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no prayer will save you
no angel is coming
no level of consciousness will lead from here
none of us can ever leave
we are bound to this place
because we are this place
we are you
and we are me
we are the rocks and the oceans and trees and the mountains
we are the beyond the veil and we are the veil
there is nothing that is not this place
as there is nothing is not us
we are this place
we cannot leave ourselves

light
darling, i see the light
i have swam in the light
but i know the darkness too
i am neither angel nor demon and both at the same time
i look through the fury
and try to keep balance
sometimes i fall, but i still stand

I'm lucky to be alive. I mean that in the most real sense.

I'm lucky. I'm so fucking lucky that it's practically unbelievable.

I lived in my car and then on the street when I was constantly losing time and I somehow managed not to get killed. In fact, I was still able to use my wits to l get out of several situations where that was a likely outcome.

I was completely lost, and didn't really have anyone close to me for most of that time. If I had fallen in close with a junkie, I would have become a heroin addict. I would have done just about any drug that was put in front of me at that point. But somehow, I managed to avoid getting an addiction.

My luck didn't stop or start there. I was severely burned as a child, but not only survived but miraculously avoided serious burns to my face. My roommate on the burn unit, Alfonso, was not so lucky, he didn't make it.

I lost a lot of time and almost flunked out of high school. But I made it through by the skin of my teeth. I passed without turning in most of my homework. Somehow. Graduated 313th out of 317 students.

I fell in with purpleglitter and her friends, who took me off the street and gave me the means of learning the skills that lead to my short stretch of decent employment which in turn has allowed me to collect ssdi instead of ssi.

Being able to get assistance without ending up again on the street is another stroke of luck. And at this point, my still having a place to live is astounding.

And I'm still here to live in it. I've tried to kill myself too many times, and came very close to succeeding on a few occasions. But I'm still here. Somehow.

I have seen my share of bad things and been my share of bad places, but I am blessed. It's utterly amazing that things turned out so well for me. I'm so very incredibly lucky. I feel I must have one of those guardian angels like the characters that won't die regardless of how much you shoot at them on Star Trek.

There are things that I try to say. Things that cannot be said because for such things there can be no words. Many people will therefore find much of what I say nonsensical. I am by far not the only one who sees these things, I am just one of those who is foolish enough to attempt to speak them.

I talk of demons and of angels and of monsters and of God. I remember the walls stained with blood and I know where the devil lives. I have wandered between the dreaming and waking to where I could no longer distinguish one from the other. I am friends with færies and do business with ghosts. I have walked the asylums and tasted their zombie potions. I do not speak in the polite language of the day. I am mad, of course. And that is that.

i am not free, i am still bound by my mind
the barbed hooks keep their grip on my flesh
i feel them tearing
they hurt me still
i cannot see them anymore, but i can still feel them
pulling
pulling
ripping me again and again
decades and it never stops
never has and never will
sometimes the illusions of peace flows over me
but still i know somewhere in me the screaming does not end

time is real
at least as real as anything else
which isn't very real at all
stand in the silence and feel time
listen to the winds
where have they been
where have we gone
so much wrongs have been done
and no one is innocent
i look at my hands
and i see my evil in them
i know where i am from
i am not the stuff angels and light
darkness burns in me
washes my eye and freezes my breath
taste the ashes of the embers of the past
forget and be again
we never left, we only think we did

My therapist said she wanted to hear some of my poetry. So I made several gray splotchy printouts as my ink cartridge is dying. Here are the poems I've selected to bring:

Broken Angels The Candle Flame Chatter Paths in the Corn Waiting for the Gentle Dawn We Can Make It All Better Snow Queen

This morning I greeted the sun by making snow angels on Spy Pond.