Not all things are logical, I have found.
So despite the concavity of my middle;
I find that my thighs are angrily riddled
with river-like indents that race all around.
Dieing rose scented, spiders in her hair
Lips of poison with a deadly evil stare
She wonders into your room late at night hoping that your there
Screaming for your soul
Pray for your life as she tears your flesh from bone
Your in for a surprise
As fire fills your eyes
Horror gathers from above as terror fills the sky’s
Children screaming for their lives
Lady Evil Never Dies!
Every Sunday morning I wander out the front door of my home with a fragrant cup of storebrand espresso to sit in the porch swing. I’ve been told it creaks horribly, but I never notice. And the coffee? It tastes undeniably horrible, like dark brown dirt mixed with heavy cream, but it brings to life the beauty of the outside, allowing me to pay attention to other things...
Allowing me to pay attention to her. Her blonde hair sweeping in the wind. Flat shoes tapping on the ground as she races to her car, predictably at 8:45 AM each Sunday, heading to mass at the local church, where she will arrive five minutes late. I imagine the music playing on her radio is gospel or folk. I will never be close enough to hear it.
Every Sunday outside at the same time in a beautiful sundress. Today she wears my favorite one, yellow sunflowers and white lilies. An uncommon combination, but gorgeous against her olive skin. Sometimes she wears a cardigan, faux suede with fringe, Only when it’s cold, and it is rarely cold in this area of Georgia. I love the texture of that cardigan.
Imagining myself speaking to her gives me chills. She is lovely. Every movement perfectly aligned with the breeze outside. Different but familiar with each day that passes. She is the perfect song.
I want to reach out to her. I want her to see me, listen to me tell her how much happiness she has brought into my otherwise dull life, but I fear she will not be able to understand me, and the conversation will implode. So I sit in my chair, and watch her for those few minutes each Sunday.
I listen to her movement. Swishing sundress. Tapping toes. Flowing fringe. And it feels so good. Like a melody just waiting to erupt inside me. It makes me want to get up and dance.
But this Sunday, she has forgotten something. She turns to walk into her home, but notices me. Notices me watching her. She has only noticed once before, in passing, and simply drove away. But this is different, her neutral beauty turns into confusion, then anger. And she walks right across the street and over to me.
Her mouth is moving so fast I cannot make out many words. Creep. Watching. Stop. I have never felt this much fear. I try to talk to her. I sign quickly, I am sorry. She doesn’t understand. It is in that moment that everything changes. That she is no longer a reason to sit on the porch on Sunday; she is a reason to hide inside. The music is gone.
I stare into space for a little bit too long. She is infuriated. I imagine it is because I am not respecting her, even though that’s not the case. I sigh, lightly, and then reach out and grab her hand. She recoils.
I point to my ears. And I shake my head no. She understands now. She backs away, like deafness is something she can catch from me. But now she isn’t afraid of me, just pitying. Just sad for me. And the music is gone. The way she moved, seeing that freedom, that energy. It was brighter than anything I had witnessed before. A symphony.
She apologizes, quickly, and moves away. Then walks back across the street and gets into her car and drives to church. I don’t hear the sound of the tires or the radio or her mumbling on the phone to the person she is telling about this now. I hear nothing. No music. No sound.
I sit at my kitchen tables on Sunday’s now. I realized once, when I was young, that even when you can’t hear, the world around you is full of sound. But when the sound becomes aware of you... it changes. It becomes softer, sadder; it loses it’s brightness. And all I can think now, sitting inside, is that my music is gone.
Beginning with the charm
Wishing with the warm
Exciting with the calm
Grinning with the arm
Dear friend, I welcome you again and again and again
It's sorry from me & from my heart
It's okay from you & I just start
It's thank you from me & from my soul
It's friendship from you & I kicked that goal
Dear friend, I welcome you again and again and again
Shining with the palm
Waiting with the alarm
Missing with the jam
Meeting with the instagram
Dear friend, I welcome you again and again and again
It's honour from me & from my art
It's lovely from you & I know I'm smart
It's break from me but not from the lol
It's permitted from you & I thanked the whole
Dear friend, I welcome you again and again and again.
It’s only when the city sleeps...
It's only when the city sleeps that shadows prowl the streets. It's only when the city sleeps that nightmares lurk in corners. It's only when the city sleeps that darkness blankets everything.
But there is no one to scream, no one to run, no one to get lost in the dark, because the city is sleeping.
bed of roses.
He has eyes full of flowers,
but carries around pockets full of weeds.
He lays me down in beds of roses
and watches while I bleed.
He couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to have stumbled upon the Possessor, right?
Angela snuck back into her home and crept silently down the hall and into her room. She really didn’t need a questioning from Lola after the events she had already endured that evening. As she slipped from her clothes and into her pajamas she felt a strange niggling from her pants pocket. A familiar fear surged through her body. A demon was summoning her. But it didn’t feel exactly the same. This felt… more human than demon; there was warmth mixed in with the coldness. She tentatively reached into the pants and pulled out that very same dog-eared business card she had previously destroyed. Carlos wasn’t usually so persistent in his testing. This must be someone else. It didn’t feel the same.
“Alright James Burns. Let’s meet. I’m ready.” This was all the summons he needed before appearing in front of her. He took on a new form before appearing. Old Noir detective seemed to make the most sense, what with the business card and all. He was dashing in his sharp trench coat and fedora. This wasn’t what Angela was expecting.
“I see you have yourself a demon problem. James Burns at your service.” He smiled and took her hand to shake it. She pulled her hand away like she had been bitten by a snake.
