if i’ll give you a piece of my heart, are you going break it or are you going to hold it?

from within our mystical love
behold our world, our realm,
created from our adoration
adorned with all beautiful things
things only we can manifest
these sensations
these emotions
these desires and cravings –
and all that we have created
from within ourselves
is as infinite as our love
each one just as splendid
as all the many others
because we abide there
always together
and following the path
that love provides for us
always unchoreographed
brightly spontaneous
and precisely where we need to be
to find the depths of each other’s
adoration and affection

What is this pounding in my head?

Compelling to the brink of madness.

Chaos seeping between

sutures of the neurocranium

and memories of the hippocampus.

Beckoning to abandon 

all logic and reason.

Descartes’ philosophies are nonsense.

The mind infects the body as

the body infects the mind.

There is no separation,

between the headaches

and traumatic intrusions.

All the scripts written, filled,

but rendered useless.

.

- aleta jay

.

Note: I am currently in therapy for my PTSD. This was a piece I wrote to reflect on the physical and mental toll of my trauma.

Abhorrent Preachers

Trigger Warning// Foul language, self harm, Mental illness, Death.

(consultation of an inmate with a psychiatrist in a correctional facility)

.

.

14 years after they left me to rot in a room with the person i despise the most, me!
bastards weren’t kind enough to torture me to death, they were cruel, they fed me, made me live to make amends with my demons, the person i am deserves to die.
do you know doctor!, sometimes i wonder if you think about the people going about their days unaware and scared of their ends. i don’t think there is a god, but if there is,i think he is clever enough to leave clues around us, it takes a scum like me to sniff them out, think about it doctor, if i lay here for 4 days straight without moving,you would think that i am dead, wouldn’t you?“ i did it many times before but but the gravedigger was on a fucking break”. Why don’t people notice my agony while gifting me despair.

What I’m trying to ask you is how come you’re so sure that the rock that you lay your foot on isn’t aware of it’s existence,
how do you know that there’s not some celestial clusterfuck going on everywhere once we leave this planet, how does your science justify that the soul leaves the body and this planet because your gravity can not hold things without masses down. I always ponder the possibility doctor, our body is keeping our souls hostage in a miserable situation forcing us to think we are at the pinnacle of all the life there is to this universe, and we keep glorifying our miserable conditions because there’s nothing else we can do about it, My time is up doctor i will be taking my leave.

“wait but…”
“….you didn’t tell me why you didn’t kill yourself when you had that gun you pointed towards the jailer”

Because I’m a coward, doctor. I was not  certain if i could savour the consequences, and i think that is the difference between me and you doctor, i don’t even have the courage to believe in myself where you go about your shitty day believing in all that omnipotent asscrap.

listen,

i don’t do drugs

drugs do me!

and they have such a great time

they come back every week!

// Ophydia

00.00.00

You make me feel like a deity
with the way you gaze at me. Like if I
were Holy and I was only meant to be seen
by those who worship my name.

What sort of love Goddess do you think I am,
that you look at me this way?

And yet you look at me like that
and it makes me feel alive. Like I’ve never
felt before, like I’d probably won’t
after you and your humble worship.

What sort of love Goddess do you think I am,
that you look at me this way?

- Ely C. Winters.

b u l l e t s

The dead hold bullets in their teeth.
This is a face I’ve seen before.
Roaches, a floor lamp, dead frogs
In nearby sewers.
That’s how it goes:
Motel air,
Cry of a whale,
Scream of a rat,
And smile of despair.

Ashen mattress, a bottle of bullets,
A can with every knocked-out tooth.
Body twisting and turning,
Praying to hear the whisper
Of roaches from under the bed.
At least it’s a voice.
At least it still talks.
Where do the dead go when bullets run out?
When there’s nothing left of what killed them
And there’s nothing else they’ve got left to kill with.
Trees whisper of violent deaths.
Volition isn’t enough to scratch me out of bed.
The roaches lived days
After their heads got chopped off
By the heels of a lady who came here
Last night.

She wasn’t alone.
She came by with a bottle of whiskey
And a phone number written out
In black lipstick
On a piece of toilet paper.
The number’s a slush now.
Just spots and black stains.
Squeal of an empty eye-socket.
She might’ve killed a man.
She might’ve loved a man.
She couldn’t get wine so
She settled for whiskey.
She couldn’t find home
So roaches kept whispering.

She killed them all in a step.
Step.
Barely seeing the body.
Barely hearing last whispers.
There will be no going home.
No going back to where

The dead hold bullets in their teeth.
The last bullets they have,
Crawling through walls and smiling.
Smile, smile, smile,
The immaculate metal smile.
Happy the dead man.
Mort et heureux.

I might disappear tomorrow.
Motel down the road
Where no one ever goes

Except those hunting for happiness.

A lie that follows me around

If only it was mine,

That was buried in the ground

With bones that of another

The misleading,

The problematic endeavor

I tried convincing myself it wasn’t

But it was

The cold sent signals

Leading to glum

I can’t escape it,

No matter how hard I try

Locked in on a lie

I can’t even possibly define

Because that’s the point,

I can’t.

I could dig and dig,

But it is never mine to find

It would all just be,

One big waste of a time

I want to leave this

Disappear from it,

Like it never had to exist

But every day,

I wake up feeling the same

Thoughts of why,

Why did he have to lie?

I sometimes find understanding

“I get it” I think.

But is that just my own shame?

