Free Write

Free write-1/6/2015
Theses tears, they come and they go. Although I donât remember quite how to flow, Iâll still try and make it so.
I remember a room in the dark, the ceiling opened to the stars and we lay in sleeping bags and tried to count those stars,
But their vastness was lost on us.
That was long ago, so long ago it seems, and now it is just a dream.
And I remember paintings cluttered with dust and worn by time, and the howling of the wind and the trees beyond.
Inside all was safe.
The cruelty of the blue footed booby knows no bounds. My eight year old eyes could not approve of the selfishness before them.
The weaker chic is cast aside by both mother and sibling to die an untimely death. But as time and life collapses upon itself I look back now and see.
I can almost understand.
Iâll put my striped suit on and play my flute like the devil was after my soul. These tears they come and they go.
Sometimes they all hate me, sometimes they are just others. Itâs all in my mind.
In jail they feed you three meals a day⦠three meals a day. On the streets you freeze to death.
When you rob a bank you go to jail, to eat three meals a day. Or you go to Mexico and live in hiding, but you have money.
I have lost my friend. Her name was joy. Joy had terminal cancer. I watched her collapse in on herself. I could do nothing about it.
The Doctors told her she had to do chemo. The chemo made her hair fall out. Her appetite dwindled. I still write letters to her. I put her address on an envelope and seal them, but they sit on my counter and collect dust.
I am frozen with frozen thoughts. I will cleanse my soul with these tears that come and go. Know this, I am not alone. They are there. They feel it.
There is a charge in the air. It comes from them and sticks to me and it makes me strike. I shake like the earth. There is something wrong with the foundation. There is something not right.
Wake me from this dream into another dream.
If everything we do is for nothing in the end, then why feel ashamed of certain things we do? Why shame anyone if it does not affect anyone else?
I am a closet freedom fighter, who forgets to fight and winds up fighting herself.
Cancer is life. I found a lump in my heart. I donât know what to do. There is one in my brain too, and the signals are mixed and mashed and broken up.
If someone paid me to live in a cave I would do it in a heartbeat. My head-space is my home, my sanity, my portal from reality.
Monsters have moved in here. I need to kill them, but I only have a knife. Guns are banned here. That was not my fault. The knives are blunt, and I cannot get close enough to the monsters. They are hiding in the grooves of the grey matter, and even refuse to pay rent. They feed off of the charge.