Forever

Part 3 to "Found it", and "There".

I try to bite my tounge, hold my breath, slow my mind.
But the memories flow full speed to the point where I get
nauseous, and my body begins to shake,

"What am I doing here?"

The candle in my soul is beginning to burn louder, shoving
memories of sweet candy and cool ice cream of the burning
embers, taking the happiness of my bloodstream to fade into
a desparate and overtaking depression alike the deepest ocean,
or sadly, a littered lake maximizing at a 5 feet depth. I can't
go under, half of me will let go when the time is right
the other pulling harder at the tug of war I'm playing with my
soul. The screams are shouting louder, piercing in my ears, a suddle
cry. That pipe organ thumps against my tears, shivering my very core.

Spinning
     

       spinning
           

             spinning
 

screaming
      

        screaming
              

              screaming

falling 
 

       falling
  

               falling

My mind and body have given up and have knealed to the yearning
and demand of my soul, that damn flame.

"Don't take me, I can't make it."

Finally under, hostage to the shadows overtaking me,
the thrust of a sudden sleep begs me to stop,
but I can't. If only I didn't have to face these fears of what
will become an obstacle or a piece of mulch in the road
My head reacts anyway thundering a huge pound to the forehead
and its like a hammer surging into my skull, the pressure in my head
is rising, my body twitches and soon, everything goes black.

And I hear and organ play, telling a story creating the mood of
a funeral, the electric fender storms in alongside it. In the corner of a
1920's church I stand, in my little white dress and jet black hair. Men and
women sit amoungst the pews, the organ's tune changes dropping
the fender as it strums almost angrily, pacing the keys it strums,
taking the mood into a grace of memories that dance along the
church's walls appearing even in the distorted shapes of the painted
glass windows. Watching them, shifting my eyes to all corners of the
room, I seem to be the only one affected by it. I see small children
chasing an ice cream truck, an old woman napping in a battered
wooden chair, seemingly harmless men playing a round of poker
for some freshly skinned ducks.  I can't seem to understand the male's
minds, they toss a look over there shoulder as if they can see me, are
looking at me. The look is pure sin. Pure, darkness.

I move past them and know where their eyes lay. I can sense the
incoming heat on my lower back from their stares. Such a curse must
provoke them in so many ways, convincing them of such tasks they
need guts to do. But until then they shake it off thinking that one day
they'll get even. I gulp down a bottle of whiskey as I'm tossed into a
different enviorment. One much colder, much scarier. Lights illuminate
the stage where women preform, drooling drolls caressed my sweet
impulse lick their lips at the site of the womens' bodies moving about.
I can tell the year has changed as well, its a later date, around the mid
80's. This place smells of sweat and liquor. The blinking lights scratch at
my eyes forcing them almost closed. I run past the drunk, sex hungry
men, and the impervious women that move about them to make it
to the bathroom.

 

As I barge in I see five women 'lightly' clothed and
a thin powder thickens the air including the cigarettes. They all cluttered
around the sinks and give me a stare, which I ignore, and continue
to the stalls. The first consists of a young blonde hunched over the toilet
with tin foil and a straw up her nostril. The second, a couple that
'couldn't wait to get home'. When finally I reach the third, an awfully
dirty and neglected stall. I remind myself to lock the door behind me,
and I let all the acid up my throat and out of me, my head is still
pounding, and although it feels a little better to puke it still kills my
head even more. When I finish, I sit down on the floor by the toilet,
you know, the inch of space between the toilet and the door. My
head rocks against the wall and I can feel my eyes roll back into my
brain. I feel horrible, the worst I could ever feel.

"Is this the end?"

Still on the ground, time feels like its passing so fast and I'm
just sitting there on the floor letting it all pass by on the other
side of thast door. Even though it was only a little stall,
it felt like the bit of comfort in a shithole place like this.
My body feeling dazed and confused, still it doesn't
ever surrender, it stays hyper and buzzed.

And suddenly I'm left with all the sound dying in the background,
cool sweat relaxing my forehead, and short sweet breaths are
all that I can feel. Becoming totally numb at last. Trying to feel
was definately not in my head right now, but what was happen
to be the many events that I reconized in my subconscience
expierences, how they felt, how they happened, and its as if
I were someone else for just awhile...

 

 The ultimate escape
  found through the simplest casualities

  

              What are the odds that forever could
                     really own up to it's meaning?

      Forever never felt so short.

Author's Note

This took awhile. had to think of the prefect way to end the mysterious "Found it" trilogy.

Reviews

[poddar kushal]

The begining of the poem is with a rather soft whisper and then suddenly the loud cries deriving out of soul overwhelms the reader. The reader lose himself amid a torrent of voices, images and above all the amazing creation you have penned.

[Vanessa]

Umm.... alright.
A few things can be said about this. Firstly, I hope that my assumptions on some things are wrong, for they aren't good. Because you've left the reader to guess at what all of this means(though some{hehe} are lucky wnough to be let in personally on such words) leaves people making different assumptions, obviously.

Anyhow, this was good in the 'personal assets included' sense.
Well done.