Amnesia

where is everyone?

their noise sounds desperate and oblivious

or was that me?

maybe, yet

the motor revs

my caterwaul tears

taxing engines

exacting change

how we danced

before i swallowed my tongue

the twisting

there were games as well
but in between hopscotch and mother-may-i
the twisting
it started so young
they looked at me so strange

this girl

all tied up in knots

they kept their distance
and wondered what was wrong with me

rather than wonder what was wrong with the one who put them there

still

was i a loser

or just lost

my head pushed down
so i went right through

grabbing scraps isn't enough

let them scrabble

i'll bide my time

it's coming

they all tell me patience

maybe, maybe

but maybe i'll explode

maybe i'll break out

maybe i'll run

maybe i'll run

maybe i'll steal

maybe i'll lie

if you say "it's all good" one more time...

my brother was an asshole

My brother was the only one who ever showed me kindness in my family, so I clung to that and ignored everything else. He pulled the wings off of flies for fun. I rescued them and fed them when I found them. I had no love for flies in particular, but the horror of it made me want to help them. He gave me vivid and terrifying nightmares by telling me that there were monsters in the basement. Not to mention not going to the basement, which was fixed up as a rec room, and where all the toys were. He gave me a ride on his mini bike and went way too fast until I was terrified. That in itself is not deplorable, but I believe he enjoyed my distress, and being the cause of it. Perhaps it gave him a sense of power, as powerless as we all were against our father's madness. He did something to my cat, the only other thing that gave me any affection. I don't remember what it was, but it upset me so much I chased him out of the house and around it with a steak knife. I fully meant to hurt him, and he saw that, and though I could not catch him, I would not have stopped. He had to get our mother. Now we come to the molestation. He was old enough to know better. Not perhaps when he was 14 and I was 9, and he wanted to play doctor and was fully erect, but certainly when he was 17 and I was 12, and he touched me a few times. I could have stopped it and wanted to, only there was an intense fear that if I rejected him, I would lose the only person I had in the world. I loved him dearly. I ignored everything bad. When everyone else is cruel and uncaring, you don't have to do much to win a child's loyalty and undying love. And this is why his suicide devastated me when I was 14. I was left all alone, in a harsh, cruel, uncaring world, and I had no clue how I could survive it. My differences always set me apart and I never learned how to make friends, so I had none. When he died, not one person, not one of the many relatives, not one teacher, ever even asked if I was alright. Not even that insincere question, I didn't even get that much.

axioms

I used to hear them. I used to listen a lot. Unfortunately, most people I listened to were ill or broken or obtuse. I might have heard a thing or two when I was young, but by the time I was old enough to chose who I had contact with, I might not have heard a single thing worthwhile. Well, now that I think of it, a couple of teachers, but by high school I was so far gone there would have needed to be extraordinary measures. I was set in my thinking that the world was stupid and cruel, and I was alone in it, with nothing to do but try to survive while taking the least amount of damage I could. And there were plenty to strengthen my view. All but three, and I think only one caught a glimpse and gave me Siddhartha to read, but neither of us tried to reach out more than that. I trusted no one by that time.

I was very smart, I think. But they damaged me so much, I could barely survive, and it was in incredible pain. So here I am, trying to work around the brain damage. The pain has subsided, and I must learn to access other parts of my brain, or if possible retrain the damaged parts.  

13

Her name was Sue. Like my sister. She was there the summer I was 13. And October too, the 31st. I must have been 14 by then. I hadn't gone trick-or-treating for a few years, and when she suggested it, I was excited to go. But she showed up with the boy who lived at the end of the tiny street, and I think one other one. I think of him as Albert, but I believe that was his last name. He was sniffing around her, and she seemed to like the attention. I couldn't stand him. So I made an excuse, said I didn't feel like going. I didn't want to admit the truth. I don't think I ever told her. I didn't want to make her choose. I didn't want to feel like that. She was gone by the time March came around. We didn't keep touch.

She told me what to do, but I didn't listen. She was street smart, and knew how these things worked. I did not. And I was afraid. I should have listened. I just didn't understand why her social worker wouldn't help me. If my situation didn't warrant help, they why would I lie and say I was her? I was afraid of what would happen when the woman came to get me. I was supposed to say I was Sue and that I had run away again. So I did nothing.

Daemon

I was a hell spawn. I was a child of god. I could have been anything.

“I mentioned your name to Tony Blair”.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Why did I make this call? Is this what desperation has brought me to? I’ve been brought to many things. Many things. But not this. And for nothing.

“But I am helping you. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

So he’s not going to help. He could, but he won’t.

Late one night, I’ll start whispering the culling song in his ear. He’ll swallow his tongue.



76 years. Enough already. You’re weak now, aren’t you? Frail? I had hoped. I had feared. Perhaps I’ll come out to see you. To stand over your bed, your sick bed, in your sick house, the one I grew up in. You still have it, I see.

Are you not dead yet? How long do you mean to take? Do you remember when you threatened to kill yourself? Even when I was 13, I wished for you to do it. When I was 9, I used to plot your murder. Poison in the food was my best idea. But I thought I had to get rid of the body or I’d go to jail. I could not come up with a way to transport you.


You know you killed your son, right? And ruined every life you touched. But I will see you dead, and I will be happy. You still have guns, don’t you? Bullets? Go get a shotgun, that should do nicely. Go on, I’ll wait. Don’t forget the shells.

You know, oddly enough, Bill Clinton was talking to ME, and he told me that when he talked to you he thought you were a psycho and a moron who imagined he was a genius. Tony Blair said something similar, but was a tad more polite. They both agreed that you killed John, when I told them that story. They agreed that the world would be a better place without you in it. My life would certainly be better without you in the world. You are loathed by everyone in the world. Every person who hears the story of who you are agrees with me when I tell them I want you dead. Everyone thinks you should be dead. Why do you think my friend is making this call right now?

I tried to have you killed when I was 17. I met someone who said they knew people and offered to have it taken care of for me. I believed him. I seriously considered for a while, very seriously. And I said “yes, do it”, very seriously. It’s too bad he was full of shit and didn’t come through.

You’re not that bright, for all your delusions of grandeur. And they are delusions, you must see that. You must have those nagging little doubts. Maybe it’s not that no one is bright enough to recognize your genius, maybe it really is that you are a delusional idiot. You know it happens, right? Delusions of grandeur. Well, you’re the guy. You are really very stupid. Stupid, coarse, selfish, brutal, egotistical, and a huge boor. You remember all those people who you used to rope into conversations? The random strangers you had to hijack into conversations because no one you knew was willing to tolerate you. They wanted nothing more than to get away from you; they were only being polite. They laughed about you afterward, laughed at you and if I was there pitied me for being stuck with you. Grandmom told me once that you wanted to be a good father. You failed miserably at that like you have failed at everything. The only thing left that you could be any good at and successful at is killing yourself. Take some time, think about it. I would prefer you to die slowly and painfully, but choose your own way, just leave. Everyone sees how ridiculous and stupid you are, and they all laugh at you behind your back. You should be filled with shame for who you are, I can’t imagine living with such shame, I can’t imagine how you would want to. Go on, into the void, end it all, do this one thing for me, this one thing ever.