My deepest darkest shit that I don't tell a soul is ...

I love women with sexy feminine voices and ways, I melt like butter, but because I can't tell which women are gay or straight, I don't say a word and melt all over.

I don't have the balls to ask her if she get down like that. So like a punk I just smile it off. I have been single for a year, because my punk ass won't say anything to women that melt my being. Danggggggggggg. LMAO :)

This is hard for me to tell. After all, I do consider myself somewhat smart, although I have had to work at it, as I am by no means naturally gifted. Some of you will laugh at me, but you will only laugh because you are a bully. Others will sympathize, and still others empathize, as they too have been suckered in by the intelligencia, but I have come to the painful realization that my dog General Sherman is smarter than I am. You shouldn’t laugh though, you stupid Bully. He is probably smarter than you, too.

Think about it. You spend a very good portion of your life at a job you deplore, working for assholes you can’t stand, doing work that… well… a dog wouldn’t do, all while waiting for the chance to retire so that you can do what my dog General Sherman already does; loaf, and fish.

This very minute he is lying on a blanket in the warm square of sunlight just inside the picture window while I type. He is not asleep, as he is plenty rested from a night in the bed curled up spooning alongside my wife. No, he is lying over there awake, waiting for his breakfast, hoping he won’t have to beg for it today. But if I do not get up soon to get it for him he will ever so slowly get himself up, stretch his whole body out lazily, and then make his way to my chair where he will lay his chin on my thigh until I get up and get his breakfast for him. After he eats he will wake up Josey Wales and together they will walk to the garage door where they will stand there stating at it, their tails swaying in hypnotic sequence, until I throw on my coat and walk them around the lake, no matter that it is 15 degrees and dropping. He will then get back in the bed with Pooky-Bear while I shower before heading off to that yucky job that I really only need because someone must pay for the dog’s bi-monthly $260 vet bills, his $200 monthly spa day, his weekly $60 bag of “Veterinary Select Royal Canin Protein Enriched Food”, and the $50 a week worth of Greenies and Peanut Butter Bones my wife insists that he must have, just as I ( she claims) require my 1/5 of single malt scotch. It is a good argument. One I will never win.

Yes, life is good for the canine intelligencia… I only wish I was smart enough to get in on the gig.

Razor out.

Pills spilt.

Bills unopened.

Pictures smashed.

Tears on old letters.

Final texts being sent.

Eyes closing-hoping the end is a mew beginning.

What do you want me to say?

That I can't make eye contact with myself in the mirror without starting to cry

That my therapist saw me twice before telling me goodbye, deciding for herself that I was okay

That my grandmother can't remember my name

That she asks to be shot every time that I see her

and that every time she says it

I get flashbacks to just a few months ago and a phone call

and all of the people I know that have come too close to that edge

only for some of them to fall

But I can't bring any of that up

Because even if she knew, she wouldn't remember

And at least she's still breathing

and I'm sorry

That I got defensive in the game we were playing

and I know everything you did was meant in good fun

and I'm sorry

That it went down the way it did

But it still hurt

and I'm trying not to cry and instead just politely say good night

and I'm sure the look in your eyes isn't meant to say go away

But that's how it feels

and I'm sorry

and talking about it is supposed to make me feel better

But all it does is remind of all of the things that I'm not saying

That I don't know how to say

Because how do you say to your parents just months after telling them that a second friend of yours is dead

That four more of them have tried, only they walked away

and that I can name more people I know who have been sexually assaulted than I have fingers to count on

and that the people that you think that I have to count on are just ghosts in my world

But I have to be fine

because these things aren't happening to me and everyone else has bigger fish to fry right now

Because the medication she's on is less anxiety and more depression

and she's two weeks away from what's going to be the rest of her life

and she's my grandma but she's his mom

and I'm not the one being asked to hold the gun

and I'm breathing

I'm fine

There are days

I'm so amazed

That I refrain

these razor blades

From cutting skin

The state I'm in

Is hopeless

And I know this

is a war

I'll never win

I've never been

religious

But somehow in this

Bloody mess

There is a witness

Watching out for me

Might not be God

But it's all I've got

So I'll take the shot

Bended knees

Uplifted hands

Could someone out there

Understand?

I don't want to die

Give me a sign.

Amen, amen.

Morning light

I'm still alive

Maybe someone

Heard my cries

I'll try to fight

This urge to die

I purge my body

But my mind

Has other plans

And in its hands

The morbid thoughts

Start up again

A masochist

With bleeding wrists

Or a pill

I think that will

be faster

I won't last for

One more night

I'll see the light

If I get the dosage right

Won't even feel it

Just like sleeping

Nothing's real

The thought is creeping

In my head

Same one I get

The one that says

I'm better dead

Battles never over

I'm not going

If I know

This is a problem

Why can't I solve it?

This is sickness

Yes, I get it

But medicine I'm betting

Is a trigger

And I figure

Therapy

Won't work for me

I know I need

Greater attention

Intervention

Never works

It all still hurts

There is a hole

Inside my soul

Full of darkness

Light a spark

Is anybody there?

