Infest Hell

In my old childhood room there would always be bugs and spiders crawling all around waiting to squirm into my nightmares. I had bad arachnophobia and was just freaked out by  insects and their distorted, unnerving bodies. Many legs and beady eyes, furry heads and feeler spies.

In my paranoid days I would think of them as messengers or underlings from hell sent to taunt and scare me. Punishment for my transgressions and perversions. Bad enough I thought some god  was watching and judging my onanism some of the time, then I felt Satan was sending miniscule demons to haunt my troubled days. Panic stricken and dumbfounded I found the balls to kill those disgusting things, heaven forbid I actually touch them with bare hands, OCD germ thing ya know. But they keep coming, rattling broken psyches in panoply of fear and loathing. Siphoning energy from the walls of my deadly room. How I cringed at little mites and pedes, inner shrieking little boy blue does. Spies and cries, those days are dead and buried.


New Self

You have to get over it. The beatings, the humiliation, the tainting teasing terrordome aggravations lashing away at the temples. All that inappropriate touching you’ve made a bigger deal out of. You think you’re the only one? All those poor unfortunate souls living with past atrocities licking its lips at horrorshow imaginings, recapitulations of dog eat dog childhoods and those dreadful teen years. Not just awkward but shameful to say the least. Every flaw magnified by self and putrid peers. The breakdowns, the animal violence frothing at the leash.

I have calmed, I have house-trained that broken boy into submission by omission. We all do that, we all block out communications of unsightly, ungodly, unsettling remembrances. The invisible scars showing in the mirror as we self-evaluate. Standing there taking in what monster we have become, this Frankenstein experiment pieced together from emotional wreckage and solice. Addictions, conflictions, poor coping skills cemented into daily life and toil. Doing jobs with cantankerous, calamitous weights dragging us evermore into the degrading abyss. Hope yet it seems. We leave the shelter to strengthen ourselves. To bask in sunshine just beyond the foggery. She said the sun will come out, I hated her then, I believe in her now. This supposed birthday resolution may work out anon. May yet this mortal coil blossom into fruition. May yet the dark cloud attain silver linings.

Pink Parade

I had the idea to kill myself by taking aspirin and alcohol. I got it from Girl, Interrupted. I relate to that character so much I feel like I should do what she did and blurt out my crazy and just move on from selfish morose drowning. People are throwing me lifesavers and I’m swimming to the deep end.

I took the Tylenol I had and drank a bunch of whisky. I toppled out of the strip club I attended and didn’t wait for the cab they called. I walked to a store to get some water and gulped the little baggie of pills and went on my merry way. I don’t know how far I got but I blanked out and collapsed head first into the pavement. Police officers woke me up sometime later, I had puked pink all over the sidewalk. A large pool of pepto marking my downfall. A thoroughly embarrassing moment I wasn’t even aware enough to appreciate.

Out of mind out of sorts, I took that emergency ride to fret away in another hospital. Cursing myself for not doing better and looking for helping hands. So much confusion and emotion wreckage, keeping anything straight is impossible, like a gay teen in bible camp.

The help works a little wonder but the damage comes back full effect, mass effect. Trip hopping my way to darky la la land full of discord and dodo mentality. You meet plenty of different people and share more than you do with friends. I’m a but tight lipped with my dark secrets so only a trifle was let loose. Positive steps are the worst when you’ve lost the way.

Family comes in, get a few words into the conversation. Loudness and overtalking, diminished returns on excitement. Why is it easier talking to bar friends? I should care  more about what’s being said but I don’t, don’t got the music in me. The rhythm passed me by.  I’ll jump on the wagon later. Should buy more presents for them instead of drinks and cigs. Should donate more but I don’t. What happened to that sweet choirboy type who healed the world? Gah just stop being a dick, early resolution. Being the change leads to that positivity, the craving.


Ahh what to do what to do? All this misanthropic hateration is really chiving my hide, if that’s even a word. Going back and forth between like and dislike as an indecisive youtuber. Caught in the hustle and flowing floating along emotional dramas I have lost use for many a moon ago. Those two sides, they come in many forms, they play tricks on the midsummer spirit and wink ever so coyly at monster mash in me. Oscillating between moody blues hues, it Getz me nowhere in a white rabbit hurry.

It is a tiresome lot this fickle fuck of a twoface. The mask of comedy and tragedy painted on my furrowed face in Hexadecimal fashion. Maybe a reboot is in order. Unplug, disconnect and attune myself to peaceful dispositions. A Buddhist template to reawaken the love bug in me, in the proverbial soul of a hollow fellow blues man. Sights unseen, travel the world young man, see a life not yet taken, voyages remarkable, destiny at the helm.

Maybe the hermit small world creates animosity and resentment. Maybe I’m fooling myself into anger and delusion. Guiding my existence towards solitude out of fear of pain, relationships, broken heart social scene. I confuse the real me when really what I want is red rover red rover, come on over hugs and kisses. Isolationist grump holding out halting hand at all the bystanders. Tempted to use the force to block arrivals. Bridge troll delighting himself with cryptic behaviour and riddles galore. Making that life-affirming connection thing a task for those seeking kinship and camaraderie.

Being some phantom of the opera with twisted face and mind, stagnating in dank dungeons never to grow, evolve, into the man I used to know. That bright imagining I had once, the projection of the idolized self-image. The hero that does not falter. Unwavering knight brushing up against challenge without this nagging, questioning self. The Woody Allen neurotic filling in for the passed out protagonist. Scoping possibilities but holding himself back, refraining to move forward and adding pressure upon himself. Using that weight to make excuses to not grab life, not risk in the usual sense. The old nights of debauchery and drunken sloppiness and avarice a faint memory. Just wild nights of stupidity. Ahh what to do what to do?

The Dance

Hate myself, love myself, back and forth I go with this dastardly dance of self-esteem. Bending and swooping arches of mood swings the ups and downs of my life. Disorder and delicate, frail skin absorbing abuse and ill will. Every harshness seeping in deeper like moisturizing vileness. I drape myself in the hatred of others, floating around the room with a second skin plastered on decayed form. Little fairy pirouettes, jumping gleefully about on blood red shaggery.

Performance of the fallen getting sickly fat off self-indulgent misery. Po folks, woe is me, lil violins play my cue. But oh, how I sink and revel in disastrous dwellings and those godforsaken lamentations. Let me be a lemming drifting closer to the cliff. Let the hand of divinity strike thunderous jolts to awaken Pagliacci’s mortal play. The curtains rise, the limelight sets, the acting fool sits in a lump, stump, plump, awaiting cues from the silly psychosis. Damned be the fool, spirals of wicked hate hath been dropped upon the pauper prince. The sneaky fellow hiding from all eyes. The bright smile covering that wincing face. Better to be the party then the dull drum of darkness. What positivity to say? Where is the better tomorrow when you’re blinded by the past?