********WARNING!! suicide/self-injury/eating disorder/alcohol
triggers!!********
all poetry/short stories by ghost
goodbye
x
you
were the cure for my love sickness
my
loneliness
for
every empty day
for
the ache of the snow melting
ice
shifting
in
the cold numb waste
in
the hold of blue blackness
red
liquid anesthetic
let
me hide from them
and
if only i'd held you closer
felt
you deeper
would
i be better then?
you
were the only kind witness
to
the nothingness
a
meaningless silent pain
a
goodbye kiss that never happened
praying
after a falling sunrise
coming
down like rain
in
my mirror with your sad ideas
dark
eyed
against
a pale flat sky
how could i ever let you go?
wings
broken
crashing
into the same hard ground
now
we can only stay together
who would be my lover?
marked
forever yours
so
ok, make me what you want
i'm
sick at heart
a
bleeding angel pinned in the snow
i
thought maybe we'd
solve
this mystery
i
thought everything lost is found
if
i could ever be what you needed
or
if you too are afflicted
let
me know somehow...
unreconciled
no
matter how thin i get
i
still cast a giant shadow
no
matter how many times i bury her
she
digs her way out through the dirt
with
her nails in my flesh
and
whispers in my ear from behind
i
shed my skin
but
the scales return
red
and black and smooth
i
choke her down
i
kill the thirst
and
she is flying out
singing
4 and 20 black words
looking
out of my eyes
her
poison in my veins
her
venom in my mouth
her
fangs piercing flesh
her
rot in my heart
her
smile on my lips...
hospital corners / (out of my mind)
for me
between the corners
of this mind
across jagged
corners of light
shadows bleed
in corners of eyes
a cornered soul
scored and troubled
would if i could
stitch it up tight
tuck it all
in right
pull down the night
and sleep in cobwebs..
freefall
freefall
is
the only way to go
sure
in gravity's embrace
weakness
pulling you down
speeding
into eternity
against
the deafening wind,
dropped
from care's numb
fumbling
hands..
the
cold increase of night
changing
your eyes to black
as
day gives up everything
irretrievably
to
the lowest edge of the sky
the
obsession called life arrested and
surrendered
to your maker
in
the glow of goodbyes
the
secret debris of your spent heart
only
a meaningless vapor trail...
little mouse run and hide..
run and hide and disappear..
hide in a hole.. hide in a crack..
under leaves along your tiny secret path..
in a crater on the moon..
so far away no one will ever find you..
deep in the woods..
in the snow.. in a cave..
under roots and inside trees..
sleeping long long freezing dreaming dark days away..
breathing slower slower.. getting colder..
waiting to awaken some sunny morning..
just a kid
keeping a secret..
speaking only with your colors or in codes..
saying all your words with silence or your eyes alone..
holding the answers and the questions
close to your heart..
rainy day.. running away..
safe in the dark where shadows live and lie
whispering and hushing..
inside a rocketship..
never telling
no one can make you..
good at hiding..
in a closet.. on a rooftop..
so good at finding just the right most unseen hiding places..
at keeping perfectly still..
listening and waiting..
undiscovered..
in a box of cats.. in a drop of blood..
on a dark ride.. under the water..
an unsigned valentine
lost and weeping in the center of your maze..
between the lines of a poem..
behind a stack of books..
in storyland..
in the trunk at a drive-in movie
on a starry night..
in another drink..
in the back of a classroom..
under a black hood and in the words
of the music in your ears..
under the house in a crawlspace..
good at hiding..
i know your secret though
(there's no one looking for you...)
now
i lay me down to sleep
a
child in bed in the dark looks at the door leading to the hallway, it is
open slightly and she hopes her mom will come in to check on her. she
looks at the door in the dark as she waits, listening for a sound in the
hall, hearing only the faint sound of voices farther off somewhere in the
house. in her mind's eye she makes up a fantasy of her mom coming to check
on her, she imagines what she will say, and how she will smile and kiss
her goodnight. she says her prayers silently, in her head, and then drifts
back into fantasy, adding a different story, changing it to another,
making up all kinds of possible realities. her eyes get tired and she
closes them, but she is awake. the longer she waits, the more fervently
she believes that it is the time, and surely her mom will come to check on
her. with her eyes closed she bides her time with even more stories. at
some point she realizes that a long time has passed and it is very late.
she hasn't been able to fall asleep yet, and no one has come to check on
her. no one ever does.