Amen, amen

I don't have any answers

Just a cancer

In my thoughts

I feel so lost

I'm willing to be wrong

So I'll play along

For anyone

To make things right

Or make things lighter

Let me live through

One more night

I'll be a fighter

Amen, amen

I live to fight again.

When I tried to hang myself, I told everyone that I did it once, and that the material I had used (I couldn’t find the belt I was going to use), slipped off the door knob, and that was why I was unsuccessful. That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. That same night, I laid awake, staring at my ceiling. It had been around three in the morning when I got up, turning to my night stand to turn on the small lamp. I fumbled through my clothes, and I found that belt I tried to find earlier. Creating two loops, I put one end on my door knob: pulling tight to make sure it would hold my weight. I got on my knees with my back to the door. Slipping the second loop over my head, I left the leather dig into my neck, tightening it before I leant forward. As I leaned, I thought of how silent and quick I would go. How my roommate wouldn’t stir from his sleep, or at least not before it was too late. I knew that I was going to be successful in my endeavors. That thought isn’t why I panicked and stopped when I began to see stars. Neither was the thought of my family missing me, or the people I loved hurting because of me. I sat there, weeping silently, belt still tight against my throat, with one thought in my mind: I would just have to start over again. Even if I did die, I firmly believe in reincarnation. There would be no sanctity in death. I felt no peace like I had when I was younger; when I had been swept into the currents of a river, pulled under. I had hoped it would have been like that: a peace washing over me, and a silent acceptance. I had been ready, even at such a young age. Looking back, it was like when I had reached up with one final effort, and grabbed a leg to pull myself up out of the depths. Even in death, there is no end. That’s the only thought that stopped me, and I still feel an overwhelming selfishness because of that. I cannot say that love saved me, and that will always haunt me.

Fine,

You want this truth?

Sure, no I probably wasn't too good for you.

Fine,

You want the legend.

We lived together.

But not at the present.

Fine,

I lied to you.

You hurt me and everyone knew.

Fine,

We skated by.

Broken pictures, faces and cries.

Fine,

You said you loved me.

Broken hearts and promises.

Fine,

I'm the dumb one.

Must have amnesia...

To forget what I've become.

There was once a time

I wanted to die

Quick was progression

A deep dark descent

Met by depression

Gloomy and silent

Snaked the unlit path

Overriding will

Extinguishing wrath

Gone was a purpose

I could stand it no more

Unable to weather

The silent roar

Destiny and death

Laughed from somewhere near

Slithering louder

Loud for all to hear

As the fortress walls

Crumbled from within

In the end I was spared

Ascending back to light

Escaping at last

From a starless night

No other soul knew

Inside I was alone

Finding dawn after dusk

Mind hollow as bone

There are long spaces between my thoughts and my eyes stay half open behind the shade of my sunglasses. Faceless people move around me, someone takes a picture. My steps are light and distant, and a wind blows my jacket out behind me. Some part of me wants to stay here, safely anchored, but I let myself smudge, bleeding across the page, until I was the orchestra of the city street, the arid blue sky, and the nameless, whispering breeze drifting down the sidewalk.

The night before, I had spent hours awake in the dark, shifting onto my back, my sides, trying to decide whether I should try to pull myself free of these blankets or just try to push down what kept me up. Lately, if I had crossed my legs for too long, or had left myself in a bad posture, I felt an aching sensation in my bones, a feeling that there was something pulsing in them, expanding outwards. I pushed this thought into the undercurrents of my mind, but where I wasn’t pushing it down hard enough, it sprung up into new corners. The pain had been with me for months, but lately, it had become constant, stronger, and impossible to suppress. Even though I told myself it must have something to do with my bad posture, I couldn’t stop thinking of my grandmother, the new malignancies we found, the one whose last words were “I’m not ready to die.” A memory. New leaks sprung up and the water lapped at my ankles.

My mind was at war with itself and I could not stop it. If I just patched up the holes fast enough, I would have air. That thing at work inside me was feral, and it had no words to describe how much it feared the water. It screamed a language that I could not understand but only feel.

At some point I got up because I knew sleeping wouldn’t work. My mind was flickering, and when I pulled of the heavy blankets, the morning air was like stepping into an icy river. I found a heavy sweater, drifted into my studio kitchen, and turned on my stove to boil water for tea.

And then—my mind still strains and reaches when I try to grasp at it, because it was something so distant, and alien, that I feel like I was not meant to see it. I can only the trace the contours of it, see a shadow, and try to speak to what was there. But as the water began to boil, I felt the weight and gravity of some new planet, near the earth but hidden behind its shadow so that it was invisible. That planet was only endless ocean. It was entirely cloaked in the darkness of night, and I, from my kitchen, watched the roil and crash of the mountainous waves. They were countless stories high, and I now watched from the valley of the wave as they rose precipitously above me.

But as I was under the wave, I could hear nothing. The storm around me was quiet, invisible. There was just the sound of my breath and the bubbling of the kettle. I found now that something was freed, something that I could let drift. I let myself smudge, bleeding across the page, and I disappeared into the waves.