exercising my demons (they wont do aerobics)

[plural]

lately my life has been like the city
you have your good blocks and you have your bad blocks

tonight has been a bad block
so here I sit once more in shambles

do us both a favor and simply look away
from the ugly tattered remains of my soul

for I am not sure what will come of this
whether it is my self-loathing or self pity

which will emerge victorious and in the end it matters not really
because I am ever the coward, unable to follow the advice of either

its funny and by that I mean fucked up

but instead of getting better, each day it gets worse
each day the hurt grows rather than easing

and I am so terribly sick of being alone

but that is my lot

"be a man ... walk it off"
insists my head

"let it all go ... slip into the abyss"
pleads my heart

in the end, it is simply my curse
my cross to carry
my crown of barbed wire and glass
[updated for the new millennium]

how many times must I turn my face, sucking the tears back in
when someone I love asks what is wrong and wants to reach in and tend my wounds

so that I can force a smile to my face
smother my torment long enough
to lie through my teeth

"its nothing, really, I am fine"

its funny and by that I mean truly pathetic but I've never been dumped
with the exception of Charlotte, I've always been the one to leave

do not get me wrong it is not because I am good
as a boyfriend
as a man
or as a result of my
looks, charm or wealth

but rather because I am a terrible boyfriend
I simply recognize it before they do

leaving has never been what I wanted
well okay, maybe not never
I've dated my share of psychos
but excluding those the statement remains

even though I love them
truly madly deeply
leave I must, and so I do

I brush my hand gently against her cheek
place a tender kiss upon her forehead
turn my back and walk away
I've done it so many times
I could do it in my sleep
but it doesnt make each one
any less excrutiating and miserable
for me


it wasnt what I desired
but since when does what I want matter in the least
if anything life has taught me that

I leave because I recognize
it is the best thing for her

women all make one of two mistakes with me
either they pick some aspect of my personality
and edify me as something I'm not

[the perfect gentleman]
[something out of black and white movies]

"I didnt know guys like you existed"

its all bullshit
even if they wont see

I do and must act accordingly

the other
I suppose is my own fault

you see, I am an amazing friend
if you make it within my circle
you couldnt have a better friend

so they assume I must be an even better boyfriend
but the sad reality is, that I make a lousy boyfriend
in someways for the same reasons I make a great friend

I never blow off my friends
If you need me, I'll be there
on the phone, on a plane if need be

I'll listen to you
comfort you if thats your wish

heal your wounds
and
devour your sins

but it is a one way thing
it always will be

sure it seems like the connection is goes both ways
but that is simply an illusion I excel at crafting

that isnt to say the connection is false

only that while I'm more than happy
to help shoulder your woes
you wont get the opportunity to return the favor

a few of you are more insistent than others
so I create a mirror shard
a paper tiger for you to wrestle on my behalf

while it is unfair of me
it is just that it is what I need
a trade, perhaps unbalanced
but fair enough I suppose

what I need most is that illusion

now it isnt that illusions are safe
on the contrary when they shatter
they'll slice you to ribbons just the same

it just makes that eventual lie easier
whispered into my heart
as I walk away

the cowardly knight
fallen and disgraced
suddenly entranced by the single shiny spot on his armor

my oldest friends are those who are content to let it be what it is
to take what they need from me, knowing I will be there when they need me
to accept what I offer beyond that and know that I will ask if there is something I need
they are able make their peace with that

those that push are quickly frustrated by a wall none can pass
which is why I am an awful boyfriend
because women in love always push
always want to know my deepest darkest secrets

when it all overwhelms me
take me into your arms
pull my head to your chest
give me that silent moment
of secret screams and blasphemous sobs

but ask me no questions
and I'll tell you no lies

my past and secrets are my own
the price for sharing those
is not one I'm willing to let you pay

I play a dangerous game
letting these bloody fragments show
it is the bait, the lure, the great con
another illusion to set you at ease

my secrets are entombed
in the graves of those I've buried
locked away in their hearts
to spare me the burden of carrying them alone

this is what I am

a broken man
staring at the blood caked on his hands
naked and shivering
wrapped only in the gossamer threads of his ghosts

of course I never learn
drowning in my denial
each time I meet her

that surge
that rush
overcomes reason
overwhelms reality

it isnt that I am so foolish
as to believe it will be any different this time
but it is a trick I play on myself
her smile, her laugh, the gleam in her eye
charms me into believing my own illusions
for those minutes to exist
simply there
with her
as a man without a past

it is her magic I suppose
that makes me believe I am a better man

I suppose this is what makes me an excellent lover
diving in to the moment
diving in to her with such abandon
it is not that it merely seems like nothing else exists
but for those hours, those nights
nothing else truly does
a universal pause button

which explains much of my wanton behavior
as
it is the only peace I get

I do not make love
have sex
fuck

simply for the pleasure of it

but because it is my only escape

only when I slide into you
can I slide out of my skin
leave behind my past and my history

to be free of the demons and ghosts
who I love and hate so completely

that seamless integration
of body and soul
with each breath
the simultaneously hot cold feeling
of naked flesh against naked flesh

turning my body into an instrument
to escape myself and devour you

"...my first own truth was this: fucking was the same way as with everything else- what you thought you were doing was not what you were doing. What you thought you were doing was sucking and penetrating and kissing, holding and ejaculating. What you were doing, though, was telling a story.

