Paranoia

paranoia
picture source

 

Scattered thoughts like birds
Anxious and rabid
Etch their songs across the corners
Tittering madly
Rocking back and forth

Tick tick tick goes the clock…must be a good girl…
Tic tic tic goes my neck…must not be a stupid girl…

Voices and fingernails leave trenches along
the flesh of my human soul
Deep wells in the sand that are hard to fill
except for the madness
Gnawing away

Why do you hate me??
I’m not hiding….I’m not hiding…I’m not hiding…

I’m afraid that he still loves she
That I am replaceable just
like I was before. Replaceable
And that this is all a lie
You’re the lie

One two three…does he still love she?
One two three…everyone is better than me.

I hear them whispering
through the walls
They hate me; they all hate me
Do it they say
Do it…

Shut your eyes, hold your breath…
Fade away to nothingness

Hold your heart, watch it die…
Its been broken by a lullaby 

© The Eyes of Seraphim 2016

 

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The Fens of the Sea

waterpicture source

The sea thunders inside my head
Seagulls screech behind my eyes

I stare into the foggy waves and wonder
I wonder…

Water crashes against earth
Salt spray entangles my hair

I listen to the roar of the ocean and wander
I wander…

The brine licks my white fingertips
And catches me fast in a bitter embrace

I feel the weight of the sea above me and I wait
I wait…

Falling beneath and in between
The gentle sands cradle my head

I see the sun shimmering above and I watch
I watch…

Ice and fire captivate my lungs
My vision blurs out the sun

I descend into the fens of the sea and I wallow
I wallow…

And I remain…

© The Eyes of Seraphim 2016

Stillborn

graveyard

Once I was my own demise; a starving cheek kissed by fate
I sat alone in a garden of syringes and saints
Waiting for someone to find me

A shadowed stranger with a crucifix for my tainted heart
A man masked with a mirror and a butterfly stare
Came to purge my sins

The transcendent petals wept from the cherry blossom
They shed their tears for me as I sewed shut my life
For I have no pearls nor perfect deeds

I’m still living…
I’m still breathing…
This heart keeps beating…
But there is no feeling…

I am nothing but a poppet animated by my grief
Frail; my body is a hoodoo doll of holes and hollows
Awaiting a dark embrace

Stolen from myself by a perfect fallen angel; black with lies
I lost my heart for a chance to see the truth
And so i sit plucking out the thorns of deceit

I waste away in this graveyard garden; void and silently staring
Waiting for that shadowed stranger with a four cornered knife
To break this spell of death

I’m still living…
I’m still breathing…
This heart keeps beating…
But there is no feeling…

My Predetermined Suicide

“A pill to make you numb, a pill to make you dumb…
A pill to make you anybody else…
But all the drugs in this world won’t save her from herself…”

I was flipping through my burn book this afternoon with my boyfriend. I’ve never come that close to sharing the contents of this book with anyone. No one has ever read my black book before. You here on the internet are the only ones I have shared anything with in regards to that. However, in the interest of trust in the relationship between boyfriend and I, I want to show him the entire journal. But its so hard! In the past I considered burning the damn things, hence the title burn book. But, I can’t. Its like one of my horcruxes. It’s a part of me and if I destroy it I’ll be destroying what has come to define me, my past and my madness.

So in short, I haven’t shown boyfriend everything of the book’s entirety just yet, that’s something I’m not ready to do at this point in time. Even though I want to, the thought makes me panic because there is that air of uncertainty. What is he going to think? Will it help him understand me or will I just make him sad? I don’t want to make him sad or upset.

I found another poem in the burn book that I wrote back in July of 2005. It may sound completely cheesy now, but at the time it expressed my concrete desire to kill myself, but it also radiated that sense of apprehension. However, at the time I sincerely believed that I would die by suicide, that was how the light was going to go out. I thought it was fate. Enjoy the poem and thank you for reading everyone.

burnbookpoem1

Do you like my demon dragon?

The Emptiness

I’m going to share an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote back in April of 2007. This was a time where the relationship with my abuser was almost at its worst. He was getting bolder in his actions. He was getting physically and more verbally abusive. All I wanted to do during that time in the interest of escape was to drink, smoke, cut myself and cry. And cut myself I did, the pain reminded me that I was still alive even though I felt dead inside.

