Envy Over Your Emptiness

These are six pieces that I wrote some time ago. They are harsh and semi-non-sensible. Written raw to be raw on the readers mind. I was going through some hard times.

The night air is dead, deader than the voices of the dead that I have been hearing in my dreams, just before dawn, just before the nightmare begins again. Smoke from the little sleeping house of New Bedford plumes straight up in neat little columns. It is an amazing sight to see that, being so close to the ocean with no breeze to sweep them away. And my October blossoms are still in bloom, even after the snow and cold.

I wish I was as still and as cold as the night is, instead of as black and as deep and open, so open. I stir with thoughts on war and death and of watching the cannibals who eat their young. I feel their warm love drip off of their chins and wish it was my heart that they were taking in. I can't keep my fingers from touching my scars, from tracing the exit wounds. Fresh with warm blood which is making it easy to still finger them slowly.

I went to where you now lay. It was very cold and the rain stung my face as I stood over your grave. I didn't say anything, what could I have? I think of all the lost time and it makes me regret. Now I see where I, myself am losing time in this life . . . a life I don't want to make work for me anymore. I want to feel it fall down around me. I want it throw it all away. Sometimes it is so hard to care, to try to "be alive" . . . and when I do . . . the only thing I can think of is murder. Sex & sex & sex and death . . . 'Grandfather, she took my breath away. I hope to do the same for her.'

So here I am . . . high on the down time. I look down at my clenched hands, I'm always looking down, and I don't see blood, or strands of hair, or your face buried in my crotch, and I have to wonder . . . what is wrong with this picture?!? I guess I didn't know my place. And now all I see is the past. And now all I see are angels to defile and demons to beget. I want to feel the fire the burns inside me, consume me and then set forth the begining of this loveless end. But can this be done? I think to myself as I lick the grease off my finger tips, oily from fingering the barrel of the shotgun. It isn't the taste of the blood of Christ but it will have to do.

And the hunger will burn inside me . . . a pretty face, a fading dream, they all look through me. I'm not here - just a body. I don't matter to them. I am in their way. A flash and I'm gone, but I am still here. I can't let it consume me again. I'm not in love with anything but life and sex and death and . . . and dreams. Walking dazed on the right side of the wrong place, I awake to another new face as my dream fades into a new day. -07/10/1999

And then you take your shirt off, I watch as your dress slides to the floor, and I see you bare skinned and white as the sun. Turn your back to show me those scars . . . the scars where I clipped your wings. I remember the blood, all the warm blood. Covering the flood, the walls, my face. You were perfect . . . almost. I will fix that little flaw tonight. I can't have the end come before I do, but I will wait for you . . . to . . . f**k! (and then make love out of all your parts.)

Reviews

[Sastina]

This almost sounds like it all should be one piece, to be read in order. (Not sure if thats what you were going for) You can tell it all comes from the same place, the same person. Dark, and a little disturbing. I like it.