I’m not defined by the triggers,
I can handle myself,
I am strong, I am…. lying.
When a river flows underground,
you can deny its existence,
but it is still there, just below the surface.
Just below the surface. A shadow, a specter,
a reality that haunts and stays there,
threatening, waiting to be revealed
in all its gruesome glory.
Shame, stigma, embarrassment,
they better not know,
conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know,
now I empathize with Elsa.
He calls it a useless tantrum,
he calls it meaningless drama,
she calls it lack of control,
she calls it stress reaction,
she calls it drama.
My own underground river
flows in torrents, demolishing everything in its path,
waiting for its chance to break the surface
so that I’ll break a different kind of surface,
again, and again, and again, and again.
All that I see around me is changing.
The world is turning upside down with every 360,
the bright contrast in different colours,
the whole rainbow that once streaked across the sky,
has now dulled to grey-scale,
visible only in black, white, and all the grey in between.
What once was a function of magic and blessings,
where wizards worked with weary fingers,
now can be explained in clear numbers, and logic,
and facts and figures come to be our new friends,
replacing creativity and imagination.
Slowly, all the dreams that I had once nurtured,
so lovingly made the world my own,
anything was possible then, I guess it still is,
but that ‘anything’ has a new defined definition.
Seeing the world in binaries was so much easier,
believing in far-fetched fantasies was so much easier.
It is hard to live in a world
where Superman won’t save you when the demons attack.
When the fateful day arrives,
when I should breathe my last,
and my heart’s beats fall out of rhythm,
slowly to come to a halt,
and all my senses, five, six or a hundred,
cease to sense any more than senselessness,
don’t shed a single tear.
When rigor mortis takes control of my physical being
and the shell on the bed, or on the floor,
is hardly recognisable as the man you used to know,
don’t shock yourself to silence.
Instead, throw a lavish party, with Queen and Doors,
invite everyone who ever knew me,
and tell them this,
“A man lives not in person, but in memory,
so now that he has found home in the sky,
remember him for all that you loved,
for the rest,
so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.”
I am still young, the miles ahead
far outnumber the seasons left behind.
But I am no stranger to love,
I have seen it, I have felt it.
I have seen the roll of loaded dice,
always in the favour of one over the other.
I have seen red in valentines’ hearts,
as red as the blood later on his hands.
I have seen science fiction come to life,
as human beings are reduced to zombies.
I have seen love.
I have seen a mother on the footpath
naked because her sari is the blanket
for her infant.
I have seen the scrawniest mongrel
growl at perceived risk to her puppies.
I have seen lovers break up
because maybe, just maybe,
their love was too much for a label to communicate.
The frozen night sky, all clouded over,
a silent forest, save for the breeze
mischievously rustling the leaves,
as if to say that silence will never be perfect.
Coniferous trees, adapted to nature
the falling snow does not bury, suffocate and kill.
A forest breathes like a beast,
rearing its head to strike silently at the night.
The forest has a life of its own,
with its packs and herds and colonies.
But right now all is silent,
as if the thick blanket of fresh snow,
keeping the ground snug and warm,
has put all life to sleep for a while.
The ground has a mind of its own,
rising in places, and falling thereafter,
like waves on a solid surface.
The sacred silence suddenly is broken,
as a silhouette raises his head
to the white face in the sky
and sings of his freedom.
We’ve spent nights at the Hotels,
of Heartbreak and the one in California.
We’ve lived on our own, in another broken home,
and sung rhapsodies in Bohemia.
I once went down to the Paradise City,
to meet a sweet child of mine,
she sang with me, I was going crazy,
but now she’s left me cryin’.
We waved goodbye and said hello,
watched angels as they fell.
We’ve all taken the stairway to heaven,
and driven down the highway to hell.
We’ve called out to Jude and to,
you when you were out in the cold.
Dined together on sweet cherry pie,
when by a man the world was sold.
We spoke in innuendos, and gotten by
this crazy little thing called love.
We were livin’ on a prayer, ’cause it’s our life,
hallelujah to the skies above.
We were stars together in a dope show,
and you were my one and only,
we have seen all kinds of people
the beautiful and the lonely.
Lazarus was in heaven, as we heard
Major Tom talk to ground control,
we are still going strong, and will never die,
long live Rock and Roll!
I’m sorry, please accept my apologies
since they are all I have left to give to you.
It is really a small price to pay,
once all the fires of hell have grown cold
and the glaciers of ecstasy
melt into their true form of a torrential river,
only to forever lose its identity in the sea.
You loathe my scars and the sound of my voice
and because of this, I’m glad.
But if you want silence to prevail between us,
then let it be fucking silent.
Don’t enjoy humour at my expense,
find hilarity in my ill fate,
because then, my dear, you are not
all the great things you claim to be.
You end up being just a little less than human.
Essentially all humans are animals,
our society a mere fancier version
of a pack, a herd.
Alphas, Betas, Omegas,
puzzle pieces falling into place
neatly, as was meant to be.
I tried to rise in status,
maybe for some time the new pack
even kept up my illusion of
pride, esteem, respect.
But Omega males will remain Omega males.
A ladder where all the rungs disappeared
one fine day, I’m falling.
The pack pushes me back to my place.
“Why are you ganging up on me?”
“Because you are you.”
You are you.
You deserve this.
You deserve this.
Whispers in pitch black,
painted tainted words spoken softly
in absolute invisibility.
I disappeared, you disappeared
words and sentences conveyed coherently
all disappeared into a cloud.
A cloud built on the feeling of nothingness
and the slow crawl
of long lost data trapped in the recesses and corners
showing themselves in a reunion comeback tour.
The past rings hollow, the present a vacuum
the future every moment to the next.
The taunting rhythm of the seconds hand
on the white face of the clock,
softly howling into the night
Sharp breaths shortening by the moment
constriction, restriction, delirium.
Whispers once again in the pitch black
but once you try to whisper back
a bloodcurdling cry leaves your lips.
And then all is silence.
the man I once used to be,
is already on his way to a better place,
my soul has left me,
so there’s no reason to wait,
I listen to the angels sing,
their white wings are calling me home.
I will not kiss you,
’cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.
So turn away,
the shell that’s lying on the bed,
is only a machine that’s breathing for me,
the clock ticks slowly,
when the pain of the cure
tears me apart worse than the affliction
life is no more than fiction now.
I am tired of this battle,
and I hope you know
that if you say
I’d ask you to be true,
’cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.
‘Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.
This piece is inspired by and written along the lines of the song “Cancer” by My Chemical Romance. It can be sung to the same tune as well.