Hallo, was ist los? Heute hab' ich keine Post. Magst du was dir sehen? Bitte, mach ein Foto. Ich weiß nicht wer ich bin. Ich bin nicht mehr Amerikanerin! Aber, in diesem Land sind alle jetzt Frau. Warum ist unsere Riegerung immer so faul? Warum kann ich nicht lauter sein? Habe ich noch eine Flasche Wein_ Schmeck ein bisschen besser, bitte. Wie oft, fragst du, hier ist das dritte. Ich bin sehr verärgert, Der Präsident hat kein Herz. 'Warum stehst du nicht zu ihn?' Ich will schon weit weg umziehen. Sag Bescheid, denn will ich hier nicht mehr bleiben. Sag bescheid, denn will ich mit dir reisen. Dein Hand dreht und knopf, Und habe ich Schmerz im Kopf. Sogar der Wurm dreht sich, Wenn kein Dreck vorhanden ist.
When I hold the tool up like Olympia's flame, I push the release button and pray for anything but pain. When I cut my arm on a jagged tap end, I started to bleed down my hand, but I haven't finished the setup yet! I'm not used to needing the doors, Don't think tool shrapnel hasn't plagued my mind before. My instinct is to grab, feel, and touch But, doing that would make me a Machine's lunch. My hands are everything to me, let me express all that I know. Statistically, in a machine shop, they're the first things to go. I've seen the videos, heard all about the horror tales, Some training programs show leaks, censored and muted--Wouldn't want to listen to their wails. Tears, blood, and an expression to show their sobs. A great deterrant for ignorance to those new to the jobs. It could happen to anyone, that's as plain as day. In the end, it doesn't matter who you are, experience or age. I work with a monster, I whisper codes to a beast. They do just as I say. So, if I'm hurt, who am I to blame, but me?
I think it's okay, because he's gone away. Just for one day, right? When he finds out, what will he say? Something about Jesus being the way, Something about divination leading sheep astray, Something about his voice spewing scripture makes me want to say, "Hey, I'm actually okay. If you would let me speak and listen to what I have to say, Not eveyone has to be like you," I know it's hard to consider, but consider it true. If I may speak frankly, the way you talk about the Bible baffles me. I know the church, I know the words, songs, guilt, and community. Why would I join a community, half of whom wouldn't argue if a hate-crime came to me? I've been baptized before, I've eaten plenty of your god, that it makes me now lethargic. But when those candles burn alight, and there's food in ther dishes, I find the sight cathartic.
I wanted to call you a devil, then. Your red mask was bound around your head like a crooked crown. But you wore it like a veil of mischief, in whose gloomy companyI did not wish to linger around. Your youth is over and so you dress up in protest? You wrap yoour head around any concept and become nothing if not utterly obsessed. I wanted to call you a shark, too. With your marred thick skin and sharp toothed Grin, like you always do, like it's the only thing you know. A poor thing, born for freedom, feeling like your something to oown. Scared of your power, I wanted to flee. I didn't even know that you were just as scared as me. I wanted to call you unoriginal. The actions you've portrayed betray a low, base individual. You are below the dirt, but you don't deserve the Earth. I love that you ged mad when others joke in mirth. You can't speak to people because you're so weak. Whenever you do, it's the same recycled take, spun on repeat. Above all, you're delusional, like you were back then. Grippy socks, hospital scrubs; White noise walls right off route 10. You're off your meds and say you're fine, But at one inconvenience, you lose your goddamn mind!
So you're gone. Gone as the spring's gust of winds thaat nearly knock me over by force. Force me to move on, please. Please tell me this is a bad dream. Dreaming about it forever. Forever ago, I told you I wished you'd never met her. Her eyes are now staining with tears, over and over. Overall, your going didn't affect me. To me, you were nothing but a nuisence, but now...? Now that you've left your addiction, you've left us, too. Too much anger fills me with such disbelief. This belief that I'd somehow see you again. Again, I was waiting for it, bbut it never waited for me. Death waits for no one. No one believes in death, besides. Besides the drugs, he lead a healthy life. Life is ever so fragile and unmistakably short. Short as your temper whe I used to ask a question. Question me, and I would have gladly let out my grief and anger. Anger like ours doesn't just go away. Away with you, went a piece of my heart. Hearths of fire burning with the embers of your phoenix ashes. Ashes from the bonfire fall and seep into the ground where you once stepped. Step up and receive your medal. You won the rat race. Racing up the street and back. Back then, all brabbing and retro video game nights, and trips to tiny islands. Islands form in my mind, the water separating the memories of you. You were, at one point, my light. Light your eyes up in a firey gaze I never knew. News of your leaving came all so sudden. Suddenly, you were gone.
