is. And it tolled so loudly that day. And that is Hell. That is what torture is. Torture is that. Knowing that there was something you could have done and yet nothing could have been put into action to change things and now things cannot be changed at all.
ON my back and tumbling
Down that hole and back again
Rising up
And wiping the webs and the dew from my withered eye.
A child's rhyme stuck in my head.
It said that life is but a dream.
I've spent so many years in question
to find I've known this all along.
"So good to see you.
I've missed you so much.
So glad it's over.
I've missed you so much..."
I stick my hand into his shadow
To pull the pieces from the sand.
Which I attempt to reassemble
To see just who I might have been.
I do not recognize the vessel,
But the eyes seem so familiar.
Like phosphorescent desert buttons
Singing one familiar song...
"So good to see you.
I've missed you so much.
So glad it's over.
I've missed you so much..."
So good to see you once again....
I thought that you were hiding.
And you thought that I had run away.
....I opened my eye and there we were.
So good to see you once again
I thought that you were hiding from me.
And you thought that I had run away.
Chasing a trail of smoke and reason.
And comforting me...
She cries in the dark, writhing in pain. Her breath is short and comes in small gasps. She begs for him. She prays for him. Lights candles, prays, doesn't know how to pray, never really prayed before, but still she prays because it's comforting. Comforting to feel that if she prays, her prayer will be answered and he will come to her again. She knows he was there and her mantra has become spoken and sung. She digs her nails into the skin. Peel the scab raked my nails and back it grows again. She prays for him to come to her in dreams like that time once before. No one knows this insanity she feels. No one can understand. And everyone alienates her. Pushes her slowly out of it. Her life is a growing gap. Everyone else's smiles are growing to swallow her whole... huge and huge, bigger and bigger until there's nothing but teeth and black holes and smiling people, smiling at her, smiling at her smiling and telling her things she can't hear because she turns a deaf ear to those things that she does not believe.
This is how it works. No one needs her or wnats her. They are all liars. Liars in the house of God. And they lie through their wide grins, growing and swallowing. She lies like a newborn baby on their tongues, their tar blackened tongues, shaking and writhing and crying for him for him to show up to appear to comer to her to speak to her. She begs in silence, with tears she seems amazed to cry. She feels the hair prick up on her neck when she's alone in a room and feels the fear that someone may be there but feels the comfort that it may be him. She feels it's him, hopes it's him, he who has become her life. He who had made her life.
No one can udnerstand this agony which she feels. The amazement at the tears. The wretched feeling that she's just a silent ship wreck on the coast of some treacherous island and the waves are crashing hard and fast and she's sinking slowly and quietly with not one blinking eye or battered eyelash in her direction. Who should care? Who should take into consideration? She does itt o herself does she not? Of course she does because she knows everyone secretly hates her. Hates her as they hate the guts of the bug on their shoe, the stretch of the gum to their sole, the jerk in traffic that causes the wreck, hates her as they hate all incessant, petty things of life. There's not one she feels dependable on now. Is that the crime she is committing that causes him to back away? It seems so.
Because she has waited and waited so long so long to see him, hear him, feel him, know he is there. And he chooses then, there is the emotional hole inside of her, the big black part of another universe inside of her that was violently ripped from her loins. She grasped at it hungrily, afraid to let go, and grasps, even still, even more afraid. He is the only thing keeping her here in this lifetime. She cracks a little bit more each time something breaks her down. She's slowly cracking glass. The glass that slowly cracks as you kick the rocks at it. The small pebbles. The pebbles life hands to the angry children.
And he's there speaking to her that night. Looking at her with his eyes so patient and so real, burning right through her. She stands stung, crying and crying. "I thought you were gone," she says. "I missed you so much. I need you. Where have you been?" He looks to her and holds her, squeezes her. Speaks to her but it is not heard so strongly. He is there, he is real, he is flesh and blood in that moment and he begins to fade away and she cries... she cries harder than she's ever cried. Feels her soul being ripped from her once more. The rape of need, of want, of not wanting to let go, of loneliness, of love.
And he fades.
And she cries into the morning light repeatedly, "Come back." But he was never there. Never truly there. It sets in. The emotional barren wasteland. The realization that all is lost and nothing forgiven. Life cannot truly go on in this way, she wonders. She's empty. Emptier than a gutted corpse. Emptier than a skeletal fire blackened body. Is that what he has been reduced to? Is that what he has become?
Him? The great soldier? The silent soldier? The one who did all he had to with no questions, with such skill, with such amazing precision and perfection? Is that what he is now? The cruelty of life.
Thought nothing could get worse than what was before. Oh, how she was wrong. How she pays for that one thought now. Wondering, wondering, just what lies beyond? Wondering, knowing, the answers to all she searches for lie there in the dirt, in the wood, in the earth with him.
Every shadow on the wall becomes him.
He says to her, "Sh, darling. Please. I love you, I love you so much. I miss you, too. I see that you miss me. I see that you need me. I'm sorry darling. I'm sorry."
"Why?" She asks. "Why?" In such pitiful tears, in shaking devotion.
And her heart bursts each night as the process is repeated.
Hell, they say, is being ripped apart repeatedly.
No, she begs to differ. Hell is this. Waking up everyday knowing that nothing could ever enrich this. Opening her eyes every morning to the bright sun and wishing, praying, thinking, God damn you all. You fucking whores. You don't know what it's like to feel this. You don't know what it's like to wake up everyday to the shining dagger digging out all that you are piece by piece, inch by inch, little by little, every second of every day, only to have it happen again, and again, and again. That is Hell. Having nothing. Having it all taken away in one flash of color. Having it all taken away in one peaceful sleep at night. In one wreck. In one firey pit of Hell. That's what it is. That's what torture is. Knowing you were sleeping peacefully, dreaming dreams like you should be.... thinking of the days to come. Happy for once, not coming undone.
And you hear it. The bell tolls for he whose time it is. And it tolled so loudly that day. And that is Hell. That is what torture is. Torture is that. Knowing that there was something you could have done and yet nothing could have been put into action to change things and now things cannot be changed at all.
ON my back and tumbling
Down that hole and back again
Rising up
And wiping the webs and the dew from my withered eye.
A child's rhyme stuck in my head.
It said that life is but a dream.
I've spent so many years in question
to find I've known this all along.
"So good to see you.
I've missed you so much.
So glad it's over.
I've missed you so much..."
I stick my hand into his shadow
To pull the pieces from the sand.
Which I attempt to reassemble
To see just who I might have been.
I do not recognize the vessel,
But the eyes seem so familiar.
Like phosphorescent desert buttons
Singing one familiar song...
"So good to see you.
I've missed you so much.
So glad it's over.
I've missed you so much..."
So good to see you once again....
I thought that you were hiding.
And you thought that I had run away.
....I opened my eye and there we were.
So good to see you once again
I thought that you were hiding from me.
And you thought that I had run away.
Chasing a trail of smoke and reason.