the
child, in a different room, a different bed, beside a window, stares out
at the round white moon through the glass. it's a warm night and she
pushes the blanket off her pajama sleeve and places her hand on the white
wall beside her. she leans over and rests her cheek against the cool
surface. she feels the wall with her palm, with her knuckles, then, making
a fist, she lies there perfectly still for a long time. finally, in a
silent sort of slow motion, she hits the wall with her knuckles, softly,
secretly, feeling them bruise.
the
same child, a little older, says her prayers, still silently in her head,
only now they are longer, more elaborate. she checks on her belongings
which are hidden under the bed at her side, ready. the closet light is on
and shines dimly in a stream into the room, but she doesn't need it, she
is not afraid of the dark. she still makes up stories in her head, or
sometimes she counts or says parts of her prayers over and over and over
and over. the voices in the house are louder than before, she listens but
cannot make out the words, only the tone, the decibel. there is a sudden
loud noise like a piece of furniture being knocked over into a wall. she
listens intently as the voices get louder. she is only able to make out a
word here and there, but she can't seem to stop listening.
the
child is older now, not really a child anymore, as she comes up the dark
driveway and lets herself quietly into the house with her keys. she locks
the door behind her and slips into the livingroom, sitting down in the
chair there, she lights one last cigarette for the night and sits smoking
quietly in the dark. she listens to the soft snoring and breathing sounds
coming from the couch and small bed nearby, where shadowy figures lie
sleeping. putting out her cigarette, she gets a pillow and blanket from a
cupboard in the hall and lies down on the hard floor. as soon as she
closes her eyes the world starts spinning. she knows it will last a little
while before it will stop and she will fall asleep too.
a
long time later, a woman sits on the edge of her bed. she takes a small
tin from the bedside stand and opens it, removing a sharp razor knife. she
looks at it, turning it over in her hands. taking out a cold
alcohol wipe from a tiny packet she cleans the blade carefully and waits
for it to dry. she pulls up her sleeve, exposing the inside of her left
arm, where she slowly and silently slices first one, and then another
shallow cut into her flesh. she pauses and watches the blood bead up in
spots along the criss-cross cuts. without expression, she stares like a
kind of dead doll as she makes several more cuts, deeper this time. the blood
wells up, rich, warm and alive, and drips down the length of her arm. the
woman watches until the bleeding slows and stops, she watches until it
dries there on her skin, she watches intently for a long time. she feels
cold. cold but safe. she drops the tin with it's contents replaced back in
the nightstand, and draws a blanket around her shoulders. the door is
locked and the house is silent. she wraps her arms and the blanket around
her self, feeling the bones in her arms, her elbows, her wrists, and her
ribs. now she can sleep. she feels like she can sleep forever.
bruised
and bled
standing
paralyzed
turned
to glass
silent
invisible
cold
as death
dry
as raven's breath
remote
red rage
rotting
condemned
for
want of an ice pick blow
direct
to
the
heart
or
one well placed stranger
by
blind accident
to
stumble into you
to
send you tipping over backwards
to
leave you breaking
to
feed on sharp grateful tears of pain
to
rest in pieces
bruised
and bled
the
fall
i
could hear the fall coming
as
crows in the trees
it
tasted like nightmares and smoke
on
the breeze
i
could see it come toward me and
beckon
me in
with
sweet treats and tricks
and
a jack'o'lantern grin
it
was yellow and black
it
was blood red and brown
as
the leaves that lay piled up
dead
on the ground
it
took me off guard
and
it spun me around
it
showed me the right place to stand
and
look down
as
a calliope whined out it's
last
minor tune
it
pushed me
and
i saw the man in the moon
it
left everything broken
my
bones
and
my mind
in
a thousand small pieces
too
scattered to find
and
the only thing i recall
thinking
of then
was
of all the king's horses
and
all the king's men
how
sadly idiotic
and
twisted this season
had
swept in so deftly
and
stolen my reason
mirror
there
are desolate places
not
faraway
in
the corner of your eye
down
a side road
stuck
in a crack
behind
a windowpane
pale
grey saturdays
taken
out
looked
at
put
away
locked
in the corners
pounding
in dusty darkness
you've
already forgotten
if
you dreamed me
or
if i dreamed you
no
title
autumn
and
you're far away
sweet
memories
scared
up by the rusty warm october wind
kindle
my love for you
