i have always wanted to be a dinosaur

dying.

Picture yourself in a nightmarish scene of such grotesque complexity that you’d kill to be dreaming. Your body’s been dying, while your mind has been trying to make you picture a life where you’d kill for your lover and a song in your head. The deaths of countless others merely set up the lyrics for your symphony. That’s where you’ll find me.

Something awful has happened here, this is, this is so much worse than I ever could have imagined. I knew all along that this man should not have been released from my care! God, what’s happened here? He’s completely torn his entire apartment apart.  The smell is overpowering, a foul, pungent odor, like rotten food or I don’t know, possibly something worse. But there’s something else that’s almost overpowering, I think its a woman’s perfume. Oh no… no! I found the patient, he’s lying on the floor in the center of the living room, completely naked, emaciated, deathly pale. It appears he hasn’t eaten anything at all for weeks. The infection has spread up his arms, it must have reached his brain, there’s bulging, bright red veins all the way up from his wrist to his neck.  There’s empty bottles everywhere - alcohol, medication. My god this smell is sickening! There’s blood coming out of his mouth, nose, ears. He’s not dead yet, but he’s close. I failed, this is my fault! And somehow, he’s smiling at me, I think he’s whispering something, No, not just whispering, I think he’s singing.

Now, place your ear to my lips. Trace these notes with your fingertips. They dance alone on my last breath. This is the end. This is death.

The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist

Someone call an ambulance, because something’s not right. The smell of her perfume struggles to cover everything

We were inseparable.

healing.

Baby, maybe you’ve got something I think that maybe we’re on to something big, bigger than I could have ever imagined. Tonight, it’s worse, tonight the screaming hurts.  Tonight, it’s worse, tonight the screaming hurts. Baby, let me collect some things, I think that maybe we’re coming to the end.I’ll call the doctor, this song finishes with him. Music this magnificent and medicine are one and the same. They make life worth living; hearts worth healing.  Come and get it, now I’ve got it. Come and get it, cause I’ve got the ending to my song.  Oh doctor, thanks for everything, I’m healing. But, I feel like I forgot something I’m thinking maybe i’m missing something big, bigger than I could have ever imagined. Forget it, let me collect my things, I think that finally we’re coming to the end. The doctor’s here, now it’s over, I hear the door knob turn.   Tonight, it’s worse, tonight the screaming hurts. Music this magnificent and medicine are one and the same. They make life worth living; hearts worth healing.

disintegrating.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.  This halfway house is home to a madman. His ghosts, and his perfect song. This year has been bruised and broken in so many ways that days have long since been abolished. But If all of this could bring my love back to me, I’d do away with the drugs and the drink and the body count could cease. I’ve sensed her here, but I know that we’re destined to stay seperated. And this is all my fault. For what it’s worth, it’s worsening, and my song demands an ending, closure.  Karma can’t control the beast. I’ve born to swallow us whole. Yes, my heart may beat again - but we all need medicine. So forgive me, love, I’m choosing a fitting end to the abusing.  Last night, I leapt through the ceiling. There was just something appealing about leaving my body behind and coming through as you circled overhead. I said all the things that had been missing from the funeral that I had been forbidden from taking any part in. You forgave me for everything while the victims of the song sounded their applause. “The doctor has to go.” was the last thing that you said as I found my body back in bed, but then, I guess it’s always been his job to fix this.

composing.

It’s all about the song in my head, the one where the audience is all dead. These days they’re allowing visitation to aid in my rehabilitation. To make these days mean so much more to me, I’ve begged friends and family for forgiveness and now for the first time together we’ll witness, together we’ll live this song I’ve been living incessantly. So come sing with me through these poison pills and chemicals I know that you’ll hear something beautiful and brilliant the release will be instant. I’m sorry it’s the only way It’s all about the song in my head, the one where the audience is all dead. So come over to my house, catch up over dinner. We are having strychnine and sirloin, port wine and paint thinner. You’ll convulse through the chorus, it’s the song of the sinner. The audience is all dead, as I slowly clear the table. I know that this won’t be the last time, it won’t be the last time. I wrote this song and the world will sing it. To me, it’s everything, to me, it’s everything to me it’s on every corpse. I see her face, my love, my heart I hear her laughter and she’s still alive. It’s like she’s still alive, it’s her body I’m holding as we make love. My heart breaks every time I dismember the flesh, hide the evidence and start again because it’s all about the song in my head the one where the audience is all dead (only through death-our voices will join together)

recovering

Old habits die hard, growing bitter from trying to be broken while these comfortable routines are smothered with affection.  Well, I choose to switch between the two, I choose whatever convinces you, that I should be allowed to slip through the cracks and get back to the living. These walls are unforgiving send someone to check on me and take notes on my recovery. One pill will get me through the day, but I take two anyway. When I take three pills the song begins to play one that won’t go away. And even though I know one pill will get me through the day, I take two anyway. When I mix four pills with a drink the song starts to play.  It’s in the back of my head and its everywhere and it’s all I can think about.  It’s all spinning out of control for one day this thing is out of my hands. While under severe supervision, everything is, everything is but when unsuspected, addiction is under the radar and anything goes, so here I sit, comatose almost. I float between hospitals and halfway homes.  Between halfway living and halfway lying and I know all the awful things that no one needs to know. I take my medicine and make them believe that I’m a better man One pill will get me through the day, but I take two anyway. When I take three pills the song begins to play, one that won’t go away. And even though I know one pill will get me through the day I take two anyway. When I mix four pills with a drink the song starts to play it’s in the back of my head and its everywhere and it’s all I can think about. But still I hear the song, it’s everywhere. Surrounding me and ringing in my ears. the perfect song will call for sedatives, sacrifice and sing-alongs, so sing along.

