Stream Of Consciousness 6.1|15

Where do I go on nights when my skin aches; when I feel invisible hands gently massaging my heartache. I clutch pillows, squeezing into pieces until it mimics the human form. I am so far from home. Here alone, swept into the solitary existence of the empath; seeing signs in their eyes as they die. Where do I sing when even the wind is lonely. We are elements without the ability to rewind time. I am not sad. I am contemplative. I feel each strand of my DNA. Close my eyes; watch the molecules fall and rise, morphing sunrise into moonlight. I am a droplet in a waterfall, a music note inside the siren’s call. Hold me tight. I’m feeling it all. Where do I go when I need fixing? Which seamstress has mastered my stitching? I am holding mirrors threading needles through my skin, piecing together some of the fragments again. Did you know I rise and fall a thousand times before I can retrieve my mind? Guess who’s here, my dear? Ms. Melancholy Blues. She watches you run every time the feelings coming. Over emotional roller coaster, could you love her the most with matted eyelashes, swollen from fear letting? Where do we go from here? You played the game the wrong way, sucked inside a wormhole, and now you can’t get away. I feel the watching. I hear the echoed talking. I’m observing, hovering, recovering from temporary setbacks. I am raw and splayed, repairing the frays. And who will hold me when the minutes get lonely? The dark shadows and moon tides? Or the memory of a night I didn’t have the strength to say no?

Streams Of Consciousness V 

I don’t know why I’m choosing Roman Numerals. I don’t know them enough to stay in sync nor do I have the passion to google them.  I’ll return to regular numbers soon. 

Ramblings. Rapid thoughts. Dealing with ignorance is like batting flies. Dumb bitch attempted to attack me with my own disorder she claimed not to know about then in the same paragraph states how close we were.  Don’t send me novela text messages full of lies and bullshit.   

Shut the fuck up.  No more niceties.  You’re full of shit, envy and I’ll respond here since you apparently haven’t been reading it for years.  Such a close friend. Yet never read a blog. Can’t recall disorders shared; the same ones you mimicked.  Fake sister. You’re pretend.  I’m intelligent. Never mistake nice for weak.  You’re right, child.  You really don’t know me.  But that was your choice.  To be self absorbed to the point you can’t recall shared moments… So vulnerable.

Shame on you. Shame on you. Shame on you. 

I keep dossiers of information. Recordings of files just in case memories need to be jarred.   Just in case truth must be revealed. Is that bothersome, email digger? Don’t attempt to hustle the hustler.  Voodoo dolls and dark behavior is comical.  Keep churning your karma and wonder of your misery.  But beware the battles you choose.  I can introduce you to the throngs who lose.  I am long trained in the art of dealing with behaviors spurned from self shame. 

Oh, has life taught me from encountering vermin. Warrior I stand regretting no love given; purely with no lashing, whining or betrayals. I stand proudly in my ethics, but if it’s battle you want, okay.  I have always enjoyed winning fights. 

I hold no secrets and no shame.  I am cunning and on my game.  I’ve trained long, well and if it’s hell the malevolence wants then hell it will be.  So come on. Attack me. I walk away laughing. 

There’s a love awaiting.  It takes a choice. Meantime. I use my voice and no weapon attempted has ever prospered because I have fostered the tool of ignoring the imploring of hopelessness. 

Heal. Heal. Heal.

We’ve all wept, fallen, scraped knees, broke down teeth, pain, disdain.  Choices.  Cycle the pain or rise.  You decide. 

But me? I leave drama behind. Goodbye. No time. Psychopaths lurk in corners and I hold secrets.  Because I keep my word and rats fear what they are the most. Rats. Brats.  Hypocrites. 

Meanwhile gifts are buried under tears and pain, choices that leave humans holding onto the only thing that makes them feel real.  Lashing out. Victim mode. Can’t fly with broken wings.  So we gotta heal some things. 

The cold bites me.  Life is changing.  Rapidly.  I have no choice but to shrug and float, hold onto hope because everyone’s got their journey. 

And mine is winding, invisibly ahead.  So I can only be led by instinct and feeling.  Welcome to me.  I don’t fear the unknown.  I’ve come home to the damage, the holes, the beauty that unfolds and I do so with acceptance. 

But don’t underestimate…. Me. 

You aren’t prepared for what you’ll see. 

So ends this round as I… Sleep soundlessly.  

Streams of Consciousness IV

This is not easy, watching her run from this demon.  The hold is strong.  He is wicked jin.  She is so innocent.  My lids are heavy.  My brain churns thoughts.  I miss home, spooning with dog.  Where is this line between self health and love and giving familial support. Exhaustion.  I am aggressive and stalwart.  She said my mere presence antagonizes the predators.  Angel vs Demon. Angel always wins.   I’m ready to be home again.  Everyone here in Texas is angry. What the fuck ya’ll so mad about? 

Sniff a tree!

Climb a flower. 

But for shit’s sake get off the housewives of whatever personas.  This energy in this place is so full of envious and rude intent. 

I miss the kind people of Washington who let you merge into traffic then wave and smile. I miss my water and pine trees, walks at the lake and dog parks.  I miss hiking.  I miss my guitar. 

This place is not my home.  

All assholness aside – I am witnessing some sick mentalities inside this Muslim religion.  These people are arrogant, gossipy, envious, selfish, and they use their religion to enact it all.

Break them. So mote it be.

Streams of Consciousness – 1

Insomnia / wish I could sleep / but I’m awake / avoiding / the heater is too warm but I don’t feel like moving to adjust it / I have errands to do today, and here I am 4 am / unable to sleep

I should write here more / but I’m often avoiding / writing a novel / writing out feelings / that shit be overwhelming sometimes / there’s only so many jagged pieces to be sifted through / until the blood starts seeping / sometimes from my eyes / sometimes from my fingertips / sometimes I go numb

You ever just need to disappear? / need a fuckin’ break / from the heartache / not just mine but the entire human race / I see it in almost every face I pass / and I find myself forcing smiles toward them / because I can’t bear their pain / I’m an Empath / I need them to heal their heartache / so I can be all the way okay

And just because I dive / just because I ramble / don’t mean I’m not alive / or alright / sometimes I just gotta / get shit off my mind / freestyle like

And that’s what blogs are for, right?