398. I…I Don’t Want to Die

I…I don’t want to die.

“But you are broken, you say?

The only way to fix you,

Is for you to simply die,

And be reborn as someone new.”

I…I don’t want to die.

I know that I am broken,

And that’s all you can see;

Yet, why do I have to die,

For you to be able to love me?

I…I don’t want to die.

Do I really have no worth?

Am I something to be tossed,

And left all alone to die?

Am I truly one of the lost?

I…I don’t want to die.

I just want you to stay here;

To hold me close and tell me,

That I do not have to die,

For you to see me as worthy.

For you to be able to love me…

I…I don’t want to die.

K. Aldaya, 5/29/17

Picture: from Sherlock; http://pharlapcartoonist.tumblr.com/

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

388. Broken Vessel

I had no right to refuse you,

For I had no rights at all.

You locked me within your eyes,

And from then on I was all…

You could see.

You gazed at me with doting eyes,

While you bled your victims dry.

You didn’t plan to kill me too,

And I didn’t want to die…

Just like them.

You stared into my eyes so deep.

You invaded my brain.

I became your loving home,

And you drove me insane…

With your thoughts.

Pleasure and pain you intermix.

As you love, so do you cry.

You drown me in your tears and rage,

While I lie still and try…

To go home.

Yet there’s no home to go back to,

Nor any door you cannot access.

You and I, we share this home,

And trying to escape: a hopeless…

Endeavor.

You walk these halls eternally,

And you, my fate, have judged.

The walls are made of bitter tears,

And each bloody lash is smudged…

Into bars.

I have no right to hate you,

For I have no rights at all.

You stole far down into my soul,

And from then on you were all…

That I am.

The criminal and the victim.

The loved and the lost.

The guilty and the innocent.

The vessel which you tossed…

To the side…

…broken.

K. Aldaya, 3/10/17

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/

301. Haunted

MyHauntedMansion~~element27

I know you will not understand,

When I say he wants me dead.

You will never understand what it’s like,

For another to live in your head.

To cut into your flesh so deep,

They bleed into your blood;

So violently invade your skin,

That they form a crimson flood,

And break down all the barricades,

Built to protect the spirit.

And barge inside so loudly,

That it frightens all who hear it.

All the parts of you, they hide,

In other rooms and floors;

They hide for fear of being found:

Cowering behind locked doors.

For the intruder walks up and down,

The corridors and stairs,

With his knife scrapping the walls, he walks,

And through each keyhole glares.

If anyone gets out of place,

And tries to run or sneak.

He’ll hear, find, and punish them,

At the softest of a creak.

Some parts of you will try to fight,

Yet it always ends the same.

A blood-bath; as a mortal can’t win,

An immortal at his game.

I know you do not understand,

When I say he wants me dead.

That he hunts the halls and that he guards,

The prison in my head.

No one can escape or leave.

No one’s allowed freedom.

Some live in fear, or plan escape,

Yet most are simply numb.

Please try to understand me,

When I say I cannot tell you.

To open up those locked doors,

Is something I can’t do.

To open them I risk my life,

And all the parts of me.

He’d kill body or mind to hide,

His crimes against sanity.

Hush now. Hush and be still,

And believe what you will.

For I know, yet cannot fully say,

Why my mind is haunted still.

K. Aldaya, 4/23/15

Picture: The Haunted Mansion Corridor at Disneyland; http://www.haunt1000.com/publishImages/MyHauntedMansion~~element27.jpg

296. The Way Back Home

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It was one of those bitter days,

When the cold gets to ones’ soul,

And one wonders in a million ways,

If the freeze will ever thaw.

She sat there on a concrete slab,

While the snow around her fell.

The world one color white and drab,

Was a snowglobe for a God.

She had no place to go to,

Home was many hours away,

And as the frosty wind blew,

She wished she’d worn a coat.

Hours flew by as she sat there,

Like a statue made of ice,

When a man nearby stopped to stare,

And they smiled to each other.