First off, thing is, you got to know you got a story. Then you got to have to tell it. Knowing how to tell your story good is important, but the secret to good fucking is how well you can listen. fucking only gets good when the two stories start being the same story- the human being sex story- when the two bodies stop being two bodies and start being the big excruciating, the one heart beating.

Most men, most sorry men, always tell the same old hard dick ejaculation story, and always got to be the one who leans hard onto. Most women, sorry women, tell this story-- which isnt really a story: you talk, I'll listen, tell me when you're done. They always end up being the one who gets leaned hard on. Doesnt work that way when you are fucking. Good fucking is bartering, wrestling, swapping tales back and forth, and telling lies until you get to the truth."
-The man who fell in love with the moon

telling lies until you get to the truth

I've always loved that line
I guess it just resonates with my disease

but anyway I've gone off on a tangent again
and for once, I think I'm actually going somewhere with all of this

imagine if you would
living in a world with someone continuously playing polka music
and you hate polka music

sure you can tune it out
from time to time
distract yourself from it
with a little effort
but it remains
always there
waiting to assail you if you drop your guard

and so I compromise myself
abuse my dignity
and betray my conscience
just to get a few hours of peace
and maybe a decent nights sleep

as it is only in a woman's arms
that I gain a reprieve from this curse
that the perpetual din is temporarily silenced
and wrapped in such arms
I sleep like a baby

most every night I sit in bed
staring at the ceiling
for the requisite seven or eight hours
eking out a few hours of fitful sleep
if even that
often like now
I go for days on end without even the illusion of sleep
collapsing when exhaustion overwhelms

day to day
I survive on the sleep I get
from when I first fall
to the moment rem sleep kicks in
and my dreams begin

what I call a good dream you'd call a nightmare
for me a good dream is one I wake from
drenched in cold sweat
fear and rage seeping from my clenched fists
strangled screams in my throat

I can tell when I am dreaming
even sometimes control them
but not so with my nightmares
they are the sweetest poison to my soul
an ecstasy I cannot begin to describe
my nightmares do not seem real
they are real
my mind cannot distinguish them
from sitting here typing this

the only clue is the false hope they sell
and you get a discount if you buy a dozen

my nightmares are like old friends
I greet each warmly and with affection
diving into the bliss of its delusion

in my favorite nightmare

I am sitting on a shimmering white sand beach
relishing the feel of the warm sand between my toes

the sun is shining softly
in that peculiar sort of warm blue cloudless sky
which gives an atheist pause to reconsider his denials

that sort of gentle spring day
that warms the skin turning it the slightest shade of pink
but would never burn

the ocean is like liquid glass with only the slightest ripples
to beckon you into its cool embrace

Charlie is with me and I am at peace
all is right with the world

noticing I am adrift in thought
lost in the moment
she slips from my side
in a graceful jog towards my second mistress
the sea

entranced by her lithe form
the lines of her navy blue bikini with white polka dots
it has always been my favorite and knowing this
she wears it only when she has a special torture in store for me
which causes my blood to race from the first glimpse
anticipating that future moment for hours

I watch her absently in that contented state
of simultaneous amazement and familiarity
which love breeds so well

it isnt that she dives in
for diving could never be that seamless
no, she merely melts into the water
with hardly a ripple

I watch hungrily
waiting for her to surface
eager for yet another moment of that vision

but like me
the sea is also her second mistress

she loves to be enveloped by it
adores that first caress of the water
surrounding and flowing around you
and so until the last of her breath
would she swim submerged
just her and the sea

it was her ritual
when it comes to the sea
as I have my own
and we each leave the other
to indulge in these secret moments of prayer
each alone for a moment utterly enclosed
in simple awe at the majesty of nature

it was always one of the things I loved about her
sure, she was the perfect southern belle
the dilettante goddess with cascading locks of gold
but like me, that was merely the face life required of her

