Wounds that are fatal,

Can't be seen by the naked eye,

Under the skin and inside of the mind,

Someone call A&E,

Because they destroyed me,

Words like knives cutting into my insecurities,

Holding me back and trying to control me,

Blood poured from wounds,

Red stains on my happiness,

Acting as if I'm an extension of them,

Like a cable you would charge a computer with,

Breaking my bones until I couldn't feel them,

Until I just couldn't anymore,

I needed life support,

Not them anymore,

That's when it hit me,

I'm going to live my life regardless of their opinions,

I'm going to travel, get married, have babies,

Fuck every single wicked word they ever said to me,

In this emergency,

I will heal and emerge,

As a better human being,

This A&E is my church,

God's my doctor.

I find it rather pleasing

that you include me in your dream.

And I pray that you’re not teasing,

while my heart is all agleam.

This dream of us just leaving

our old life out of sight.

The ambitions you keep weaving,

just feels completely right.

To spend my life with you, dear,

would be completely grand.

My love for you is so sincere,

I hope you understand

But none of us are willing

to bend each other’s way,

That’s what ends up killing

our future hopeful day.

Happy (almost) Halloween fellow poets, writers, authors, & creatives. Just wanted to share a link to my (new~ish) podcast— its still in the works- not sure how many seasons/episodes it’s going to have…yet.. but stay tuned, or at least enjoy the first part of The Shadow Man series.

I will attach the link below.

(let me know if it actually works, hehe, technology is its kind of like magick.) Hope to also at least get some more new works/parts in for The Shadow Man story.

Here is the link:

https://rss.com/podcasts/mnezz/

#DoyouknowTheShadowMan?

(All Rights Reserved)

#TheShadowMan (c) Octobre 18, 2022.

Ghosts of people I was acquainted with,

Been years since I've seen them,

When I dream of them sometimes I feel happiness,

But then I remember the things they did,

It's sobering and keeps me from making the same mistakes,

If you can't love me at my worst, you don't deserve me when I'm healed,

Sorry for my part in all of this,

But you didn't care about my friendship,

So, I guess we are even now,

That's why you are my old friends,

Because the only people in my life I want,

Are one's willing to ride to the end,

Not one's who suddenly pretend to like me because I've changed.

Once at a red light, which was a bummer because I was in a hurry, but not enough to blast through and risk my wallet, license, or life. Apparently, I had been driving like a skilled maniac and the person I had cut off pulled alongside me. I could tell there was some commotion behind his window because I caught a flurry of blurred frenzy from my peripheral vision. But I was preoccupied, listening to Steven Wright on the Comedy Channel on my satellite radio. I'm sirius. Finally, I had to look.

What really made him go crazy was that I was laughing at Steven and he thought I was laughing at him. The frenzy sublimated into a shit-fit.

And I know what a shit-fit is. I've suffered them myself. Many times.

With our windows rolled down in obligatory bilateral outrage, he said the word.

"You dipshit!"

Dipshit. Dipshit? I wondered.

We separated without road-rage homicide or wanton headlight destruction via a handy golf club. But I was wounded. Dipshit...me.

I asked myself, what exactly is a dipshit.

I looked it up. Oxford probably didn't have it, and I probably didn't have an Oxford dictionary, so I went to the slang sources on the Internet.

Dipshit: (dip'shit) A contemptible person.

Not good enough. I think he was going for something stronger than "a contemptible person." No, he was going for

...a contemptible person who is a piece of shit, dipped into a piece of shit, and if had a wooden leg, he'd be shit-on-a-stick--a shitsickle; ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag; human detritus worth of nothing but flies--iridescent ones; the person no one wants to step into.

Amazing...the convoluted scatological point he was able to make with just a two-syllable compound word, a malodorous word, a contemptible word, like the person.

I resent that he called me a dipshit. I was NOT a dipshit when he called me that. But now I felt like one. He had nailed it.

I was honest yesterday

about how I feel

like I have nothing important to say.

That I am scared that others are secretly judging me all the time.

And someone said that my words are beautiful.

That I have beautiful things to say

and that they want to hear what I have to say.

That my joy is contagious,

and people want to be around me.

I haven't felt that way in a long time,

but hearing that other people see me this way

made me want to see myself that way too.

The inspiration I have

to write

comes from the things

I can't say out loud.

I have been trained to be the pleasant person,

the one that keeps her thoughts

trapped within her mind,

never allowed to reach the surface.

