"I Can't"
Take it away.
I Can't.
Please! Just take it all away!
I Can't.
Please take it!
I Can't.
Sunday morning. It was 8:46 and my mom was telling me to get ready for the hell building she made me atend every Sunday at 9:30am. Little did my mother know that my head hurt excruciatingly from my night of tears and pain.
"I'm not going, my head hurts." I said.
"All right Penelope," my mother said after a moment of hesitation," I'll just go by myself." She left my room and shut my door.
"Take it away!"
"I can't."
The words were still ringing in my head from my dream, the first voice my own, the second unfamiliar. In fact, I don't really remember seeing anyone in my dream. It was just me, and another voice.
Hippie Lettuce can do a lot to one's dreams, I guess I thought to myself. I looked over at my little safe box thing I had bought when my grandma took me bedroom accesory shopping a year ago. In the safe were a few premade joints, a plug-it-in, air freshener spray, and a pocket knife.
"I love you and God bless!" my mom called out. I got out of bed and walked towards my safe.
Ugh, God doesn't bless. God's a mindless jerk that goes and causes havoc everywhere and then thinks making some dude die- which happens all the time- will make up for his lameness and cleverly disguised evilness.
Take it away!
I can't.
Please, just take the pain away!
I can't.
The voices rang as I dialed the combination on my lock. I fished my lighter out of my purse and lit one up.
"Addict." Great, a new voice. Except I couldn't decipher if this was my own mind uttering it or what.
I inhaled.
*****************************************************************************
"Pastor Doug gave an excellent message on trials inside the family-" my mom began saying. It was noon now.
"Mom, I think I'm gonna be sick." I lied then rushed for the bathroom immediately shoving my finger down my throat.
"Sweetie, did you eat something bad?" My mom asked.
"Balemic." The not-sure-if-this-is-my-own-voice said.
I stopped vomitting a minute.
"Balemic." The voice was louder and sounded almost as if it were mocking me.
"BALEMIC."
"BALEMIC!"
"BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC.." The voice was chanting now-
" Take it away!!! Please just take it away!!" I screamed.
"I can'r." It was almost said like a whisper.
"BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC!!!"
"SHUT UP!" I finally shouted. I looked at my mom- she had such a hurt look on her face. She got up and ran to her room sobbing on the way.
"What the HELL did you do?" Man my father chooses the worst times to show any interest aside from his alcohol.
"Nothing, dad." It was then we heard my mom on her guitar singing to that same stupid God.
"Nothing? Your moms singing songs to that Jesus character, she hasn't done that around us ever since her mom died two months ago."
"Yes, I'm aware." Insert my father telling me how worthless I am and what a dissappointment I am here. I slammed the door on him and it crying and crying away. He would bang on it for a while(the door opened inward and because there was no lock the only way to keep him out was to sit up against it) then eventually get restless then go drink more whiskey.
I grabbed my razor from the bathtub and put it to my wrist. Just as I let the sharpness rest on my flesh, I half expected to hear that stupid chanting voice say, "Cutter." but instead it was "Haha."
Slice.
Bleed.
Balemic.
Addict.
Bleed.
Haha.
Take it away!
I can't.
Please! Just take the pain away!
I can't.
Balemic!
I love you, Penelope!
SHUTUP!
Haha.
Take the pain away, God, please just take the pain away!
I can't.
Why? Why God?!
You won't let go.
Drop.
.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We want the Lord to take our pain away- but we don't let go. What else is there to say?
I Can't.
Please! Just take it all away!
I Can't.
Please take it!
I Can't.
Sunday morning. It was 8:46 and my mom was telling me to get ready for the hell building she made me atend every Sunday at 9:30am. Little did my mother know that my head hurt excruciatingly from my night of tears and pain.
"I'm not going, my head hurts." I said.
"All right Penelope," my mother said after a moment of hesitation," I'll just go by myself." She left my room and shut my door.
"Take it away!"
"I can't."
The words were still ringing in my head from my dream, the first voice my own, the second unfamiliar. In fact, I don't really remember seeing anyone in my dream. It was just me, and another voice.
Hippie Lettuce can do a lot to one's dreams, I guess I thought to myself. I looked over at my little safe box thing I had bought when my grandma took me bedroom accesory shopping a year ago. In the safe were a few premade joints, a plug-it-in, air freshener spray, and a pocket knife.
"I love you and God bless!" my mom called out. I got out of bed and walked towards my safe.
Ugh, God doesn't bless. God's a mindless jerk that goes and causes havoc everywhere and then thinks making some dude die- which happens all the time- will make up for his lameness and cleverly disguised evilness.
Take it away!
I can't.
Please, just take the pain away!
I can't.
The voices rang as I dialed the combination on my lock. I fished my lighter out of my purse and lit one up.
"Addict." Great, a new voice. Except I couldn't decipher if this was my own mind uttering it or what.
I inhaled.
*****************************************************************************
"Pastor Doug gave an excellent message on trials inside the family-" my mom began saying. It was noon now.
"Mom, I think I'm gonna be sick." I lied then rushed for the bathroom immediately shoving my finger down my throat.
"Sweetie, did you eat something bad?" My mom asked.
"Balemic." The not-sure-if-this-is-my-own-voice said.
I stopped vomitting a minute.
"Balemic." The voice was louder and sounded almost as if it were mocking me.
"BALEMIC."
"BALEMIC!"
"BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC.." The voice was chanting now-
" Take it away!!! Please just take it away!!" I screamed.
"I can'r." It was almost said like a whisper.
"BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC BALEMIC!!!"
"SHUT UP!" I finally shouted. I looked at my mom- she had such a hurt look on her face. She got up and ran to her room sobbing on the way.
"What the HELL did you do?" Man my father chooses the worst times to show any interest aside from his alcohol.
"Nothing, dad." It was then we heard my mom on her guitar singing to that same stupid God.
"Nothing? Your moms singing songs to that Jesus character, she hasn't done that around us ever since her mom died two months ago."
"Yes, I'm aware." Insert my father telling me how worthless I am and what a dissappointment I am here. I slammed the door on him and it crying and crying away. He would bang on it for a while(the door opened inward and because there was no lock the only way to keep him out was to sit up against it) then eventually get restless then go drink more whiskey.
I grabbed my razor from the bathtub and put it to my wrist. Just as I let the sharpness rest on my flesh, I half expected to hear that stupid chanting voice say, "Cutter." but instead it was "Haha."
Slice.
Bleed.
Balemic.
Addict.
Bleed.
Haha.
Take it away!
I can't.
Please! Just take the pain away!
I can't.
Balemic!
I love you, Penelope!
SHUTUP!
Haha.
Take the pain away, God, please just take the pain away!
I can't.
Why? Why God?!
You won't let go.
Drop.
.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We want the Lord to take our pain away- but we don't let go. What else is there to say?