I loved how we could take a hike
chatting and playing along the way
enjoying each others company and just being outdoors
but then upon reaching the summit
we could just sit for hours in utter silence
at once together and alone, simply drinking it all in

once she was ready
her head would pop up
always looking towards shore
searching out my form
as if she was a compass and I was magnetic north

let this not mislead you
for one must remember
without a compass to make use of it
magnetic north is merely a useless chunk of ugly rock

this was my cue to join her
and I was always happy to oblige

standing, brushing myself off
walking slowly into the water
as is my way

In all the time we were together
I do not think there was a single time
where I entered the waters before or with her

it was not spoken or explained
just how it was

while her ritual was through immersion
mine was that moment of reflection
drinking in that seductive power of the sea
feeling its calm strength rush through me

wading into the water
until it is about thigh high
then breaking the surface
not with her grace
but with the purpose of a man, taking his mistress into his arms
and lifting her chin to deliver a long overdue kiss

but a few practiced strokes
for one to whom the water is a second home
and I set my feet down in the shoulder deep water
pulling her to rest against my side without conscious thought

we share a smile
that joy that comes from experiencing something truly amazing
and more so from having someone you love to share it with

and then a kiss

not a peck or some hurried teenage mastication
but that slow lazy tender kiss
of those who have set aside an eternity for this kiss alone
and fully intend to spend another eternity on the next one

at this point
I'm sure you are probably thinking

"nightmare? that sounds pretty damn good to me"

and indeed it is divine
perversely my nightmares are the happiest moments of my life
and I would give anything to reside permanently within them

but it is not to be
I never get that eternity
or the next one

it is always with that kiss
that this perfect dream
that wishful reality fades away
and I wake

alone

with only the image of her lying on the floor of a rubber zodiac
a hand shaped bruise on her chest from three hours of cpr
and the memory of wiping her vomit from her lips
that I might steal our last cold lifeless kiss

my dreams torment my sleep
but my nightmares shatter my life
for they never sleep and from them I never wake
trapped in the maze of my wretchedness
my cowardice and my failures

unlike my dreams which force me to wrestle with my past
face my history, mistakes and losses

my nightmares forge an undetectable illusion
selling me completely on their lies
of how things were
could still be
should still be
only to fade away completely
once they get me hooked

and I wake
that bliss wrenched from me

left reliving the moment spent clutching uselessly to what remained of a dear friends head
half blinded by the mixture of his blood and brains coating my face

or the long string of days
watching another wither away and die
from the cancer which ravaged his body
able to do nothing but scream silent curses at god

or walking in on my high school roommate drawing bloody pictures on the stark white tiled bathroom wall
sitting in a pool of his own blood, having shredded his forearms with multiple lacerations,
shredding my shirt to bind his wounds, holding his sobbing fifteen year old form tightly against me
screaming for someone, anyone to call an ambulance, my clothes spattered and soaked in his blood
hearing the sirens approach as his life slips from my grasp

there is a reason to my madness

those who I love, those who I let in, lean and rely on

die

it is my punishment

for spitting in gods eye

like the Morningstar, in my unbridled pride
I sought to usurp gods privilege

and by the force of my stubborn will
I refused his grand design

So instead of taking my life
he exchanges the years I should have lost
for those they should have had

Chris

Xavier

James

Charles

Nik

Jimmy

Max

Noah

Michal

Ari

Shimon

Howard

and while Tom survived, he lives in a state
hardly better than that of a vegetable barely able to complete sentences
or hold a discussion about the weather

and of course

the jewel of my suffering


Charlotte


and this is the short list
those precious few who made it inside my walls
in these twenty nine years
before I locked the gates
and threw away the key

many times in my grief
have I begged the lord to take me from this shattered husk
to shuffle loose my mortal coil
even hell would be a kinder place

and each time

god turns his eyes from my tears

Comments

[sostark.livejournal.com]

I don't know what to say other than 'it must feel good to get all of this out of your system'.

I had nightmares for years after a friend died in a car crash we were both in. A year later his little sister, who I had become closer to after the accident, was hit by a train on a school trip to Africa. I remember thinking that God wanted some people to know more pain than others...even if that isn't true, we are all stronger for what we've seen, who we've held, and what they've said to us before they left.

[plural.livejournal.com]

amen

but lying awake at night

I cannot but wonder

for what horror

do I require such strength?

[tydestra.livejournal.com]

You know, your long posts are the only ones I read, not skim.

Leave the bright lights on, getting things out of your system is a good start.

[plural.livejournal.com]

*smile*

but of course
only they contain value
truth
reality

the rest is but lies I tell myself
over and over

hoping one day to believe them

a dear friend asked of me
but a few minutes ago

"how are you"

to which I replied

"I dont know, but I'm managing"

the first part is true
of the latter I am not so sure

like everyone else
I suppose
I do the best I can

[tydestra.livejournal.com]

<3

[http://users.livejournal.com/_sacchi/]

is it really then
so good to be the king
when a crown can weigh so heavily
on a tortured mind.

[plural.livejournal.com]

a king?

indeed
it is good to be the king

a man?

not so much

[http://users.livejournal.com/_sacchi/]

Perhaps you sleep better in the arms of a woman, because then she is afforded the chance to comfort you (even if it is sometimes unknowingly).

We all need comfort. Sometimes it is hard to let others in, to let others truly see a tattered heart, but it something we all need. Infants die if they are not touched and loved.

Don't let the same happen to your soul.