But

when I write,

I am able to find freedom.

I can speak what I want

to whomever I want

without the fear of confrontation.

That is what inspires me,

the ability to speak my mind.

If I were blind, I'd know it was fall because of the pumpkin spiced coffee. Its seasonal flavor bursts onto my tongue while hot, pumpkiny, and frothy.

Standing under the sky, I'd feel the painted leaves as they fell from their tree. I'd feel the autumn wind dancing on my skin, wild and free.

No, I wouldn't have to see to know the trees have shifted. Because clothes get snugglier, and all the limited coffees gets taste tested.

Perhaps,

you are my great love story.

The kind in the movies,

where best friends become lovers

and distance doesn't matter.

The kind where one is single

when the other is in a relationship

and the timing is never right.

The kind where you talk constantly

about how much you respect, admire, and love each other,

and deeper things are left unsaid.

The kind where you both plan a life together,

away from it all and blissfully happy,

living our best lives

together.

Maybe it's all one-sided,

or maybe I made it up in my head.

But part of me wonders

if we will ever be together,

talking about how we wasted so much time apart.

She was afterlife in outer city

Limits, Dark Tower, steel behemoth, green

Neon highlights, emerald beams reflect domed

Metropolis, no grass in sight, all concrete

And metal jungles, within the hundredth floor

Alexandria whispered songs afraid

Of missing notes aloud, her eyes consumed

By every bit of data that rushed through

Thin threaded metal tubes hooked to her frail

Turquoise veins, in her comatose state she

Surveyed millions of denizens eat,

Sleep, and fornicate, as a human a

Zoo, LED panels pulsed cyan

And deep blue luminance around each dark

Corner of the expansive chamber, echoes

Returned dreamy choruses and violent

Convulsions, her onyx cloak obscured pale

Features brought by isolation and deep

Meditations from reality, not

An act slipped her gaze, suicides, and warping

Youth, timeless acts from red districts, Pink City

Radiated nights, kids strolling gray streets,

Memories of Golden Era NYC

Alexandria 23, star stumbling

Undergrad, Child of Legion summer, kids

Fight good and evil blurred, roads blocked off, no

Way out, Dreams of debt in LED square,

Nightly raids, siren lights overpower

Scarlet moonbeams, homeless dregs paint white subway

Tiles with trash sourced vomit, restroom breaks in

Any corner with few judges, public

Life made by Legion politics, Old Regime

Stood and spat, commentating politics,

Alexandria bartending in toxic,

Rustic underground dens through NYC

Pits, Devils spoke in origies of daemon

Ceremony, speeches of a New Order,

War rattled an ocean away, drink more

Take the bottle, chat of doom, love her once

More, let the marble steps to Heaven collapse,

Let time stop its God lent motion and let

Rome fall at last, no fires, no death, just cease

As ICBMs hover over the

Masses, If I awake tomorrow I

Will only know despair, in her dark chamber

She retreated from her crumbling throne to

View the uplifting, fiery, ray spewing

Star as she did after fundraisers for

The Legion and infinite party nights,

But when she scanned the canvas sky all she

Saw was the illusion being projected,

It hardly mattered, at this time millions

Of dregs awoke preparing to be consumed

By steel behemoths, piles of corporate

Bricks and dirt, built by timeless barons,

Alexandria tethered to the city,

Never to leave Dark Tower sanctuary,

She viewed Afterlife city for one last

Bit of pleasure, or what could be produced

From a defeated and nihilistic

Mind, soon The Council will meet, Operation

Zero Hour must go into full effect.

Far off Cowell and Aims patrol Pink City….

___________________________________________________________________

(1) Doom: https://theprose.com/post/419897/doom

(2) Historia: https://theprose.com/post/424698/historia

(3) Oblivion: https://theprose.com/post/426993/oblivion

(4) Oceanside: https://theprose.com/post/428493/oceanside

(5) Apocalypse: https://theprose.com/post/432306/apocalypse

(6) Entity: https://theprose.com/post/435150/entity

(7) Academy [doesn’t really count but it exists]: https://theprose.com/post/454455/academy

(8) Timeless: https://theprose.com/post/485400/timeless

(9) Eden: https://theprose.com/post/503844/eden

(10) Legion: https://theprose.com/post/525083/legion

(11) Afterlife: https://theprose.com/post/525696/afterlife

(12) Hellfire: https://theprose.com/post/530083/hellfire

(13) Deliverance: https://theprose.com/post/612211/deliverance