Dancing with the devil – Tricia
Excuse me sir, but have you seen my brother? |
….. I shook my head and that brought me back, to one more hit another drink and no more pain. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and glanced out the window….
What was this voice whispering that I had to leave? Was it more painful than here? My mind started to race again, back and forth, anywhere… but away from here…..
….. But the whisper continued. It would not leave. It kept bringing me back, reminding me, beckoning me to remember. But I did not want to remember. To remember would put me right back to where I did not want to be, back to being real, back to life, back to the truth. Back to the memory of who I was and wanted to be. That land was too scary. I was fine where I was. Or, it was at least easier to believe I was fine than face where the whispers beckoned me to go….
…. One more drink, one more hit and I will be back to my place. The place where only I can go, the place where only I belong…confident and in control…. But that damn voice, that damn whisper… I wasn’t having fun anymore. I didn’t believe my stories anymore. I kept repeating them over and over, but it was no use. No matter what I tried, how many hits, how many beers, I could not find the reason anymore. Too many broken hearts and promises. I only saw destruction… and that damn voice…. Whispering to me of a land where I once walked free….
…. I saw it in other people’s eyes, that is I saw what the whispers told me. In fact it just felt good to be around. But not too long, the whispers were too powerful and true. I had to run, I had to hide, the fear would become overwhelming…
…. But I did see it. I wanted it. I’d been there. I know I have, for I remember how I walked, I remember every hill and valley. These whispers I saw in other people and felt inside my heart. This land with vast openness I was once free to roam. But how could I get there? How could I get past the fear? How could I stop to look at myself when all I ever wanted to do was run? ….
…… I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always scared. I was a good kid. In fact I am pretty caring even now. I do good deeds and go to church. But how long ago was it? How many years do I have to go back to remember them with innocence? Too many? No, too few. Does it matter how it started? ……….. Damn, those whispers again…. I need a hit, I need a beer……… But those whispers……….. I want them, I do I want them, ……….I want to see the sun rise and set. I want….. It just seems so far away ………… but so very close………… Shhhh…. Listen, maybe you can hear them……………..
Meshell,
by, Stephen J. Murray
In the night I have wept-
Emotions abound and have swept-
This ungodly hour of my pet-
She knows not how, how I have crept-
In the night it always seems-
The fabric my heart, it is reams-
When the sun no longer gleams-
My emotions come apart at the seams-
In the night my memories make-
Pools of disquietude in this lake-
That I lay awake-
And abate never comes to escape-
In the night there is no slack-
Again it begins with all that morbid flack-
It is here on my back-
On my back with a crack-
In the night, this is my threat-
That the busy in the day is gone to let-
Again that we have met-
And she is void of the feelings I get-
In the night years have gone by-
And I have not yet a heavy sigh-
I will never say goodbye-
Not until the day I die-
In the night with no refrain-
In the night-
In the night-
In the night
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