The blame, the guilt I feel

For playing along with his game

Or the creation of my own

Now we both lie,

In bed all alone

I just wish it could all end

For both of us,

Somehow, someway

It might have left you already

I’m not sure,

I just want to be my own somebody

With pores surfacing the skin

Each an entanglement of thought

Leading to more torture within

I break, and I break

How long will it take?

I question this more than often

My heart just feels unfit

Unjust, with a lie

Nailed in as a crime

Set to rust

But now,

I’m the one

Paying the time

I wanted to write this out

But shorter,

But it layers like mortar

Sand, grit, sweat

Water

I can’t even say the word “cry”

It just brings me back to the lie

A revolving door

I’m trying to shut

But the problem is, it can’t be

Because it goes round and round

A merry, there it goes again

Instead of a hail Mary

I can’t get off

Instead, I just feel lost

The fetal position at night

Laying myself to sleep

As the cost,

The cost of everything

That had two people

Fall effortlessly

Now I lie awake,

Instead of sleep

For a heart at stake

A vine climbed down my throat this morning,
and when I carved her name
on the wall of the cave,
no one saw and there were only shadows,
there were only shadows and a tightness
and a panic and a dream.

When I saw the world it was like
the bottom of a frond,
whose blood is my blood,
it was like a stick figure who walked
upright for the first time,
and in my neck there was
a noble steed carrying a madman.

She saw my shadow and I watched hers,
and I felt we were two fish
trying to imagine the heavens,
or I were a hero pursued
by cruel giants no one else could see.

It was her or me, and so I let the vine
strangle me this morning,
I cut out my heart and set it
in a dark closet and burned it down,
I turned out all the lights in the cave,
and that was the end of sanity.

negativity grew

a rot

in my bones

and i crave

for my heart

to

feel

more positivity

then a marble

headstone

// Ophydia

77.66.23

I watched you and saw you see, you talked to him and her and we maneuvered closer and farther away in the typical elliptical orbits of captured gravitational bodies - five more minutes

we’ll talk then I’m sure we’ll say everything we’re planning to say someday

we squeezed the life out of everything and most of all each other watched each other thin and thin and grow blue squeezed hours from always from - five more minutes

we’ll talk then I’m sure we’ll say everything we’re planning to say someday

those stupid nights of pointless fights of wrongs and rights and backs facing one another in treatment called silent really brutal, we internalize our hells don’t we don’t we try most anything to keep warm - five more minutes

we’ll talk then I’m sure we’ll say everything we’re planning to say someday

I’d sell five years for five of our wasted minutes I’d tell you I’m sorry and I’m stupid and I love you because I’m sorry and I’m stupid and I love you and five more five more minutes

we’ll talk then I’m sure we’ll say everything we’re planning to say someday

spiral, bliss lies below kiss bite bleed receive retreat retreat and sleep, finally deeply sleep and dream of a you and I as we,

tomorrow is supposed to reach fifty degrees and no clouds to shadow me as I greet serpent and sink my teeth into fruit sweet, forbidden

all drains lead to the rivers lead to the oceans and I’m fixing to pull an Andy Dufresne from the Indianapolis east side straight down to the gulf,

storms are coming next week I know, I feel them in my aging bones the sucking hollow my heart holds alone,

don’t ask me to stop, don’t ask me not to start, understand the thrashing in falling, drowning, burning, how many ways to spell helplessness?

trace the letters of your name against the cold night sky with a cigarette, you’re fleeting fleeting and fading, drag

pull breathe in/exhale and you are a lovely bluegrey ghost caught in street lamp glow, you’ll never never know

SHE’S THE LIFE OF THE PARTY

SO HOT

SHE’S TAKING SHOTS

TO RELIEVE THE PAIN IN HER BODY

// Ophydia

The Dream Stuff

when I think about us,

I think about how…

we cherish these moments

shared here, together…

creating and crafting

drifting and chatting

drafting and writing;

spending time, doing the dream stuff

the stuff we long to do

the super-fun, artsy…

stuff that sparks our passions

helps us forget about everything

we’re supposed to do

we need to do…

and get on with the living

savoring golden moments

celebrating what makes us, us

finding joy simply being alive

and tonight, it’s you and I…

and the universe of stars so bright

©️ @followcb ☆ March 2, 2021

all questions could be answered

all tangled strings could be solved

we could make things better

if we had five minutes more.

- five more minutes

Photo and words by- @yellow-moonstone

mudslide.txt

I do not have it in me anymore to remind people I exist. If I get forgotten then so be it, I will go on regardless. There is no longer the energy nor desire to shine a searchlight on my being and exclaim that I am here. Those with hearts drawn to mine won’t drift far out of sight, at least not for an interminable time as to make our bond untenable, unsustainable. Maybe this is the natural progression of self-respect; maybe it’s too much pride; or perhaps I am thorougly drained–or all of the above–all the same, this is my way.

WHY ME?

To you from why: certain things happen to you because I know you can handle it, and capable of so much more.

Sometimes we often ask ourselves when bad things happen. “Why me?”

It may seem very frustrating, you also start to doubt yourself. It drives you to stop believing in yourself.

But it’s YOU. It’s always been you and always will be. It’s you because it’ll make you stronger, doesn’t seem that way right away but sooner or later you’ll understand.

We often put ourselves in situations that aren’t the best ones. What do you expect? Asking yourself “why me?” You put yourself in those situations is why.

There are situations where we know aren’t going to have a good outcome, and situations we aren’t in control of.

i went to put

this love

to rest;

but, only

skin and bones

were left.

neglected 

and famished,

a connection

once held 

so dear.

lost to time

and nightly

absences.

.

- aleta jay