Each month, write a new collection.
War GamesIt was darkI could vaguely make out a silhouetteIt should have been a personI should have been safeAfter all, it was just a dreamNoIt was something elseI remember its eyesYellow and catlikeWith a mouth full of foul smelling fangsIt had long clawsAnd a knifeI realized I was laying downIt was straddling my abdomenI couldn't moveThen it plunged the knife in my chestMy arms reached out on their ownAnd pushed the creature offIt took a swipe at meWhen I awokeThe claw marks were still on my armThere were more nights like that to comeI would sleepIt would comeAnd the fight would continueThe battle raged on for monthsBut I was strong in the LordAnd the power of His mightI never backed downI still don't The battle is overBut the war rages onI strap on my armor everydayBecause the struggle is real
You are the warrior woman in Thomas's poem on the 13th, only his is a literal one and your speaker, more psychological. Keep up the fight!
I had a hard time deciding whether or not to post it here. I didn't know how it would be received.
those teen yearsfalling into the abyssif i’d had my waythe drugs wouldhave killed meyet somehowsaved mefor a time
Ha! Drugs are a funny thing, aren't they. What doesn't kill you....I'd love to know more about how they saved you. Very mysterious. I wonder if I could relate....
I know escaping the reality can also mean surviving it
Sometimes, when I find an abandoned snail shellbleached from sun and dog urine, I wonderabout the soft creature inside; what caused him to leave and did he find new digsunder the amber eaves of the fence boards?Or did he wither inside the casing I now crushbetween my fingers, fragments of a lifeonce lived reduced to agged shards that can cut a toe?Did the snail run out of places to hide inside,the season’s shift of color too narrow a passage for a soul?I think about everything that could have ended me.The biopsy needle that threaded cancer cells through a tube,The house fire, the dark icy road that flipped my car into a ravine.The worst: the façade of home- like skin shed at first rain- the minutesI let you creep in, deep water filling my only way out.If what we are made of, we travel through, thenI’m stumbling along walls looking for the reprieve of dirt.If it moves and it’s smaller than you, kill it. Somewhere, you are holding bits of my fragmentsin your long, cold fingers; the sound keeps scything the night.
takes a good scary turn. scything the night = great.
Pot till I dropDrugs should have killed me long agoI was on a path of self destructionOne party too many for a persononly fifteen years oldThere was a circle of friendsdrinking out of the same six-packand passing them while each one of us chugged and passed it alongNeedless to say I got drunk in a hurryand it was time to go home and get backbefore curfew, when my mom was a loadyherself and didn't care as long as I was safeWell, I peddled my bicycle home and was ontop of the peddles pumping myself as fast as I could make it move and that is when the alcohol went to my brain and made me passout while riding home.I swerved into the middle of the road and felldirectly on my chin and was knocked unconsciousWaking up with paramedics over me asking me questions wanting me to stay awakeAnd finding out later that it was a policeman whohad happened upon me in his patrol car andkept me from getting run over by any motoristsby taking me to the side of the road and saving meThe second time was more brutal than the firstI nearly got overdosed and was lucky I didn't chokeon my vomit being I was a side sleeper and everythingspewed toward the floor and not aspirating on the junkIt was a close call and waking up, well was hard, beingI was so much in a fog after that incidentThe third time was the topper, when I was behind the wheelGoing up the mountain towards dead man's curve I remember letting out a devilish laughter before hitting the peddle to the floor going toward the end of the cliffMy strength of turning the wheel toward the roadway was hinderedwhen my drinking buddy landed on my arms as I was trying to keepthe car from going off and tumbling down two hundred feetThe embankment helped the car stay on the road and I careenedinto the mountain side with the front of my car saving us from deathLike I said, drugs should have killed me long ago But now that I am sober as a judgenothing can keep me from my sobrietyNo friends, no loved ones,nobody
You Probably Should Have Killed MeToday I called my Father crying.I told him that he and my mom should have aborted me.It hurt me to say it.I also told him they shouldvhave worn a condom.I felt that was probably a little too raw.I told him that I never should have been born into this shit.Earlier than this I explained to someone why I hate God.And I go to church. Someone probably should have killed me or still should.