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The mall is her world, if you can call it a world, but a world none-the-less. It’s a world of music, of electronics, of fashion and accessories. A world of junk that we have been brainwashed to think we need. Attention shoppers. It is a world of commerce and of greed. A world built on the almighty dollar and clearance sales. Hallways of supply and demand within neighborhoods of sales and marketing. This is a world of today. This is her world and this is how she has always remembered it.
She is Alexis Christi, a young woman with a popular sounding name, but with a not so popular life. She had friends...once. They had all drifted away, continuing their lives out of the back hole of a town they had once called home. So now, she had faded into obscurity, finishing her final year of High School doomed to be the loner. The best years of your life indeed. She thinks to herself as she watches the trendy kids with their Barbie and Ken lives. She knows that she is forever doomed to be the outsider, sentenced to be alone. This is her fate.
Every Friday, she awakes with the afternoon sun and the annoying sound of the alarm clock going off with its high pitched shrill. Beep-Beep-Beep-Snooze. Thank God for the snooze button. Fifteen extra minutes to sleep. Fifteen extra minutes to hide from the world. Beep-Beep-Crash-Thump. The sound of clock against wall to floor. Oops...I think I killed it. She crawls out from under her cocoon of warmth and into the cold reality.
She stumbles into the bathroom half asleep and cranky, reemerging a half-hour later wide-eyed and refreshed. She dons a pair of grey camouflage pants, a clean white wife-beater, and a red flannel shirt over the wife beater, unbuttoned. She grabs her favorite jacket, a green army flack jacket, decorated with patches, buttons, safety pins, and spikes of all sizes. She slides her wallet into her back pocket and buckles the end of the chain to her leather belt. Now it’s off to her world.
The mall is her world, if you can call it a world, but a world none-the-less. It’s a world of music, of electronics, of fashion and accessories. A world of junk that we have been brainwashed to think we need. It’s a world of commerce and of greed. A world built on the almighty dollar. The electronic sliding glass doors open at the touch of a button. How stoner friendly. She steps into her world with a sly smile. That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for economics. Ahhh...I love the smell of commerce in the morning. She begins to wander.
The network of consumer and supplier, pay or steal, bid or pass, buy low and sell high. Not her. She’s not really interested in buying anything, just looking. This is her world and she is in control. Her mind flowing with random thoughts of the day. Never interested in purchasing anything, just looking. Window shopping. She follows her usual path through the economic maze of monetary exchange. Whatever happened to e-commerce? These must be the poor folk who can’t afford to enter the twenty-first century. These are her people. Technology will be our downfall. We will become slaves to the machines, not vice-versa.
She stops in front of a large store window. Oh look, it’s the Gap. She watches the preppies chasing the latest trends just for the sake of popularity. Such lemmings. Not a full brain between the lot of them.
“Did you hear the newest song by the popular artist?” Mind control. Subliminal messages within the lyrics.
“So-and-so is so hot in that generic sitcom!” Don’t you think you need the few remaining brain cells you have left?
Lemmings all of them. A pathetic game of follow the leader with no clear winner. She watches the group of teenage girls a couple of moments longer. What drama queens these fucks are.
“Oh, I wonder who will take me to the prom.” I hate the fucking prom queen.
The high lemming. All hail the high lemming! Hail! Hail! I hope she grows up to be a crack whore. A fitting punishment for that self-absorbed bitch.
Her journey continues. Her eyes looking over everyone she passes. Wow. What a variety. The great melting pot that we call the United States of America. This odd soup served in the heart-land of business. She moves through the stream of pedestrians like a ghost in the darkness. Unseen by anyone. Not even a single glance. She stops at her store. The one place she feels at home. A place where she feels welcome. A place where everyone knows her name. No, not Cheers. The bookstore. Reading is her passion. The one thing that keeps her going. This is what drives her.
Sure, she may not appear to be someone who would even care about the written word. Looks can be deceiving. Never judge a book by it’s cover. No pun intended. What an overwhelming surge of information. She wanders through the different isles, her fingers gently brushing across the spines. Coontz, Anne Rice, Shakespeare, Lewis Carroll, Tolkien, Poe. Authors of all genres. Hours feel like minutes. The time flies when your having fun. My head hurts. Information overload.