This diary excerpt is a scattering of incidents that happened during one of our frequent arguments. He loved to torment me with fighting, yelling at me, degrading me either alone in his room or in front of friends. It didn’t matter to him. He was always right and I was always…always in the wrong. To him I was a failure and he would remind me that I should have been more grateful that he loved me because no one else would. But now I know better, he was a manipulative bastard who toyed with my emotions and sense of self for his own twisted means. That’s two and a half years of my life I will never get back. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I know better now.

APRIL 2007

“He called me oblivious, a quitter, told me to make some goddamn sense.”

“I’m so hurt because he hates my family and dislikes my sister.”

“He asked me if I have a pair of fucking ears, claiming I don’t hear things the right way.”

“He said I have no brain, asked me if I was mentally challenged.”

“He said to me….’fuck you’.”

In response to our frequent fights which he always started, I would write poetry to express my sorrow, guilt and shame. I also heavily contemplated suicide during those days. One said poem stands out from the rest in regards to this time, it was titled, The Emptiness, which perfectly summed up how I felt internally. Every time I read this poem, I can’t help but imagine a landscape in black and white, desolate and barren, just like my soul.

The Emptiness

The mourning comes again
When the night lifts its sully veils
Revealing only a paleness; in the air
I sense a discoloration
Which a prism can never capture
But, it seems to me a blur
In every shade of gray
With shadows populating my vision
Like a thicket of phantom trees
And so I crumble
Along with the bones of the past
To which I vanish; alone
With the memories

 

The Artistic Bullet Wound

As promised, I have gotten to the point of this blog, I plan to share my more upsetting and perhaps embarrassing entries that were originally written in the Burn Book. For some clarification, when I say embarrassing, I don’t mean “Omg I totally have a crush on this guy”, I mean I feel nervous about exposing how my mind works. Even now  I’m freaking out. I don’t enjoy being teased (which is, I guess, what I think is going to happen). Then again, that’s the whole purpose of this, I’m trying to overcome my fears and take criticism and comments alike. It’s my therapy blog. 

Today’s entry comes in no particular order. In fact I was leafing through the book trying to find one that seemed a bit tame, or at least something that I could get behind. I needed a good starter, not something completely overwhelming. There have been some posts that made me grimace. I didn’t think those would have been a good opening number. You should never start the performance off with your best act. 

I remember writing this entry after coming home from the dentist (a different dentist than the one I saw yesterday). I was getting fitted for a night guard because I had been suffering lots of stress and it was causing me to clench my teeth, which is turn gave me terrible headaches. The dentist was an elderly man. I had never been to him before and since my regular doctor was unavailable I decided to see him.

I’m sorry, I had to pause for a moment. I knew what happens next and that little voice in my head was screaming at me to disconnect. For a moment or two I did, completely shut down. Like C3PO switching off in Star Wars (that scene in Obi Wan’s hut with Luke, R2D2 and Princess Leia’s message).

I got into the chair and told him what was bothering me. For awhile things were pretty dentist-office-visit-standard. As he was fitting me for the mouth guard, I was laying almost completely horizontal in the chair. The dentist “casually” brushed his fingers up and down my leg, or gripped me just above the knee with the majority of his hand far to close to my inner thigh area and “caress” my face. 

I wanted so desperately to react, to smack his hands away and scream. But I shut down, as I always do. Every time this had happened in past situations I crawled into myself, found a corner of my mind no one could reach and rode it out. The deeper I went the less I would feel. But all the while I was crying on the inside. I see a little girl in the corner of a dark room clutching a teddy bear. She is crying and pleading over and over “stop….just stop…please. Stop it.” She cries some more. That little girl is me. 

The appointment ended, he told me to come back and see him to get a final fitting. I walked out of the office, got into my car and screamed. I kicked and punched in the inside of that poor car. Just flailing like I was having a seizure. Needless to say, I did NOT go back. That evening I cursed myself for not being strong enough. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say “NO”. Every goddamn time I switch off. 

Image

That night I contemplated suicide, which was common, hence the artistically drawn bullet hole. 

I’m getting rather agitated, so I think this will have to be the end this post right here for today. I’m already past the point of restless frustration and I want to cry.The rekindled memories and sitting here for over an hour (I kept getting interrupted, like five thousand times). I’m just going to toss in the towel and prep for tomorrow.

Thanks for reading.