Good Friday

from 2004-04-06:

Standing there,
in oblivion,
I gazed up at Your melancholy eyes.
You looked down upon me,
As You always did,
Flinching in pain as You struggled to see my face.


Your face was covered with blood,
Tormented blood:

blood from the cuts of Agony,
blood from the cuts of Betrayal,
blood from the cuts of Friendship,

...blood from the cuts of the Heart.

And yet, You still looked down upon me,
Guiding me with your hawk-like stare.

How I looked at Your hands now--
Hands of Love--
Now covered with sanguine rivers
Which I have caused, and swam upon.

I looked at Your feet,
Covered with the dirt,
which I have caused,
But didn't regret one moment of it...
The dirt I walked upon.

And yet,
a huge pain emerged from just the sight of You,
The pitiful sight of You,
As I spat at Your feet,
Grimaced at Your face,
And cursed Your name
Many, many times...

but before the Last Hour,
When the clock struck 3...
When I was freed,
but You were locked away...
You looked up at the sky,
and You gave Your spirit to the Father.

...but I did not cry.
Instead, I looked down upon the dirt,
And up at the cross where You laid--
The cross I had built
for You to die on,
carrying all my sins...
My many, many regretful sins.

At times, I would hurt You
Without the least consideration.

I built Your cross,
I nailed Your hands and Your feet,
I was Your pain,
and You were my Sorrow...

Yet, You still forgave me...
And You still love me...
The warmth of my sorrowful heart.

looking glass

break-wall-shatter,
stones of glitter and ice;
mirror standing at my side,
blinding me with sunlight--

then it goes again,
repeating repeating repeating me.

break-wall-shatter,
stones of glitter and ice;
the sun rays at my side,
i'm no longer seen as my own person--

then it goes again,
repeating repeating repeating me.

break-wall-shatter,
stones of glitter and ice;
i'm enveloped in the sunlight,
too bright to be seen--

too dirty to remain only one being.

then it goes again,
repeating repeating repeating me.

Ode to Motherhood

My dear.

(No--that won't do.)

My beloved dearest.

(A little better, but not quite.)

My beloved sanctuary in all the heavens and angels and saints singing alleluia in chorus to your name chimed in the whispering winds of the sky's deepest blues and fanciest purples.

Hello to you.

(--Much better--.)

I've a limited time to tell you things directly,
but one shot is all I need.
After all, you left without saying "I love you" with your fake smile.
So I didn't think that highly of you,
I'm terribly sorry to say.

Well, I'm stupid.

I don't understand the meaning of life because I'm a stupid teenager.
And I don't understand your fake smile.
But if you loved me too,
couldn't you have just..

Cried?

And cried you did, until you died.
Died 'til the ends of all eternity, I'm sad to say.

Haven't you ever heard that medicine can't heal your problems with your grandma?

Oh, and he left them in the toolbox again.
Oh, and she left the food in the trashcan again.
Oh, and I drove you insane again.

(Don't want to touch upon your nerves, I might add.)

The point is.

Well. (Huh, you were always the blunt one.)

I can say "I love you" a million times until you'd buy me everything I asked for.
Give me all the chores you can possibly recite--I'll fix up the yard, too. The neighbor's yard, even.
And can you say one more time to God why you want a new kitchen more than your own daughter?

Bubbling miscommunication and sorry satisfaction.
(Forgive my jealousy.)

Smile with your eyes open, at least.

Only then will I suffer your Coup de grace.

Signed,
the Undersigned.