Failure

Mother Melancholy

I’m stuck in a beautiful melancholy where my skin flashes hot-

and cold-

and I can’t escape it, I wallow in it, I play in it,

I weep in it and I call it home and-

unsteadily-

I climb to my blistered feet and the salt grips at my face as my eyes

stream and my mouth opens and

a string of saliva breaks and

I am not beautiful but-

at the same time-

I am beautiful because

this is my melancholy.

This is my melancholy, a purity of white from

my eyes, and a darkness of

red from my harsh fingerprints and

nothing left in my brain but a desire to howl

howl like a-

a-

a- a- a-

a child. Howl like a child as he feels his

skin brushed by comfort, by love, by

mother. by Mother. by Mother indeed.

That is the howl I will emit.

Held for the first time by something I know will stay

with me. A melancholy. Whose mirror image

projects a dripping chin and leaking nose but

a smiling and open mouth and her teeth-

white, pearl, perhaps too large-

sit comfortably in her mouth and lie

comfortably in her arms. And I howl.

I’m held by mother. by Mother.

A beautiful maternal melancholy.

A beautiful Mother Melancholy.

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XI: Scrawl

X: Scrawl

SCREAM ALL YOU WANT NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU.

SCREAM ALL YOU WANT.

NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU.

OR

SCREAM ALL YOU WANT NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOU.

WHICH ONE IS TRUE? I MEAN SCREAMS, EVEN SILENT ONES, ARE OBVIOUS.

THE PAINED BLUE EYES FROM SLEEPLESS NIGHTS AND THE RED RIMS FROM THE SALT, THAT’S A SCREAM.

THE CRACKED KNUCKLES AND SCARS FROM A CONSTANT AND HABITUAL BODILY-RAPE HOBBY, THAT’S A SCREAM.

THE IMPORTANT SUDDENLY GETTING TOSSED ASIDE AND RELOCATED ELSEWHERE, TO ROT AND FEEL EMPTY WITHOUT ANYONE’S INPUT, THAT’S A SCREAM.

AND PEOPLE SEE THEM.

THEY JUST DON’T WANT TO HEAR THEM.

X: Scrawl

IX: Scrawl

 

IT’S NO USE. NO USE CALLING. THOSE WHO I PRETEND LOVE ME ARE USELESS.

PLEASE, KILL ME IF YOU CAN, I WON’T STRUGGLE.

I WILL BE HAPPILY SHOT DOWN – IF I COULD STOP BREATHING FOR A MINUTE, AND ALLOW MY UNWELCOME SOUL TO PASS THROUGH MY HATING LIPS, I WOULD AND I WOULD NOT MISS IT.

GOD DAMN, SOMETIMES THE PAIN TAKES ME OVER COMPLETELY UNTIL WORTHLESSNESS SETS IN TO THE POINT WHERE ASKING FOR HELP IS POINTLESS. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO.

TEARS RUST MY CHEEKS UNTIL I AM AS RED AND BROKEN AS DAYLIGHT.

WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

I CANNOT SCREAM FOR FEAR OF BRINGING MORE UPON MYSELF.

I CANNOT LET IT OUT FOR FEAR OF BEING ALONE FOR FAR TOO LONG AGAIN.

I CANNOT TELL THOSE I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE THEY HAVEN’T THE TIME NOR THE ENERGY.

WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

I AM SAFER LIKE THIS.
LONELIER
BUT SAFER LIKE THIS.

I WILL HAPPILY DIE, ROT AND FEAST WITHIN THE EARTH.

JUST KILL ME.

JUST BURY ME.

IT’S WORTH IT TO BE FREE OF THIS.

JUST LET ME DIE.

WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

O WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

Which to Continue?

Now – while I haven’t got a lot of attention, there are somewhat regular visitors who read my work. And, once again, I need your help.

In order to try and pull myself out of this depression borne of Writer’s block, which, in turn was triggered by my completion of “Hello”, I’ve written two short deviations.

You might recognise who’s talking. Or you might not. If you do recognise who they are, thank you.

 

This is the first one – “Guilt”

YM 1 Guilt

 

This second one is “Mistake”.

YM 1 Mistake

 

They’re quite short, for two reasons:
1) People don’t have a lot of time to read things, really, do they?
2) I really can’t do anymore. I have no direction. I have nothing. I have some ideas, but they’re centring around something I’m very, very reluctant to do.

So here’s what I want from you –
Please pick which one you prefer, “Guilt” or “Mistake”, and comment it.
Or, if you like or dislike aspects from them, please tell me.
I feel so dull and numb to writing at the moment that I don’t notice these things.

If people prefer one more than the other, I’ll make it my goal to create something out of that one.

Thank you.