and
are released to play
in
wild flying spirals
with
the leaves
keys
for unlocking
there
are all kinds of smiles
and
designs of cages,
covers
on books
and
the turning of pages,
unwinding
the heavens
unspoken
equations,
poems
from angels
to
stir up the stars,
the
masterful
thumbprints
of golddust,
our
hearts
message
snow
angel whispers white
to
see a good child through the night
in
sacred flight
i'll
take your hand
she
hears the cries of those
with
secrets in their eyes
to
them she sings her sweetest
saddest
lullabies
hide
here
perfect
velvet wings of blue and gold
the
crumpled paperdoll soul she
will
there enfold
feels
not the cold
listen
it's
ok, it's safe to sleep and play
together
we'll call smiles from far away
and
dream a way…
lost
you're
an idiot
(you
know that you are)
say
goodbye
to
the fool in the mirror
she
got swallowed whole
swallowed
down
hard
and deep into oblivion
held
in the starry arms of
the
milky way
snowflake
tears
fall
cold and silent
without
the warmth of a heartbeat
the
spellbreaker
once
upon a time
there
was an invisible lady who lived in an invisible house. there was nothing
very unusual about the lady other than the fact that she was invisible,
and every day she would wake up and wash her invisible dishes, make her
invisible beds, and hang her invisible clothes out to dry.. she would
sweep the invisible leaves that had blown into her kitchen off of her
invisible floor, and only she could see them. it would not have mattered
really if she left them to pile up there on the floor, or the dirty dishes
to stack up in the sink, because no one would know, but she did them
anyway.
the
lady had a husband, and every day when he came home from work the lady
would get after him for knocking over things, or bumping into pictures on
the walls of the invisible house, sometimes sending them crashing to the
floor in a thousand invisible pieces… he remembered that once a long
time ago he could see his wife, but he thought that probably he was just
getting old and could no longer see very well.
the
couple had a son, and he was their pride and joy. he was able to see the
house and his mother just fine, perhaps because he was born there, who
knows why.. but he was visible and went to school, and had an otherwise
normal life.
one
day the lady was working in her invisible garden when she accidentally cut
herself on sharp garden shears and she ran to her husband bleeding, but
even her blood was invisible, and the lady had to bandage herself, and
this made her feel very alone and unhappy. why was she invisible? ..she
wondered, when all the other people of the town could be seen plainly
going in and out of their houses with their families, looking so happy.
she
asked her husband to help her find a cure for her condition, and he talked
to many people, but no one knew quite what to do for the lady. they tried
giving her potions till she felt dizzy and sick, but nothing worked. then
one day they happened upon a cleric who was very wise and thoughtful. the
lady learned from the cleric that she and her house had been turned
invisible a long time ago by a magic spell. believing this, the lady began
looking into all kinds of books and speaking all kinds of magic words in
an attempt to break the spell, but still nothing worked, and the lady was
very sad. when people came to her house they saw nothing there, and could
only hear the wind blowing through the leaves of the invisible trees in
the garden.
years
went by, and the lady consulted many magicians, wizards and seers of
different kinds, but found that most of their ‘magic’ was done with
mirrors and such, tricks set up to make her ‘appear’.. but it was not
really her. she eventually read all of the books in the town library,
and she realized that what she needed to find was real magic, not tricks,
so the lady and her husband, her son, and the cleric all kept searching
for signs. the lady even took long trips looking for the magic she knew
must be out there somewhere.
it
came to pass that the
lady grew old searching.. and then one day in her garden, the strangest
thing happened.. as she was picking her invisible apples she noticed a
blackbird that had made a small nest in one of her invisible trees! so
that day she left
out breadcrumbs and seeds, and eventually set up a birdbath, and with her
husband’s help constructed wooden birdhouses, which she painted
delicately with her invisible paints. sure enough, not only did the bird
stay, but other birds came.. and eggs hatched in the springtime bringing
yet more birds to live and sing in the invisible garden, and this gave the
lady great hope. she just knew in her heart that if the birds could see
her and her garden, then surely one day she would be visible, and she
believed more than ever that the real magic existed and that she would
find it.
