Is it possible
to feel alone and powerful
yet so fucking cold
and lonely all at once?
Can I do this
can I go through this again?
Strapped down, forced to watch
The movie that plays behind my eyelids
every time I fuck.
Let me go!
It all hap pend so fucking long ago
I know I'm all grown up
but when I'm trapped beneath him
I feel like a little girl again.
It's not you, it's me.
No really, it's me.
It's me and my sadistic,
fucked up memories.
I want so badly to be loved.
I ache to be held as I lay here crying
My heart is bleeding on the floor
yet no one seems to notice.
The louder I scream the more they turn away
The veins are popping in my neck
but my screams must be silent
and frankly I'm sick of trying.
I'm sick of fucking crying.
Every time I see her
the whore that I've become
I want to put my head through my mirror.
Like currency I've passed myself from owner to owner
Unaware that I had a say in any of it
Although I acted it out, it was never what I wanted.
Please,
I wish I could make you understand
But how the hell do you ask for these things?
I just want you to hold me,
make me feel loved again.
I just want to be close to you
Like good friends...
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Eve
Their footsteps shatter the silence that keeps me at peace. I hold her close to me still, so close I can smell her tears as I weave my face into her hair. Her breath is tattered against my neck, her rhythm-less sobs are the outward interpretation of the war drum that is my heart. If this is how we shall die, it will not be in vain.
Thump, thump, thump is the never-ending taboo that tells our doom. My heartbeat has slowed to a pace barely above comatose; an eerie calmness washes over me. But not Eve. I still feel her frightened hand gripping mine with incredible strength, even as I recall this many years later.
Bang, bang, bang! Sang the drums of the gallows. We knew what happened to women and men like us, outcasts and invalids alike. I did not flinch when my ears were pierced with Edwards terrible wails, nor did I flinch when the SS lowered his pistol to his head and it detonate. Yomiv quivers at Edward’s side, howling his discontent. This is what the war as made us.
This is a sport to them, a game. But this is no game to Eve, or I, or any other who knows the pain of persecution because of who they love. I hear the screams of women that they have found and I feel the bile rise in my throat. My only thoughts are of Eve. Instinct forces me to hold her tighter. It does not matter if I make it; my only thoughts are of Eve.
I count the steps their footsteps destroy. Oh, such I noise! Their heavy boots rain judgment that will be forever etched in my memory, even as I lay inches from death.
One, two, three…
Their footsteps sped up.
My mind freezes over, numb. I understand that there is no point in running, that they will find us. They will always find us.
Four, five…
I whisper, “It’s going to be alright, Eve. I love you.”
They scale the final steps, pounding ahead toward our closed door. Within seconds the door burst open and SS suits spill in. They’re calling us names, spitting on us, powerful hands grabbing at my Eve. She can only lay there, petrified, unmovable, barely breathing.
I lay next to her, suddenly frozen with fear and unable to look away as I watched him remove the gun from his coat. I will never forget the moment she looked up at me, her eyes glazed, distant still. Her mouth opened to speak and then…
Boom.
I felt my heart break completely, a hurricane of torment engulfing me and extinguishing all will to exist. Even now as I sit here many years later, surrounded by the bustle of an unfamiliar world, I can fall back into the memory of Eve’s arms and remember how safe I felt, even if the very air we breathed was shrapnel.
Sometimes when I sit very still and close my eyes, I can inhale and breathe in the scent of her shampoo. I hold her favorite blanket in my hands, clutching it close to my heart and I remember her warm smile as she placed it on my shoulders. But I will never have the joy of touching her skin, or kissing her, or comforting her when she cries. Never again will I blessed enough to dance with her or hear her voice.
I lost my Eve, my only love, to hate. Hate is bitter and jealous. Hate knows no compassion and has no boundaries. It cannot be reasoned with. Hate is that which deprives the world of all that is good and pure. It is because of hate that I shall cry every day I wake in remembrance of my love once lost and whisper the final words I ever spoke to her to be greeted with silence.
“I love you.”
The memories of a love once lost from a woman in Poland, circa 1942.
Thump, thump, thump is the never-ending taboo that tells our doom. My heartbeat has slowed to a pace barely above comatose; an eerie calmness washes over me. But not Eve. I still feel her frightened hand gripping mine with incredible strength, even as I recall this many years later.
Bang, bang, bang! Sang the drums of the gallows. We knew what happened to women and men like us, outcasts and invalids alike. I did not flinch when my ears were pierced with Edwards terrible wails, nor did I flinch when the SS lowered his pistol to his head and it detonate. Yomiv quivers at Edward’s side, howling his discontent. This is what the war as made us.
This is a sport to them, a game. But this is no game to Eve, or I, or any other who knows the pain of persecution because of who they love. I hear the screams of women that they have found and I feel the bile rise in my throat. My only thoughts are of Eve. Instinct forces me to hold her tighter. It does not matter if I make it; my only thoughts are of Eve.
I count the steps their footsteps destroy. Oh, such I noise! Their heavy boots rain judgment that will be forever etched in my memory, even as I lay inches from death.
One, two, three…
Their footsteps sped up.
My mind freezes over, numb. I understand that there is no point in running, that they will find us. They will always find us.
Four, five…
I whisper, “It’s going to be alright, Eve. I love you.”
They scale the final steps, pounding ahead toward our closed door. Within seconds the door burst open and SS suits spill in. They’re calling us names, spitting on us, powerful hands grabbing at my Eve. She can only lay there, petrified, unmovable, barely breathing.
I lay next to her, suddenly frozen with fear and unable to look away as I watched him remove the gun from his coat. I will never forget the moment she looked up at me, her eyes glazed, distant still. Her mouth opened to speak and then…
Boom.
I felt my heart break completely, a hurricane of torment engulfing me and extinguishing all will to exist. Even now as I sit here many years later, surrounded by the bustle of an unfamiliar world, I can fall back into the memory of Eve’s arms and remember how safe I felt, even if the very air we breathed was shrapnel.
Sometimes when I sit very still and close my eyes, I can inhale and breathe in the scent of her shampoo. I hold her favorite blanket in my hands, clutching it close to my heart and I remember her warm smile as she placed it on my shoulders. But I will never have the joy of touching her skin, or kissing her, or comforting her when she cries. Never again will I blessed enough to dance with her or hear her voice.
I lost my Eve, my only love, to hate. Hate is bitter and jealous. Hate knows no compassion and has no boundaries. It cannot be reasoned with. Hate is that which deprives the world of all that is good and pure. It is because of hate that I shall cry every day I wake in remembrance of my love once lost and whisper the final words I ever spoke to her to be greeted with silence.
“I love you.”
The memories of a love once lost from a woman in Poland, circa 1942.
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