A goat’s head effigy hangs in the shadows

Lit by a single red candle that glows

Behind the heavy wooden door

Dried matted blood and hair on the floor

Evil dwells in this malevolent place

Hiding its perverted ugly face

Here but a few hours ago stood the cloaked

Tall and bloody standing soaked

With an innocent at their feet

Naked with only her heart beat

A gasp of breath and all life was gone

Sacrificed to The Whore of Babylon

The end of the world is near

Soon he the master will appear

All those who do not worship his name

Will only have themselves to blame

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© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.

Ask me a question.

Give me a sign.

Tell me if you like me,

if I'm always on your mind.

Hug me a little tighter.

Hug me a little longer.

Embrace me with both arms.

I won't mind being smothered.

Show me your deepest dreams,

tell me your darkest secrets.

Give your life to me,

to protect and to keep it.

Touch my hair so gently.

Tell me more than 'hi'.

Look at me as your promise.

Look at me as your sky.

Pull my hair

Pin me down

Grab my throat

Throw me around

Hot right?

.....

Wrong

So...So...Wrong

We aren't in bed

Making love

No, my honey

He's doing this all for fun

For his own amusement

He beats me

I try to leave

But I can't seem to break free

Push and shove

Fall and cry out

He kicks my ribs

As he shouts

I want to go

I want to leave

But there's no way out

He made sure that message was received

He hurt me

He made me bleed

I thought he loved me

I was so stupid and naive

After every fight

He used to pull me close

That was at first

That was a while ago

Now

He pushes me away

At the same time

Making me stay

I no longer love him

As you can tell

I wish he would suffer

He deserves that well

I get so sick of it

So one night

I make the decision

During yet another fight

He falls asleep

I leave the room

Getting ready

For him to meet his doom

I go to the kitchen

And grab a knife

Not thinking about the fact

I'm about to take a life

Granted, he's not really a person

More like a demon I'd say 

But he will be perished

Before day so much as breaks

I walk back to the room

Knife in hand

I'm going to do

Just as I planned

Hovering above

His sleeping body

My soul's gone

I'm nothing but a zombie

I plunge the knife

Into his chest

With more power

than I knew I possessed

Blood poors

Everywhere

All over my body

All in my hair

At least it's over now

He's gone

I no longer need

Anyone else to count or rely on

Ah, my little one, you ask big questions

Dreams are a tricky business at best

Real and unreal at the same time

It's hard for even the scientist to describe, for how do you measure an unreal reality?

I don't won't to confuse you, my tiny heart

Remember when that fever grabbed a hold on you? You shivered and shook all night as I held cool wet towels to your head and you said you felt like you were sleeping on top of a picket fence? And when those endless hours passed and the fever broke you crawled onto my chest and slept in peace. You woke and asked what happened? Then you said, I was there with you dad. It seems so faraway now.

That, my heart, is what dreams are like. They're awful, confused jumbles, of life. And the best part is when you wake from them to another day.

I'm standing there

trying to be calm

trying to be strong

trying to do perfect

trying not to let it get to me.

I'm lying there

trying to forget

trying to wipe my tears

trying to let my anger go

trying not to live in the past.

I'm sitting here,

and I'm trying so hard,

but I just can't justify

why I feel so bad

about something so small.

If America is addicted to anything, it's delusion.

I'll start with the good news: We're in recovery.

Albeit the beginning stages, we are slowly starting to recover from our mischievous and ultimately damaging learned behaviors as a nation.

It is the middle of the night. America is fast asleep, a time when we are closest to the truth, yet never safe from the nightmare that awaits us in the morning. The sun rises. The eastern half of the mainland is the first to be greeted by hardened delusions made callous over centuries and built on the convenience of mendacity. These delusions never sleep. They are deeply ensconced in the DNA of our collective unconscious. This New World, still searching for its bravery, is, demographically, a far cry from the days of its original sin. We look more now like an amalgamation of the many ethnicities, creeds, and cultures that inhabit the earth. Diversity is our culture; color, our delusion.

From inner city neighborhoods to tree lined streets of the suburbs; middle America to the country's congested outskirts; homeless shelters to our First Black Family in the White House; the comfort of social media to the comfort of our own households; citizens to undocumented immigrants; with each passing day, we are all forced to break our addiction to delusion.

The freak show that is our current presidential election proves to be stunning evidence of our breakdown of delusions. Like any addiction, it must first be acknowledged before we overcome it. This is why Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton became the major party nominees. It did not happen in vain. Trump was brilliantly ushered into the forefront of our political stage as a looking glass reflecting America's jarring impurities, while Hillary tests our trust of the establishment.

Obama's eight- year presidency showed us a glimpse of what progress looks like, while unearthing deep rooted racism still planted throughout the country. The latter has shown up in many forms.

Bush Jr.'s eight years disintegrated the delusion that, in America, our freedoms are bulletproof.

We are not the only ones invested in the breakdown of our delusions. Malignant tumors of the world, in the form of other countries and terrorist organizations are eagerly waiting in the wings to demolish the delusions that our power is indestructible and that we are not at all complicit in the terror that shows up at our front door.

We are addicted to delusion because like any addiction, it affords us the transient luxury of avoiding reality.

On January 20th, 2017, when the next leader of the free world is sworn in, we will either be in danger of relapse or continue on the road to hard-won sobriety.

A loss so great could not be mourned with tears.

The true lament is lunacy, engineered throughout the years.

At the tender age of ten, I could not process your transition.

But the thought of never seeing you put me well out of commission.

Now in my adulthood I still don't know if I can manage.

With your passing you took my sanity as collateral damage.

Maybe one day you will show up in a dream,

In all your glory, with a halo shining like a laser beam.

I often feel your presence and sophisticated grace.

You seem to whisper in my ear, "It's staring you right in the face."

What I would do for your rare wisdom and foresight. 

I sure would sleep much better through the night. 

 I just 

  stripped 

   buttass naked 

    in digital public 

     and 

      damn does it feel good, 

       but this flash nonfiction 

        shall soon 

         be surpassed 

          by placing this mask 

           back 

            on my literary face 

             to face 

              - nay, embrace - 

               the reality that 

                anonymity allows 

                 the 

                  greatest masterpiece; so 

                   peace

Sit up straight, stand up tall, and learn to breathe.

In and out. In and out.

Feel that?

This is who you are behind the noise and the fear.

Why so serious? Life is not the situation room.

You're from Matawan, NJ.

Laugh. A lot. Especially at you. I'm laughing at you now.

And know that holding back your smile is stealing your joy.

Bank on you because you've got a lot to offer, but stay curious and be a student of life.

You'll do the latter anyway. You can't help it. But make the former a practice.

Listen.

Raise your voice in more ways than one. You need to be heard.

Screwing up is not failure. Its an opportunity to grow.

Find the lesson and learn from it.

Don't worry, you look fine.

Oh yeah,

Breathe.

Sincerely,

You in 10 years

What do I say to the girl who thinks I'm perfect?

What do I say to the bird who has fallen and can't get up?

What do I say to people who perceive me the wrong way?

What do I say to my parents who think I am a rebel?

What do I say to the boy whose heart I broke?

What do I say?