Outside of saying help...and hoping that somehow things work out right...

What else is there to say?

Blinking Christmas Lights

It's almost six AM,
the day after Christmas
and I miss what once was.
I used to have such expectation
a growing excitement
and wonder about a day
full of getting,
close hugs
and walking across a field
that is now full of brown vines and death.

I lay here in this bed,
my eyes catch the glimmer of light
of a passing time
maybe of a life
that never was
or never could be.

I used to be so young,
so small,
naive and hopeful about this world.

I saw through the lenses of a story
of good fighting evil,
of raising a sword
and casting spell
to beat back the relentless night
and all of her hordes.

Before my heart closed
and began its decay
into this twisted,
dark and fetid thing
there was this capacity for love
and wanting to share the adventure.
I was naive and stupid
not caring about others thoughts
but soon,
soon I learned to be afraid.
That people were cruel,
dark, blind and willfully stupid
and the monsters were not under the bed
but just down the hall.

I look at my world,
this small strip of land
and I know I am loved,
so blessed
and wanted around.

But still,
I struggle to see reality
and see the point of life
that is beyond these artificial lights
and this God awful poetry.

I pray,
I have begged God
to close my heart
and harden it against this world.
So I would never feel affection,
feel attraction
or want to be loved
or stupidly consider opening myself
to just being used,
ripped apart
and have my insides gayfully displayed
just so a girl might giggle
and add another check mark.

But this stupid heart refuses to cooperate
and instead,
look at me,
born loser and bastard extraordinaire
who paints with shades of pain
such pitiful portraits
and yet the feelings remain.

I do not want them,
I am too weak
and cannot carry this.

Sure,
You know best
but
why must it hurt so much?

I blink my eyes,
the pain remains
and I fall further
and farther
down this rabbit hole,
falling head over heels
into this darkness.
I feel the claws ripping my skin
and I just wish it could be something else,
nothing but truth
but hope that even with my self hate
I might grow to hope
and maybe
just maybe
this battle was not a waste.

Why must I feel?
Care when I'm not wanted?
Give when it's nothing worthwhile
and nothing worth remembering?

Why do I feel this?
Why do they flutter in my chest
touching my heart
and pulling my soul?
I am much too tired
and too weak,
unable to make this trip.

Call it off,
just let it die inside of me
instead of a prolonged death to self
which will be decades in the making.

Hope
that none of these prayers are heard
and if they are,
it is seen as the ramblings of a sick man
and maybe a healing,
some process
might just dare to begin.