“Attention shoppers...the mall will be closing in five minutes.”
Already? This is her world and it closes in five minutes. She wanders out to the parking lot, nearly empty, and heads home. Tomorrow is another day and another visit to her world...window shopping.
I am alone...
I am utterly alone...
Alone in this bleak world,
I am misunderstood.
In a world filled with misery
Confusion, and hate.
My life is a War.
A war to the bitter end.
A war between me
And everyone else.
Soon the war will be over.
The last bloody show.
I am alone...
I am utterly alone...
As I look about this barren wasteland
Filled with death and devistation
I know that
I am alone...
I am utterly alone...
The blood, the death, the destruction.
The lone survivor
In a world that has always been deserted,
I am alone...
I am utterly alone...
Having thrusted myself out of existence,
I free myself from this meaningless prision.
No one remembers,
No one cares,
For this lost soul.
No one to mourn,
No one to remember
The legacy that I leave behind.
I am alone...
I am utterly alone...
This is what is inside me,
This is how I feel.
This is what I think,
THis is how I act.
And this is who,
I am...
So many faces,
Some from the past
And some the future.
An endless hall of change
A full life of excitement.
A mind filled with emotions.
No way to express the true and the false
No one to share the thoughts
And beliefs of one.
No one to listen to the ideas
And philosophy of many.
A life filled with confusion,
A time filled with fear
Shall soon come
To the end...
From the life of one
To the lives of hundreds...
This poem comes
Into the hearts of them all
From the mind of the poet.
Darkness moves across the sky.
I drop to my knees and begin to cry.
Of Sorrow and heartache, I am King.
In my chest is that old familiar sting.
Has it been this long?
What was it that was so wrong?
Leaving hope all but gone.
In darkness, I am blind.
My path, I can not find.
I don't even have the will to fight.
Suddenly, there is a glimmer of light.
Shining to make things right.
Is this vision really before me?
Illuminating my world so that I can see.
I hear the music of an angelic band.
A living angel to take my hand.
To guide me and help me to stand.
With the darkness chased away,
Sorrow will no longer be able to stay.
My life has been turned fully around.
Love that I feel grows by leaps and bounds.
Imagining this new life I've found.
Surely, this can not be wrong.
All this could be from a song
That causes my heart to race.
You are my savior,
My saving grace.
I have grown braver,
Thanks to a gentle face.
A beauty worth of any lord.
The simple sound of your words
Makes me as happy as a pair of love birds.
The sound of your laugh makes me melt
Showing me this feeling that I've never felt.
Because of you, I know I have won.
I can't thank you for all that you've done.
I couldn't repay you if I lived to a hundred and one.
Until I find away, this will have to do:
My angel, I am so in love with you.
| He lay there on the floor and thought of nothing. His whole mind was occupied by sensations. Only sensations. Feelings. The pressure of face on carpet. Wool pile pattern carving itself into the flesh of a cheek. Open window, warm night breeze on naked skin. The thumping of a heart. Pounding at eardrums. Incessant and regular. The slow pump of blood from slashes in forearms and wrists. Smell of heat and wetness. A smile. No thoughts. No thoughts as he awoke. Same dream. Or nightmare depending on your point of view. Everything depends on your point of view. Everything is subjective. Love. Life. Death. Depending on which side you stood, death could be life and life could be death. Could be. Should be. Was. He lay still, atop crumpled sheets, staring at the ceiling (cracked plaster moldings, stained off-white, single bare lightbulb), and waited for the semi-darkness to become pitch. He listened and was both relieved and disappointed that there was no one else in the building. No intruding thoughts or flesh, but no intruding thoughts or flesh. Silence. Smell of dust and closeness. In the dark the walls were closer, but it was always dark. Hot breath (draft from under the door) caressed the newspapered walls (walls, close) and stacks of book on the floor (floor, rough boards). Fingers of wind flicked at the corner of one page (newspapers pasted to the walls, old news, latest news, news), and set it flapping. Skin peeling, naked white flesh beneath. Naked white flesh of his body, gleaming in the dark. He whispered to himself, "And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness." Inspiration. He