395. All or Nothing

The me I would have been,

I can not recall.

I don’t know the me which existed,

Before life changed it all.

I don’t remember the good times,

When things weren’t dark and cold,

Or know what to tell my child self,

Whose body is growing old.

People say, “forget the past”,

But it makes us who we are,

And I can’t changed how it’s shaped me,

Just by wishing on a star.

I have all these broken parts,

Who are still stuck in one place,

While time moves on around them,

Yet they never age in pace.

They live just as ghosts,

Haunting their old home;

They’re separated, in one place,

Surrounded and yet alone.

I don’t know how to exorcise;

To banish parts of me.

If I ever did know how though,

Which one of them would I be?

The me I would have been,

I can not recall.

The me I was, is shattered,

I’m no longer one…I am all…

…or nothing.

K. Aldaya, 5/18/17

361. The Mansion

There’s a mansion far away in a land of fabled form,

Where time holds no sway, and the clocks are still and worn.

Within it’s walls are halls of doors leading to secret rooms,

While a dark shadow patrols the floors spreading an air of gloom.

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Locked behind the doors there-in dwell feelings unexpressed;

Colored by established sin and furnished by the repressed.

One door is but a tiny speck within the stone foundation,

Of a house made of lies and brick, and stoic invalidation;

Where a girl forever smiles on in eternal denial,

Of the home her world is built upon, where she serves tea with a smile.

She serves truth upon a tray for people to consume….

The hours of her life away ’til she’s only what they assume.

Down below and through the door another door stands locked…

By the shadow on the floor of those halls forever stalked.

Behind: A glass interior exalts the ancient realm,

Of the forest nymphs of yore, and the tall majestic elm.

Days pass by for her who dwells under care of sun and moon,

And chants their protective spells…dancing ‘neath the light of the moon.

There she sits and beseeches the blackness gliding by,

Through a gap in the door she reaches, she simply must know, “Why”?

And each time the shadow swings by with his knife dripping with pain,

And cuts off her hand like a fly…being swatted: annoying; inane.

Then under the moon she stitches her hand back into place,

And weeps for those whose stitches only leave scars in their place.

Down the hall much further a door all pink and sweet,

Opens to toys which reconnoiter every pleasant childhood treat.

A girl sits with her toys playing without a care,

Avoiding the sneer of some toys toward a wall with a curtain hung there;

A curtain which opens once a day, as the shadow passes on through,

And each time she looks up to say,”That girl is not someone I knew!”

Then she continues her tale, imagining a world far away,

Where princesses under assail are rescued by knights straight away.

Beyond and through that mirror a gray room of concrete,

Chills and emits terror from the head, down to one’s feet.

A girl sits in the darkness in the corner with her bunny,

Begging for forgiveness, which the shadow just finds funny;

As he enters there freely, and screams echo pains.

Innocence costs dearly and blood always leaves stains.

The last door in the hallway is reinforced with steel.

Locked with a code each day. Yet, anger one cannot seal!

Anger builds to violent rage. Justice shall be avenged!

There is no door or cage which can restrain the unhinged.

She always finds a way out, that girl whose only goal,

Is to be ready beyond a doubt to put the demon back in his hole.

–The battle for eternal life,

For sanity or hell,

Is always fraught with pain and strife,

But, shh, be sure not to tell!

No one cares if someone claims,

Another’s soul as their domain,

And endlessly tortures and maims,

Until it drives them insane.

For the war is fought behind walls,

Built of blood and flesh,

And the shadow haunting the halls,

From the yesterdays men refresh.

Once a thief steals in,

Can one replace what’s gone?

Is everything replaceable,

After the deed is done?

Hearts beat within their separate walls,

Crying bloody tears,

Which stain the myriad halls,

Of minds o’erwrought with fears.

Insanity, it is a place,

And once you enter in,

Your’self’ is lost without a trace.

Cut apart, with a lively grin,

Into fragments with one face.

K. Aldaya, 8/12/16

Picture: Created by Whipper on Alpha Coders; https://wall.alphacoders.com/big.php?i=304198

303. Random Thought #9

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What should be done about this?

This life of endless woe?

What should be done about lost souls…

Which still live?…I want to know!

Would you expect a broken tool,

To repair anything?

Then why expect a broken soul,

To do that very thing?

Yell at them all that you like.

Tell them they’re pathetic and lazy.

It doesn’t change the fact of the matter:

That they’re punished for being made crazy.

Their minds are full of rusted tools,

Which shatter and fall apart.

They haven’t the tools in there, you see,

To repair a shattered heart.

K. Aldaya, 5/7/15

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://desktopia.net/art/lost-soul-desktop-wallpaper/

234. Just Another Broken Soul

broken_soul_by_andygoth666-d4nh06t

I don’t know why I bother.

I write. I weep, in vain.

I’ll never be able to express or convey,

What’s pounding in my brain.

I say a word or maybe two.

You’ll nod your head, “Ah yes!”,

“I understand”.

And I will nod, “Sure…yes”.

But the truth is that it angers me.

How patronizing can you be?

You know nothing of my life,

And I’m glad for it not to be!

You’ll never understand what it’s like to cry….,

Cry away years of your life.

To linger, strive, hurt, and bleed,

The blood from your own knife.

To only know that pain because,

It’s all you’ve ever known;

And never trust joy or happiness,

Forever feeling new and unknown.

But it’s my fault because I was,

Born to take a breath,….to walk.

Born a toy for everyone.

Toys don’t get to fight back or talk.

Toys are made to be used and trashed,

When all the fun is through–a waste–

Of others time and lives…

A regret. A purchase made in haste.

But as I’ve said it’s my fault,

And my place in time and guilt.

If I don’t get over it,

It’s more guilt upon guilt.

Those who damage and destroy,

They get off scott-free –no responsibility;

While I must take responsibility,

For everything which was done to me.

I know what I’m supposed to say.

I know what I should do,

But it would only be because,

I was told it’s what I should do.

I don’t believe that I’m stronger,

Or believe I’m now wiser or better.

Is this Masochism 101?

Must I learn to love pain to be better?

I know it’s not what you want to hear,

And so you may no longer listen;

But yet I still must say it because it’s the truth.

I beg you, listen!

I will never be okay and it is not okay!

I won’t lie and say it’s fine as if it never happened.

Nobody wins and there’s only destruction.

I will hurt until the end.

For a broken soul may never mend.

K. Aldaya, 03/20/13

Picture:  “Broken Soul” by AndyGarcia666 on Deviant Art; http://andygarcia666.deviantart.com/art/Broken-Soul-281289269