You Call yourself a coward, and you have no idea how glad I am of that. That word that you so effortlessly attribute to the abandoned wepon and your empty, warm hands is the same word association that Hamlet would give. Give me something to be a lion's mane. Main reasons begin the string of hopes that you will call excuses. Ecxuse us, if we want to try that new boba flavour, or learn how to ride a bike, or pick up a new hobby just to drop it and start anew. A new daay starts with each breath you take. So take your chances and brace for when you wake. Because you are the sun that causes the ice to break. Break a bone or two just to feel alive. Alight with the new flame in your heart--Go then, you should press START. The game has only just begun. Be hung by regrets or soar way above. Above you are the greats, but trust me you'll make it through. Too bad you were too much of a coward to let this end. Too bad I'm too much of a coward to lose you.
Up in the clouds, blinded in light; You taught me the virtues of wrong and right. Down in the bog where the river crawlers roam; This is where you taught mee to build my home. In and out of dark caves and quarries; You shed my tears and soothed my worries. With all our spats and fuming quarrels, You sill bathed me in your proud, golden laurels. You were with me in spirit when I ripped up the garden; I knew you wouldn't like it, wouldn't spare me pardon. But, I don't recall feeding the wild other than the winter deer. I want something to visit without a pretence of fear, I didn't have many friends, as a kid, I was pretty weird. I think that's okey, because I've come so far, In maturing, I learned how I can deal.
My body was never a temple, not made for the pious to pray in; He's instead like a mountain top, abandoned save for the weathering ruins. The brick has started to crumble, and no on wanted to spend their time with me. Flip me upside down and wait for me to empty. Pull my hinges off, and let me be for the next eternity. Minutes, hours, days, weeks- -They beat from my heart, a rhythm best left unseen. For all the sand that flows, sending shakes of flakes through my glass exterior. Don't let the cracks show to the eyes of my superiors. My head spins with houw you've spun me, Like a tornado, ripping up the foundational concrete. You dragged me to the dust, to the middle of nowhere. Flipped me 'round and left me to find home. Where? My home is now my soul. When will I arrive?
It's not my fault, I'm in distress, Life is moving way too fast, and I'm feeling like a mess! It's not my fault you're crying in your dress, When I leave you all alone at the altar again. What colours do my morality lack?? The grease stains on my arms make my veins look black. Is it up to you to decide, when you stab my back, what color I can bleed- -Is it red or blue? Nothing else is left in this world, except pigment and hue. Dostoevsky said, "Poverty is not a sin." But, how? How can I believe that when not even the 'free state' won't let me in!? I aspire for philosophy, but too scared I'll have nothing valuable to say? Could it be true it's my fate to die without a single work seeing the light of day? It can't end this this, why does every twitch hurt? I can't see myself. I don't know what I'm doing, or why I haven't learned. A heart to call min I long to earn. Could it make my own soul wriggle or yearn? I come back, like a moth without a name, hoping that one day I'll once more witness your wicked flame. How can I endure, when I hear echo through my halls; Am I making sense? I'm always left grasping for straws!
Let's do a little thought experiment, So I can prove that what you thought I experienced, Would be nothing but folly. Close your eyes, plug your ears. You have no body. No memoriws, no identity. No destination, your mind feels hazy. You can't even feel, as if there's nothing around you. For a momeent in the black, It felt like dying, but that couldn't be true. Would you have weighed it out as I had? Or go straight to Hades and never look back? After pondering my exhaustion through this ego-less disssilusion, The strangest sensation I had gotten; It felt akin to early childhood, the fear of not being free. Finally, I found a way to tell what was really 'me'. If one could externally hear a scream, I must still be.
I give my gratitude to Cosmo Sheldrake's song, That I grew fond of the timed way in which they call, When I hear them in rest, just beyond the windows, Whistling with the midnight whisper as the wind blows. I rise when I hear them, wonder on their words, on what could be discussed, If they listened to me, they'd never leave in August.
You smile as you pour honey into my wine; I taste it on my tongue and decide you must be mine. You lament not becoming who you were destined to be, I lament, "Please don't let my honey wine leave me!" I hear you sob as you stir honey into your milk, Tears drip to the pillow while in your mourning silk. Don't let this divide us, Don't let this be our end. I finish your honey milk after tucking you into bed.