Tag Archives: sad

Present

I hear the glass ringing on the linoleum floor.

The shotgun is in Pat’s hands, cocked. The wood chair scrapes across the floor with an urgent pulse. He runs downstairs. He is faster than me or Leroy.

Stillness rocks the air after his footsteps.

We wait.

A single shot explodes the quiet followed by a gasp. There’s some choking and the sickening sound of flesh hitting a hard surface.

I bite my lip. This had already happened twice before this month. They were becoming more frequent.

Leroy and I head into the basement to find Pat standing over the body, the gun draped lazily to his side. His lips are moving as he says the prayer.

God does not save us all.

The boy couldn’t have been more than sixteen. His long, disheveled hair laid matted in a pool of red. His eyes were still open. Blue.

As we pick him up, I notice the thinness of his body. The black clothes swing loose around him. His spine prickles my fingers. It’s still warm.

Behind the house, we drop him by the shed. Pat is cursing as he begins to dig another pit. There are a lot of them now. We’ve begun to mark them with stones. Not to remember – just so we don’t dig any old ones up.

Pat tells me to clean up the room. I shoot Leroy a look of annoyance. I always get the dirtiest job.

I gather up some rags and shuffle back, pausing along the way to get the droplets. In the basement, you can almost see where he was laying a few moments before.

There is blood on the ceiling. I scowl.

I get to work, every so often stealing a glace up at the broken window. The sky beyond is blue, clouds slinking long and wide.
I like to pretend sometimes that it is another summer day. That later I will go home and tell my mother about this crazy dream. We would laugh and order a pizza.

My stomach growls even as the red bleeds through to my fingertips.

Pat calls me a dreamer. He says that at some point I will realize that there’s no use wasting thought on the past or the future. We now have only the present.

The Light Around Me

The light around me has grown dull.
It’s brightness keeled
and the sharpness blurred
to edges black.

Understand that the sun
is still high above.
This gloom is just a setting
projected from myself.

It shapes the world I see.
Experiences curtailed.
Faces lost.
Misplaced fears.
Diving emotions.

I am blind to the periphery.

Exude

I came to the forest
to cry out my soul,
to let go of the emotions
that riddled me
and kept me from whole.

And the Earth,
like a sponge,
so willingly took it in.
Embracing the darkness and grey,
filtering again and again.

SMILE

Just smile. Behave, politely. A nod of the head. Of course and absolutely.

I could keep myself like this for hours. Happy energy flooding the space around me. Everyone loves it. Look at them, smiling back.

That’s what we need. The strange, false comfort that everything is alright. All your worries, those little life stressors, they are nothing compared to what you feel right now.

At least, that is what they keep telling themselves.

Each of those bobbing heads leaving the conference are held high, eyes pointed to the doors. The next hours are an exciting, blank space waiting to be filled with conversations about projected expectations and dreams.

I am just like them. In some ways. Polishing my exterior while burying who I really am. What I really feel.

Sad.

That’s a better word for summing my day. What I think of my expectations and dreams.

Hopeless.

And that is the word for describing what is perceivably been my entire adulthood. A constant pull into a shapeless darkness that shrouds all of my thoughts and tinges them with despair and angst.

I can’t seem to get away from it. I try to push it out, telling myself I’m better. But it always comes back. Stronger even, as if toys with my own weakness.

So, I let it remain.

And it grows. Consumes, really. But I don’t have anything left. Just an appearance that lies for me. It does a great job, like I said, everyone smiles back.

They don’t know what lies beneath the mask. They don’t need to. And, perhaps more to the truth, they don’t want to.

Those are the types of questions they never ask.

***

Don’t be afraid to ask the uncomfortable questions. If you (or someone you know) are depressed, know that there is always someone there to help.

 

TOXIC

My heart beats loud
in my chest
as the nerves
give way to unrest.

A toxic potion
of anxiety and depression.
I swallowed it whole
and can feel the pressure.

With my mind
I tried to push the weight
but after hours,
I was still in the same place.

Trapped
by my own emotion.
Frantically
grappling with thought erosion.

I’ve sent out the flare
and am waiting on the answer.
Will time bring someone
to be my savior?

EYES

I can’t stand
that I see your face
every time I look into the mirror.

It’s those goddamn eyes.
Those black pupils
always staring back at me.

I’ve tried to forget you.
Like long ago,
when you forgot me.

Out the door you walked.
I was just a child.
It was easy to leave.

But that’s my problem.
It was too easy.
You wimp.
You coward.

What
could I ever have gained
from such a faulty soul?

Apparently,
just these dark holes
boring into me.

COLLISION

I saw her again.

This time I was driving, clocking well over eighty and that feeling–god that feeling–it passed over me like a shadow. This tremble goes up my spine and I put all my effort towards focusing on the road. My hands start to hurt from the grip on the wheel.

Like always, I couldn’t stop it. I start looking around at the cars around me.

To my right an older gentleman, his head full of gray and face speckled by the sun. He was hunched over, peering at the road rather than actually seeing it. He looked lonely.

In front of me, the soccer mom’s staple mini-van. A liquorish red with stickers of her children dotting the back window. Pride shines through the dust laden paint.

And on my left was her. It’s always her.

She was there, all blonde and beautiful in that little, blue car. Her windows were down and she was singing. Some new pop song, most likely.  She wore that slim lime green tank top; her nails painted to match. A miniature teddy bear dangled from the rearview mirror, ever so often colliding with a newly added tassel from her graduation. ’05 is what it said.

She was so carefree, so young. A new glowing light, dancing to the rhythmic traffic of a city.

The fleeting feeling of peace fades with me when I remember what happens. I had seen this too many times before. Over and over it plays in my head.

I motion to her. I scream at her. I plead with her. But she can’t hear me. She never does.

The pretty blonde smiles for an instant. And at the end of that moment she barrels into the back end of the stopped car in front of her.

Time speeds up then as that little blue car is crunched with her in it. A shockwave of forces spreads through the cars in line, totaling more than her. But she’s all that matters.

Dead instantly. From the bloody carnage of her that was left tangled in that metal jungle, I wanted to desperately believe it. I could never live knowing if she went through worse pain. If she thought about me in her last breathe. If she called for me and I wasn’t there.

An officer handed me the only pieces left intact the day after. I cried when I saw that bear and tassel. They were gifts from her mother and I. Gifts that we had given her just two days before.

My beautiful daughter was gone. Her life lost to a congested, unforgiving world. And a future robbed from me.

LONG NIGHTS

Blood shot eyes

have become the best of me.

 

The heaviness,

never lessening,

pours its way through,

 

melting the tunnels of veins,

crushing it all in.

Look at what I became.

 

Broken and confused,

a sad refuge

to where I escape

is hidden in the depths

of the faceless reflection in front of me.

 

I’m moving in circles

all while plummeting down.

I’ve covered my eyes

because if I don’t see it,

it can’t be the truth.

It will all just be lost to the darkness.

 

Like me.

 

Like you.