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Screams from my Bleeding Utrus

Month

December 2012

Unknown.

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Number 2 from a three piece series I’m currently working on.

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The Season

The days continue to shoot out blank capsules and yet every morning I still put on my tattered bullet proof vest and tinted goggles. On Sunday in the place of my shields I wear a black velvet hat. In the event a bullet manages to slice through my heart I will tip my cap to its mother and say “nice try son but you can’t kill the dead”. I think about you, often but not because I want you back. I think about you because you impacted me and that impact was a defining moment in the end to this cycle I’ve been dragging my heart through.  I shut the door and when the door shut all that was left was a memory that seems to fade with the dark nights as spring creeps closer to the hemisphere. As my “year of healing” is coming to a close I’ve decided to fully cocoon myself in the cold winds of winter and wash away this cumbered young spirit inside its cleansing rain. When the colors of spring flood the sky’s and the earth warms our frozen feet, I will – fly unchained toward my bliss.

but for now I exist inside the winds of winters as the transformation continues. “BANG”- another day greets me.

– Jess

To Love You

Her balance rested solely on the tip of her bony spine that pressed itself upon a scaly green wall. Once again she found herself inside the turtles shell. Hunched over like a mad gremlin she puffed on her candy cigarette as her heart barely moved in a dark corner across the smooth floor. She didn’t know exactly how she ended up here, all she knew was something must have gone terribly wrong. Exhausted and confused she sucked as hard as she could on her candy cigarette. The lumpy sugar journeyed down the back of her throat and coated the pit of her empty stomach. The repetition soothed her and the sugar was the only sensory pleasure that satisfied her in that perfect cheap guilty sort of way. She found tacky things delightful and when stringed together with feelings the ironic tune in birthed was the perfect symphony only she could find rhythm in. Bored with a bruised back she began to brainstorm. She looked to her mood ring for answers but it was gray, it was always gray. She paced across the room jumping up and down hoping her restless legs would die out but they didn’t break and she wasn’t able to keep up. Filled with frustration she kicked herself, spat on the ground and danced her way back to the dark corner.  She stared down at her twitching toes and asked in a whisper “where do you want me to go?”. They immediately jolted  forward as if being pulled by some magnetic force and she dragged behind. They took her across the room, then looped around in a counter clockwise circle and without warning they halted  in another very chilly corner of the dark room. Again with absolutely no warning,  her foot stomped the ground three times and bitter  blood splattered all over her face and onto her tongue. Underneath her foot was a naked heart all smashed up and nearly breathless. Emptiness filled her chest as she tucked her candy cigarette behind her ear and picked up the heart to cradle in her arms. “Don’t leave me again” it softly pleaded, words forever staining the back of her now conscious mind and  she collapsed.

……….. To be continued

Rainbow of Grey

The sun pierces through the yellow maple leaves as the freckles on my skin gradually turned the corners of their mouths forming tiny brown smiles. I look up toward the fiery ball of life and only get a glimpse before my eyelids peel over my vulnerable blue irises. Electric blue dots dance in front of the orange canvas that floods my sight and the ora of the orange sparks passion in me – my passion in curiosity “SUN!”I yell not expecting it to hear me for a few hundred light years but to my surprise it does and in response hides behind a passing grey cloud left over from yesterdays storm “may I ask you something” I continue on politely hoping I’ve not startled it too much. It peaks out from the grey mass slightly and flickers its golden hand as shades of grey I’ve never seen before tip toe around me. My pupils dilate; this is how I’ve been smiling lately. “I am curious to know what defines us. Is it our things, our interest, our hobbies, our friends?  If so then I am very little because I have none and very few. Why do people consume themselves with things and parade them around on these massive technicolored floats? Is this a means to individualize our self’s?  The irony. Why do these floats of many things bring people together and why do I not see the color in them? What if no-thing existed? What if we didn’t have any of these artificial interests to shield our hearts with? Would we become nothing? Everything is just so distracting that true “organicality” has become so bland we must keep recreating the natural order of things because….? We continue on adapting to this artificial life we’ve created as new new subspecies is being born. Chaos is the natural order of things? Is this chaos and if so why does it seem so controlled?  What exactly is chose?  Everything is just so distracting and the distraction keeps getting bigger and bigger like a black hole that feeds of matter, pointless matter. There is no doubt a time will come we deservingly consumed ourselves back into nothing. I’m not sure if I will ever fully understand the intensity of things, especially passions rooted from things. In fact I’m so puzzled by this I envy those with many things concretely displayed throughout their physical dwellings. How sure their hearts seem as I wonder why they came to these specific conclusions when so much more is being thrown out at them? We’ve accepted things that never should have come into existence.  If I had many things it would be other people’s things (just like everyone else) and if I had a hobby it would be to rewire the pattern that’s coding its way onto our hearts. None of it matters in the end – chaos?

When I open my eyes I see the moon staring down at me, crying. “I am but only a reflection of the sun my sister”  and I smile to it goodnight. 

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