Tag Archives: questions

Hemlock Realities

hemlockblog-8

Some times,

Fantastic fantasy grabs ahold

Leaving nothing but this mirrored,

Narrowed view,

While separating one

Onto a mountain top,

With a back drop painted with well intentions.

But it ends up looking more like something,

You painted with hazardous paint,

From your childhood dreams.

That you eventually must eat.

The convulsing doesn’t seem to stop,

Nor does the hole in your chest

Pump an adequate amount of blood

Until you pour more idealism on top of them.

Then you spend so many moons and moods trying to feel human again.

Yet,

You really aren’t.

You’ve been cast by your school bully,

Just playing their interpretation of you.

Everyone eventually so shocked,

They just sit by,

Speaking in hushed tones to your facsimile,

Hoping for you,

The breaths will slowly return,

The sky will clear-

So you can figure out what you need to finally do

To take care of you.

Trying to remember it.

A funeral but for the things I have to tell myself sometimes to just breathe.

A eulogy for all the things turreted towards me I thought I could help, or fix, or get back on track but never did.

A pyre lit for all the potential I see in people that they never discovered of themselves burning with the oil made of the pain that has resulted because of this.

What do people do after this?

Lost broken hope,

Every bit deep enough inside themselves just hoping one day it’s a Pandora’s box with someone else opening it thousands of years away unleashing it’s empathy back into light.

If I had hope currently, I’d believe that but it must have gone in with the rest while I wasn’t paying attention. 

So I’ll just wait here. Because I’m tired of kind of always just holding it up anyway. I probably deserve a break. 

Enough?

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You words so full of frustration still ring in my ears.

What is it I don’t do again?

What was it I forgot this time?

Where was I when you said I was gone?

Where had I gone?

Was my phone off?

My mind gone?

What is it this time, again?

How is it I forget everything that seems relevant

That I never knew about?

What was it that I didn’t remember properly?

Did I not mimic your same examples?

Did I not bend to every whim?

Did I not bleed with you,

for you the hundred times you asked?

Did I not return when I should have stayed away?

Were you not the equal to the rest that surround me?

Are you unable to see the constant torture?

How many questions must I face before I’m enough?

Are these 140 words enough?

Are the 4 hours of phone calls near daily in 4 years enough?

Questions, are they enough?

Did I look back enough?

Is there an adequate number I should have reached by this point?

Did I respond too quickly for you to think I was present?

And how about now, are these words nearing 200 enough now?

Was I supposed to take care of you when you didn’t take care of me?

Am I always to be more than you can be for me?

Is it all my responsibility?

What do you think should happen now?

Question more?

Ask more?

Seek more?

How again, I am supposed to be?

Should I have been less giving?

Or was my place as a statue in the room?

Was I supposed to never respond?

Never display an opinion?

Was I not to ask for any damned thing?

How can I give you it all until I’m empty?

How about 300?

Are you to drain it all to appease yourself,

Until I’m dead and you are full? Is that enough?

Thought experiment: m(e.)

Lovely Pan Like Succubus: Nachtmahr- JohannHeinrich Füssli (1802)

Arousal Activation: London Grammar – Wasting My Young Years