sat up, hand supporting him. A thought. Sheet clung to him for a moment, pooled blood making it grasp. Time; he swung his legs over the bed, pressed feet into the floor. Leanded forward, elbows on knees, rubbing the blood back into face. Hot breath spilled out from under the bed, clutching at his ankles. Hand clutching at ankles, to drag him from the womb-place, warm nest. Hands on shoulders, a crouching golem, dead eyes. Hot breath spilling out from slash in face. Dead eyes. His. No thoughts. No thoughts as he awoke. Blood in hair, crusted to skin. Dead eyes and nakedness, no expression, no emotion, no recognition, no thoughts. The mirror, a reflective grime, a substitute for introspection. See yourself as yourself. Startlight, star-bright, come to watch me die tonight? Luminescence crept in through holes in the battered reality-curtain. A thief in the gloom. Entering his mind and rifling there. Violation. Finders keepers, losers weepers. He wept, cutting channels throught the blood. Wayward watcher stand so tall, just a longer way to fall. "Our father, who art a heathen, hallow be thy name. Do not fear my son, my son. Religious zeal; the automatic pistol of the faith. Weapon of your mindset. Mind, mind, reply in kind. Cut the wheat stalks down. Stalk the night, the animal I am, I am, I am. I am." He laughed and slashes a crucifix with two swift strokes across the mirror. "Hollow," and fist into mirror. Arm sunk through, elbow deep in reflection, introspection, imperfection. See yourself as yourself. Blood in mouth. Bite, bite, bite. Chew, spit, swallow. Blood in mouth. Blood in mouth. Blood in mouth, in nose, in veins, in arms, in head. Crouching golem, hands on shoulders. No thoughts as you awoke. Pick a piece of your shattered reflection and carve a crucifix into your chest. Feel the sharp and cold. Self-afflicted. Clutch tightly, feel the sharp and cold bite into your fingers, your palm. The cold numbs, shroud descends. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned," and thrust the sharp and cold through skin, through flesh, through heart. Each beat feeds the cold, slicing deeper. My son, my son. No thoughts. In the Kingdom of Heaven there is a room. Small, dark, and all enclosing. Inside, on a sheet of glass eyes, there lies a figure. Poised half-way, neither man nor God nor boy nor devil, he sleeps, foetal, on a steel bed-frame, curves and paint chips. Clothed in white and flowing angle-wings, and tucked in a blanket of sweat, his eyes twitch, by-product of a dream. And God takes the eyes and opens them. |
The mall is her world, if you can call it a world, but a world none-the-less. It’s a world of music, of electronics, of fashion and accessories. A world of junk that we have been brainwashed to think we need. Attention shoppers. It is a world of commerce and of greed. A world built on the almighty dollar and clearance sales. Hallways of supply and demand within neighborhoods of sales and marketing. This is a world of today. This is her world and this is how she has always remembered it.
She is Alexis Christi, a young woman with a popular sounding name, but with a not so popular life. She had friends...once. They had all drifted away, continuing their lives out of the back hole of a town they had once called home. So now, she had faded into obscurity, finishing her final year of High School doomed to be the loner. The best years of your life indeed. She thinks to herself as she watches the trendy kids with their Barbie and Ken lives. She knows that she is forever doomed to be the outsider, sentenced to be alone. This is her fate.
Every Friday, she awakes with the afternoon sun and the annoying sound of the alarm clock going off with its high pitched shrill. Beep-Beep-Beep-Snooze. Thank God for the snooze button. Fifteen extra minutes to sleep. Fifteen extra minutes to hide from the world. Beep-Beep-Crash-Thump. The sound of clock against wall to floor. Oops...I think I killed it. She crawls out from under her cocoon of warmth and into the cold reality.
She stumbles into the bathroom half asleep and cranky, reemerging a half-hour later wide-eyed and refreshed. She dons a pair of grey camouflage pants, a clean white wife-beater, and a red flannel shirt over the wife beater, unbuttoned. She grabs her favorite jacket, a green army flack jacket, decorated with patches, buttons, safety pins, and spikes of all sizes. She slides her wallet into her back pocket and buckles the end of the chain to her leather belt. Now it’s off to her world.
