The Weak Link

                                       Part I

There is a dank, and terrible place-

(That used to be my heart).

Hollow, and without (even) a

sliver…of light, it’s 

abandonment screams (to my 

body), without effort. 

In darkness-its cold. 

The moisture it holds, (is 

uncomfortable), and 

I feel something, 

slithering.

(It’s resident horror-show 

secrets; abundant), are as 

numerous as the words, 

I will never hold back.
                                       

                                        fin 

                     

                               

Advertisements

Stay

  

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry if your dad left you.

I’m sorry if your dad hit you.

I’m sorry if your dad passed away.

I’m sorry if your mom left you.

I’m sorry if your mom hit you, or got hit by your dad.

I’m sorry if your mom passed away.

I’m sorry if you get bullied.

I’m sorry if you cut your wrists.

I’m sorry if you can never sleep at night.

I’m sorry if you throw up after you eat, because you don’t want to gain weight.

I’m sorry if you cry in your room for hours.

I’m sorry if you get called a faggot for being gay.

I’m sorry if you get called a tranny or a girl, if you identify as a male.

I’m sorry if you get called a boy, if you identify as a female.

I’m sorry if you feel like both genders, and get told it doesn’t exist.

I’m sorry if you identify as a gender, and get told you are confused.

I’m sorry if your boyfriend or girlfriend hits you.

I’m sorry if you feel like your not good enough.

I’m sorry if someone broke your heart.

I’m sorry if you got cheated on.

I’m sorry if your in foster care.

I’m sorry if your homeless.

I’m sorry if you would rather be homeless, because being at home is torture.

  

I’m sorry if you rake your nails down your arms.
I’m sorry if you feel like nobody cares.

I’m sorry if you feel invisible.

I’m sorry if you feel you won’t be as “pretty”, or “handsome”, as someone else. But guess what? You are beautiful.

I’m sorry if you don’t want to be saved.

I’m sorry if you do want to be saved, but nobody is around to help you.

I’m sorry if you lost a loved one.

I’m sorry if your brother or sister has a mental illness.

I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.

I’m sorry if you’ve been sexually harassed.

I’m sorry I’ve not always been there when you needed me.

I’m sorry if you have to sell drugs or do them, because you hate reality.

I’m sorry for all the pain you kept inside for so long.

I’m sorry if your heart is broken.

I’m sorry if you feel this way.

  

But I know that with everything that is going wrong, one day it will go right.
I care about you. I want to give my all to show you how worth it you are.

I want you to live. I want you to fight this, I need you here.

All your pain is something that probably followed you everywhere.

I know things are hard, and nobody understands what you’re going through.

You fake a smile, but I can see it.

You think you’re unloved, but I love you so much. I promise you’re loved.

If you think it’s time for you to go, it’s honestly not, this isn’t worth it.

I know you want to die, nobody would miss you right? Those thoughts are a lie, those demons in your head are lying to you. All those people telling you to kill yourself arn’t there when you need a hug, they arn’t there when you’re punching walls.

They assume you won’t do anything, they arn’t there when you’re breaking down and crying, but I promise you’ll feel better soon. Don’t do this.

Don’t leave me.

I need you.

You’re worth it. I know enough.

I love you.

I’m always just a message or call away.

Stay strong.

  

This poem was written by Jaemi Manning, and Dillon Chase.

          __________________________    

Ode to Lost Children…

This is my life…and it

is rotten. It is flawed.

I am too often exhausted, 

by overthinking, and dark days-

very poor judgement calls, and

vanity, to abasement. 

There is always a reason, for 

my binges, blackouts, and 

magnificent stupidity; (it

is very likely), the profound

and hateful futility (of it all).

If there were more than 

just my wasted life-

(hanging in the balance)…

It would be a cataclysm-

(especially for those 

swaggering douchebags, who 

will never, 

         ever 

               quit…)

I miss my kids. (The 

world stopped turning, a

long 

     time

          ago).
                    

                     fin 

 

“HOOKER SLAIN, IN DEAD PROSTITUTES FIELD”

Slip away,

whore-

fall lifeless (again),

to the frozen,

anonymous

ground-

that was

(seeded and plowed) with

YOU’RE A STATISTIC.

‘more

than you

should be’,

L-A-S-C-I-V-I-O-U-S

bitch;

(‘…Me!

It was Me!’),

‘I made

you

famous’

(‘…Me!

It was Me!)

(“and I don’t think

I mentioned, that…’

“THIS IS GONNA

HURT,

like HELL”

fin

R.I.P.

for all the girls; friends, faces, and all the rest (that never had the chance for self worth, friendship,

love, change, hope or life).

BANG IT UP, JOE (NO ONE KNOWS)

Sitting there,

(in hovel number 362B),

assigned by The Minister of Tragedy,

Joe ransomed his

wife and children

(for one more ride),

on the Ecstacy Wagon.

 

Halfway through the

trip, he vowed

He would get them back-

tomorrow.

Tomorrow ‘Joe,

Your Wife’s At The Door!’

 

But he didn’t know

Anyone was knocking,

(so he stayed in bed).

 

Bang it up Joe,

I don’t think she knows

(you’re inside).

 

The day after that, Joe

died

skinny.

In the clutches

of

Too Much Fun

 

FIN

taken from a book of poetry (self published in 1992) The Veal Couplets