“Do you have any idea what you’re involving yourself in Mr. Burns? Carlos is the worst type of demon. He has hold of my whole life. He might be listening to us right now. How do I know you aren’t involved with him? I can trust no one.” She blurted all of this out while he smiled at her. She continued rambling at him; she was explaining her life story. She couldn’t believe how much she felt like spilling her guts to this man she just met. Why did she feel a close connection to a complete stranger?
“Oh I am definitely involved with Carlos.” He said casually. Angela started backing away, but realized there was nowhere to go in her small room. Why did she tell him all of that? James saw he was terrifying her and added, “but not like that! I want him destroyed same as you! I don’t know what you’ve offered him in payment, but he’s pretty focused on you. That didn’t happen to be a lock of hair in that vial did it?” He casually added that last question, trying not to look too concerned over the answer.
“Yes, it was a lock of hair, but not the lock he actually wanted. I didn’t complete the job correctly. He doesn’t have what he thinks he does. I do. I possess my mother’s lock of hair.”
“Strange choice of words.” He grinned, “To use the word, ‘possess’ very strange. Angela just looked at him, not understanding his amusement. She felt bare, stripped, drained. Why had she told this man/demon so much? Was this his demonic power?
James began to reflect. So she is the Possessor. How convenient. She possesses the golden lock of hair that Carlos has been seeking. Her mother’s hair. Turns out Carlos has also been seeking a lock of his mother’s hair. The same lock of hair. So, Angela is my sister. So sorry I killed our mother. Sorry Angela. Damn you Carlos!
“I will destroy Carlos for you. Let’s talk payment.”
“Good girl,” the demon on the phone praises her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Angela's hand slides down from her ear and she stares blankly at the empty, dark hall. He is a demon; nothing more than an evil spirit. Will she ever rid herself from his clutches?
She tiptoes back into the room; she knows exactly the location of what she's looking for.
"Hey, Ange, want to watch something else with us?" Lola asks.
"Not now," she feigns a smile. "I have to go out for a second." Lola frowns; an indication to her disbelief. It's late, not the time to go out shopping. Angela quickly continues. "Emergency. I'm out of tampons. You guys go ahead, you'll catch me up later."
Finally, Lola seems okay with Angela's explanation. Angela turns to the file cabinet snuggled at the corner of the room; she pulls open the last drawer, careful not to make a sound, and reaches into the back. She brings forth a small wooden box with engravings on it. The rough wood is gray and cracked, the engraving are blackened by time.
While Lola and her friend have busy eyes on the bright screen of the laptop, Angela slips the box into the pocket of her coat and steps out the room. She swings the coat on as she takes the stairs. The sense of being watched lingers like a shadow on her back; she pays close attention to anyone she encounters. The demon's minions can be found anywhere, even at school.
Angela leaves the building. The cold, wintery air is like a splash of reality; this is not a game, this is real. She walks away from campus knowing she'll be face to face with her one true fear. The demon.
Her steps echo on the pavement; loud and brisk, just like the beat of her strumming heart. Angela moves along the blocks, turns at the corners, and keeps on walking, unaware of where she is headed, but somehow pulled to keep on moving.
From the darkness of an alley, two strong hands snatch her from the shoulders. The hold is familiar, possessive. The demon.
Thrusted against the rough bricks of the wall, his arms encase her body, and in his dark stare, victory shines.
Don’t Be Afraid
I remember the day it all changed.
I remember the day my situation
Became worse than ever before.
I sit alone on the bus every day.
There is no one I want to bother,
No one I want to struggle
To have a normal conversation with.
Days are long and hard.
I just want to sit and think
When I’m finally set free
From the prison
Which holds me captive daily.
But sometimes, thinking isn’t good.
Sometimes, thinking makes things worse.
I’ve never told anyone the full story
Of the worst year of my life.
No one knew during it,
And no one knows now that it’s over.
I’ve always kept things inside.
I don’t like to bother people with my problems.
I’ve always been able to help myself.
This time I almost couldn’t.
I have never been more constantly unhappy
Since that year.
I would smile and laugh with my friends.
I would hold in my complaints.
There was no way for anyone to know
My world was falling apart.
I am alone when I come home,
And that day, that awful day,
I planned to take advantage of that.
On the ride home from school,
I sat by myself as usual.
That day had been particularly bad.
I don’t remember why.
All I remember is how worthless I felt.
I convinced myself I was nothing.
I knew I was weak.
I knew no one cared.
What I didn’t know
Was the real reason I was weak
Or the real reason no one cared.
I was weak for being too scared to get help.
No one cared because no one knew.
I convinced myself
The only way I could gain purpose
Would be to show strength,
And the way I decided to show strength
Was by cutting myself.
I spent the whole ride home
For what would be the worst mistake
I had ever made.
I got lucky that day.
I don’t usually believe in miracles,
But there seems to be no other explanation.
My mom got out of work early.
I couldn’t cut myself
Knowing she was in the house.
I wasn’t thinking correctly,
But I knew enough to know
I couldn’t let myself get caught.
So, I didn’t do it.
And by the time I had another chance,
I was too scared.
That day could have ended badly,
But it ended up being a blessing.
After that day,
I knew more than ever that I needed help.
I still didn’t tell anyone,
But I realized how bad I had gotten
And was able to help myself.
I know now letting my condition get that bad
Is never alright.
There are people in this world who I matter to.
I just couldn’t see it then
I know now that when things get that bad,
I need to change the way I’m living.
I need to rethink what’s important to me.
I need to realize why I’m thinking these thoughts.
I hope I’ll never let myself think like that again,
But if I do,
I know I won’t have to be scared anymore.
I can help myself now,
And I know better than to keep it to myself
If I ever really need help.
Yearning the untold,
we walk astray
through the wrong fields
thoughts bought,led to believe
The truth is lost,
caught in the net that is cliche.