relapsing

Last call at the hospital, you slept through it all. And these four walls warn you that your surgery, it might not be the key to fix the memory of you and me.

Doctor, I don’t know what I’ve done. There’s more to this than my ex-love and my ex-limbs could ever in my life begin to explain. Every time I think of her and what went on that night, I don’t see it, instead I hear it - a song so awful and so perfect

Last call at the hospital, you slept through it all. And these four walls warn you that your surgery, it might not be the key to fix the memory of you and me.

Doctor, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I need this song to be shouted out and to be heard by everyone. It’s like each word and every chord refuses to be ignored. This is bigger than me, but with no hands and even less skill,  I don’t know how it ever will come out

Doctor, I think it’s her I hear. It’s always been, but if this pain can be arranged in such a way to bring out beauty then, well, who am I to stop it? I’ll bring her back and I won’t stop until it’s done until this nightmare’s undone, I need her.

Last call at the hospital, you slept through it all. And these four walls warn you that your surgery, it might not be the key to fix the memory of you and me.

I need her, I need this. The saddest songs can sing themselves, and just sing along. So if death’s the answer, then the question is the trigger and I’m just the firing pin. Yeah I’m just a messenger, so if death’s the answer, then the question is the trigger and I’m just the firing pin. And I’m just a messenger, doomed to detonate on delivery.

Last call at the hospital, you slept through it all. And these four walls warn you that your surgery, it might not be the key to fix the memory of you and me.

releasing

The first night after you’re release, no one expects you to get much sleep. You’re the waking, walking dead. In my case, I’m not much better. Walk to the kitchen and grab a marker, trace the path the blood will flow.  The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist. Tomorrow, it will be easier to forgive myself and remember her without a guilty head. These nightmare lines, an empty heart.  We take for granted all the things that make us who we are.  Get up, get dressed, go to work, they all know who you are.  They cant believe you’d show up here, but that’s just who they are.  Set up shop at your machine, calibrate and remember who you are. Here lies clarity in a perfect grave comprised of perfect steel. The perfect blade, was a perfect white against the perfect lines, from last perfect night.  I’m the perfect picture of complacency and that’s all I feel slow motion replaces real time.  As the horror fills their eyes these claws will never kill again.  The lines i wear around my wrist are there to prove that i exist.  The lines i wear around my wrist, I am a monster, clothed in crimson sleeves and perforated lines where my wrists should be. A warehouse full of workers scramble like a pack of bewildered wolves as my world turns black… and I fall.

medicating.

When you wake up to white walls and endless halls there’s an emptiness that echoes through it all. So sit back in your bed, with your mind medicated and your senses stuck on the sick scent of the dead. You can call for the doctor…it’s all you’ve got anymore. He’s the ticket to the life you had before. If I could just make them see that I don’t need this. Doctor, doctor what am I here for? Can’t you see that I don’t need this place? I don’t need these walls, I’m no threat at all. Doctor, doctor what am I here for? Can’t you see that I don’t need this place? I don’t need these walls, I’m no threat at all. Is there a way we could maybe, through therapy? Find a way to rate and release me? I just need to be outside, even if supervised back to my job, back to my life. Yes I know what I’ve done and I regret it every day if I could make things right, you know i’d find a way but when I wake up to these white walls and the endless halls of the hospital I get lost in the emptiness that echoes though it all. Doctor, doctor what am I here for? Can’t you see that I don’t need this place? I don’t need these walls, I’m no threat at all Doctor, doctor what am I here for? Can’t you see that I don’t need this place? I don’t need these walls, I’m no threat at all Doctor I can’t thank you enough. (doctor I can’t thank you enough) Doctor you won’t regret this. Doctor, doctor what am I here for? Can’t you see that I don’t need this place? I don’t need these walls, I’m no threat at all.

sentencing.

The smell of her perfume struggles to cover everything inside this ringing room.  Though once subdued, the silence seems to sing “whoa-oh, I told you so, whoa-oh, I told you so.” My name is evidence, my role is undeniable, unless I’ve become inadmissible in crimes of consequence, I’m only as reliable as the defendant’s defense is defendable. I am the kill; though I’m unwilling to be still and accept this evil as my own personal - and sentient - will. Nothing makes sense anymore, when murder is just a mistake that you have made. Nothing makes sense anymore. So a sick and guilty man will be born again with conscience saved judicial precedent will see to that, i’ll see to that, he’ll see to that, it’s impossible given the incident, given his catatonic state to imagine it playing out any other way? He was admitted on that day, the doctor read his case, there were implausibilities he couldn’t place and it was obvious that there was something more to this patient. Something had been missed. It’s this hole i can see in each of his eyes where all of the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through It’s loneliness, it’s loneliness nothing makes sense anymore, when murder’s just a mistake that you have made.  Nothing makes sense anymore, so sick and guilty men will be born again with consciences

waking

I dialed 911 a long time ago. Now I see how late they’re reacting. Here shakes a former lovers/husband, and there lies the wife of a trainwreck just waiting to happen.