The mall is her world, if you can call it a world, but a world none-the-less. It’s a world of music, of electronics, of fashion and accessories. A world of junk that we have been brainwashed to think we need. It’s a world of commerce and of greed. A world built on the almighty dollar. The electronic sliding glass doors open at the touch of a button. How stoner friendly. She steps into her world with a sly smile. That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for economics. Ahhh...I love the smell of commerce in the morning. She begins to wander.
The network of consumer and supplier, pay or steal, bid or pass, buy low and sell high. Not her. She’s not really interested in buying anything, just looking. This is her world and she is in control. Her mind flowing with random thoughts of the day. Never interested in purchasing anything, just looking. Window shopping. She follows her usual path through the economic maze of monetary exchange. Whatever happened to e-commerce? These must be the poor folk who can’t afford to enter the twenty-first century. These are her people. Technology will be our downfall. We will become slaves to the machines, not vice-versa.
She stops in front of a large store window. Oh look, it’s the Gap. She watches the preppies chasing the latest trends just for the sake of popularity. Such lemmings. Not a full brain between the lot of them.
“Did you hear the newest song by the popular artist?” Mind control. Subliminal messages within the lyrics.
“So-and-so is so hot in that generic sitcom!” Don’t you think you need the few remaining brain cells you have left?
Lemmings all of them. A pathetic game of follow the leader with no clear winner. She watches the group of teenage girls a couple of moments longer. What drama queens these fucks are.
“Oh, I wonder who will take me to the prom.” I hate the fucking prom queen.
The high lemming. All hail the high lemming! Hail! Hail! I hope she grows up to be a crack whore. A fitting punishment for that self-absorbed bitch.
Her journey continues. Her eyes looking over everyone she passes. Wow. What a variety. The great melting pot that we call the United States of America. This odd soup served in the heart-land of business. She moves through the stream of pedestrians like a ghost in the darkness. Unseen by anyone. Not even a single glance. She stops at her store. The one place she feels at home. A place where she feels welcome. A place where everyone knows her name. No, not Cheers. The bookstore. Reading is her passion. The one thing that keeps her going. This is what drives her.
Sure, she may not appear to be someone who would even care about the written word. Looks can be deceiving. Never judge a book by it’s cover. No pun intended. What an overwhelming surge of information. She wanders through the different isles, her fingers gently brushing across the spines. Coontz, Anne Rice, Shakespeare, Lewis Carroll, Tolkien, Poe. Authors of all genres. Hours feel like minutes. The time flies when your having fun. My head hurts. Information overload.
“Attention shoppers...the mall will be closing in five minutes.”
Already? This is her world and it closes in five minutes. She wanders out to the parking lot, nearly empty, and heads home. Tomorrow is another day and another visit to her world...window shopping.
Somewhere there is someone who loves you.
You may not always realize it, but there is.
You may not always believe it, but there is.
Someone out there loves you.
You may think it is a passing interest.
You may think it is a passing crush.
you think it is lust,
or fantasy.
You may think anything and everything but the truth:
Someone out there loves you.
Your heart cannot know the joy that you bring to this love.
Your heart cannot know how happy you make another soul.
You cannot possibly fathom how deep the love is for you...
But it is there.
Across miles, across the depths of time, another soul aches for you.
You are always on their mind,
You are always in their heart,
You are always the first thought of the day and the last of the night.
When you are gone, you are missed,
not missed like one misses a sunny day,
or the sound of a favorite tune,
but missed with a longing so deep that your absence,
however short,
that it causes your love to pine for you,
consuming them,
preventing them from thinking anything else but the moment you return.
Someone out there loves you.
They long to be with you,
hold you,
caress you,
kiss you tenderly on your lips.
They long to take you in their arms,
pull you close,
and never let you go.
Someone out there loves you.
Their love for you burns like fires unknown,
like the fire of a newly born star,
or one which is about to end it's life in the most magnificent display in the heavens.
This fire burns eternally,
not to be snuffed by time,
by fate,
by accident or mistake,
this fire burns on a wick that runs deep,
on fuel that grows more potent with each day,
causing the flames to grow,
causing the love to swell,
causing the lover to spiral into the depths of passion over you!
Someone out there is in love with you!
And all they ask of you is the simplest requests:
to share that love with them.