it
was then that somehow the curious spell began to break.. people walking by
on the street began to notice a house at the end of the road they didn’t
remember seeing there before, and they smiled when they saw the beautiful
garden and apple trees around it coming into blossom. soon children came
over to play in the garden with the lady’s son, running through the
grass and hedgerows and playing in the rooms of the house, finding toys
and books and games and other interesting things. the lady’s husband
stopped knocking over the furniture, because he could see it again, and
this made the lady feel much better.. she began to get color first back
into her hands and fingers, then her arms and body, face, her long dark
braids, and finally her eyes.. until she was completely visible, even the scar on her hand where she’d cut herself so long ago…
every
day the lady would wake up and wash her dishes, make her beds, and hang
her clothes out to dry.. she would bake cookies for her son and the other
children that would come into her bright little kitchen, she would feed
the birds from jars of seeds she kept in the windowsill.. and she would
sweep the leaves back out into the garden. in the evening she would sit on
her porch petting her cat, (who could of course see her all along) listening to the wind blowing through the trees.. and she was happy…
just (a poem for a friend)
i was just a ghost
scratching my x on your tree..
i was just a black snowflake falling in the night..
i was just a tin target shot full of holes spinning..
a small shadow on the moon..
i was just a silent crash in the mirror..
i was just a bloody fishhook..
lying there inside out..
you were just a stranger walking down my crooked road..
and your sunny smile was just my undoing.
last
day in november
today
is
not like
yesterday
today
settled
in silent
and
grey as dust
on
the windowpanes
and
today the sky
looks
white as clean paper
without
lines
today
tries
to slip in
under
the crook of my arm
into
my eyes
today
sleeps
awake numbly
reaches
back to anything
and
scratches out a little prayer
in
the sky
today
is
not like
yesterday…
along
the edge
twinkle
twinkle, little star
wink
out and disappear
back
out of this silent night
from
a room of whispers and heaviness
eyes
closed, too much for you to hold
make
no precious wishes here..
puddles
in a room of blood
her
snakes under your chair
taunting
her.. running your hand
along
the edge
a
taste like chewing on gumfoil
how
long has she been back in there…
get
your father, dinner’s ready
he
isn’t answering
what
do you mean, not answering?
please,
he just sits there staring
making
meaningless motions
not
hearing…
colorless
dreams in a haunted house
with
streaked walls and stick figures rattling
where
a deep tear pulls across the sky
and
something dark and awkward scrambles
like
a blackwidow spider stumbling into
a
nest of tiny robins…
now
“listen, let me tell you the last
most
secret story
a
story that gets smaller
and
comes inward instead of opening
like
a flower…”
and
of sleep found in the snowy arms of angels…
no place like home / la cara st.
when i was small i used to touch the world
now i can't open my eyes
put me in a bottle stopped up tight
and throw me out to sea for a long long ride..
the bright red ribbon.. sirens at night
xmas spirits and the 4th of july..
he'll be back out before the morning light
but the stars have fallen out of her sky..
there is no place left on the outside now that you want to be..
the face of the past still talks in my sleep
but you're too numb to talk back
like dynamite stuck in a beercan in a tree
put your fingers in your ears
and wait for the crack
you're moving through the motions
but you're holding still..
all along you're sure you're leaving
you never will
and she won't ever speak it
but you'll see it in her face
the long-lost history that can't erase..
you didn't catch it but the ghost of someone else wrote it down..
you
follow after the one you say you love the most..
you're just a sickness in the blood of your chosen host..
and all the words are folding over on themselves repeating
you're listening close
but they've lost all of their meaning..
your thoughts are a train wreck of things unsaid
you better cut deeper than that..
you better cut deeper than that..
you'll have to cut deeper than that..
nowhere
when you finally stop looking around
and you're looking down
looking down right into the ground..
when the change in your view
dizzies you
and you're past being through..
dark and hateful at the sound
of dogs barking or laughter..
knowing it won't matter here
or hereafter..
you've found nowhere
you're not alone
i'll see you there..
when the thing that did it to you
that cut you in two
and left you there
is what you thought was love or hope
or someone true..
do you just accept and say again, 'ok, i lose'?
do you muster up a few more
meaningless 'fuck-you's?
count your tears and paint in blues..
you've found nowhere
you're not alone
i'll see you there..
tired of wrestling demons in the night?
wishing still that you could only
close your eyes or be held tight..
but losing wrong from right?
when you can see it all
right in that spot of ground
how can you ever turn around?
a few more scars and bruises won't release you..
you know that no one sees you..
your pretty scribbled words won't get you
anywhere..
you've found nowhere
i'll see you there...
papercuts
all writings by ghost
all
rights reserved 2006 copyright brenda roudebush