My God: Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
(I’m not here and this isn’t happening)
Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
(We’ll wake up and she’ll be next to me)

I can’t believe that she’s gone. Marvel as this madman, as this makeshift-monster rips through the room. Watch in fear as he comes completely unglued. Gaze in horror and amazement for a frightening instant as he christens the walls with broken bottles of perfume. Her few, final moments must have been a nightmare in waking victimized, violently shaking.

My God:Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
(I’m not here and this isn’t happening)
Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
(we’ll wake up and she’ll be next to me)
Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
(I’m not here and this isn’t happening)
Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
(We’ll wake up and she’ll be next to me)

I can’t breathe…
(I don’t deserve to take these breaths)
All I need
(Is to sit and rest my head)
On my knees
(The ambulance and police will be here soon)

I can’t see, I can’t feel, numb to everything. I can’t feel, numb to everything. I can’t feel, numb to everything. Except my body shuting down as they enter my home.

Make this a dream, because I really can’t believe that she’s gone

dreaming.

On some nights you’ll find me falling - I am formless, I am shapeless. On some nights I’m better left alone you take it all in from some severed state of stasis you scream, “wake up!” inside your own body, but you’re buried or suffocating or worse tonight it’s worse. Tonight the screaming hurts, tonight it’s worse.Tonight, I’m wrapped up in her. We find each other under blankets as warm as summer. We are inseparable. Our bodies know what they’re for and we give in, we explore each other desperate for something inseparable. This coma kiss is infinite, and I may take your tongue if you stay we are this dream - fluid and intricate. We made it that way every nightmare needs an influence and your body turning blue as you lay directly next to me colors this one in bluish hues and darker grays.

… my wrists, its in the center of my torso, behind my eyes and in the back of my head

something is eating me alive from the inside out

Everyday when I awake I’m shaking or worse - tonight it’s worse. Tonight the screaming hurts, tonight it’s worse. Last night as I was wrapped up in her I drowned her body under blankets as warm as summer. We were inseparable so this is what has become of everything that I loved the betrayal and the blood became inseparable from the most beautiful nightmare I’ve ever had completely inseparable. I see her hair spread across the floor and tangled in the telephone cord our favorite song’s been repeating all night someone call an ambulance, because something’s not right.

introducing.

Test, check. Well, he’s been released again today, and I’m back where I started. Looking over old notes, listening to tapes, wondering how bad I potentially messed up this time. The wounds seem to be healing, and he seems to be getting along without his appendages, and I know he seems fine, But ‘seems’ can be a very dangerous word, especially in this business, it can be fatal. Initial Diagnosis: Catatonic. And I know he’s back there somewhere,  but there’s just no response whatsoever, to any kind of stimulus. We’ll start him with medication tomorrow, for sure. This man’s tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body. And it’s not just tragedy, it’s dementia, despair; it’s this hole I can see in each of his eyes, where all the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through.  It’s loneliness in it’s most crippling form, the kind that no amount of love, or human contact, could ever mend.  The patient was plagued by violent nightmares, terrible, deeply troubling dreams, which one night overflowed in to reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep. These people were in love, deeply in love.  And it was that love filling those holes that I can now see behind his eyes.  And it’s my job to try and fill those holes with something else. But with what? Hope? I can try to fill those holes with drugs, soothing words, but that’s all. I hope his wounds will heal with time, but right now, things aren’t looking good.

The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist.
The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist.

The lines around my wrists, the infection seems to be getting better.  It’s in the center of my torso, behind my eyes and in the back of my head. Something is eating me alive from the inside out.

Well that’s grief of your loss. 

Don’t tell me what it is.

my dad and we built a wall. we are both too guarded to let it fall, i want to tell him i forgive it all - but there’s plenty more time.

Ambitions got you down.

the-cron:

Do you ever feel frustrated with the pace of things in life? I have. Sometimes I feel like bursting at the seams. You work and toil and bleed and sweat for something, and your anxiety and excitement gets you so worked up that you almost feel sad. I’ve felt that way the past couple of days. So much pleasure and so much pain. What saves me from overloading is the blessings I have. Remembering family and friends and love pulls me out of myself. That over indulgent self destruction that unchecked ambition can lead to.

I think of how I’d miss everyone if they were gone and I was left to my own in my room for eternity. The knowledge that they are there outside my skin, wanting to have a relationship, and that I too really crave that relationship causes me to slow down and take it a step at a time. Ambition is great, but patience is even better.

“but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.”

—Isaiah 40:31

Your life is a song, so sing a long.