Sometimes we don’t realize,

How lost we truly are,

‘Til someone makes us recognize,

Through a simple phrase: “Are you okay?”.

She smiled like an automaton,

Replying: “Yes, I’m fine”.

-“Well, the storm is hitting us head-on,

So you should get home soon”.

He walked into a store nearby,

And as soon as he was gone,

She clutched her chest with a sigh,

And her eyes filled with tears.

Her heart began to weep…

She’d thought she was invisible,

Living in a hole so deep,

If she died none would see.

So many people walk right past,

They don’t care or realize,

How long a kind word can last,

Within a human heart.

One kind thought or word,

May save a soul one day;

Building a bridge with each word,

For a lonely castaway…

To find their way back home.

K. Aldaya, 3/31/15

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; https://p.gr-assets.com/540×540/fit/hostedimages/1423681671/13657858.jpg

280. The Death of Dreams

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Remember when you dared to dream?

Remember when you still had hope?

When the world held possibilities,

And time was vast in scope?

Remember when you dared to trust?

Remember when you still saw good?

When you looked into a persons’ eyes,

And expected brotherhood?

Now you always expect the worst.

That people are working an angle.

And when you look into anothers’ eyes,

You expect your heart they’ll strangle.

And now you don’t know how to dream.

And hope just makes your heart cry.

For you look in the mirror and all you see,

Is a vessel almost bled dry…

Just waiting ’round to die.

Remember when you used to think,

Someday you’d find some salvation?

And be saved from the death of dreams,

By some empathy or consolation?

Now all you think is that it’s late,

And hopes and dreams: for the young.

And daydream what might have been,

If your dreams weren’t left unsung.

You close your eyes and fantasize,

In your daily dissociation,

About how you and things might have been,

If just one person had offered validation…

Before the eleventh hour.

K. Aldaya,  11/2/14

Picture:  “In the Mirror” by Sad-Cat on Deviant Art: http://sad-cat.deviantart.com/gallery/; http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2011/135/b/a/in_the_mirror_by_sad_cat-d3geaay.jpg

276. Bloody Hands

alice hysteria

Red as sun-lit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

In my hand is an old-withered rag of white,

And in my soul a battlefield,

Plays a ghostly reenactment of the costly fight.

–Bloody is the rag which tries to hide a guilty soul,

Yet bloodier are the hands which clean without a rag that’s whole.

Red are these hands and the only I have known,….

Are these hands with fresh-blood dripping…

Dripping, and dripping guilt and pain; scrubbing all alone.

Blue as restless oceans crashing to the shore,

Are the tears which crash to the earth,

Never enough to clean the hands of an old child-whore.

–Red as sunlit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

K. Aldaya, 8/19/14

Picture: Inspired by American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns; Artist Unknown; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maly49hnQp1qkuk8lo1_500.jpg

272. Societal Denial

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“I want to live”, I said,

To the stranger beside me.

“So, we can go together”, she said.

I nodded, to agree.

“Yes, here we are already dead”.

We drove until the cops appeared;

In many places eyeing us.

We knew when they appeared,

They were onto us;

So I quickly down-geared.

The only way is past this place,

To the other side it goes.

Through the rooms of this place.

Can we escape? Who knows?

But there’s no choice.  We race!

We ducked into an empty room,

With a small window at the end.

Hanging there—feelings of gloom,

In forms of guns to portend,

Would soon lead us to our doom.

We continued on and finally found,

The room of our escape.

We ran and I jumped out and found,

Myself alone in the escape.

My friend could not be found.

It was too late to turn back.

I had to make a break for it.

A cop was there and would attack.

Ran,…but with no hope soon quit,

To protect from the coming smack.

Curled on the ground I waited,

Shaking for fear of humankind.

A sentence won’t be abated,

For reasons held in my mind.

I knew, if caught, I would be hated.

I would be hurt for leaving;

For trying to live and escape fate.

I knew I would be receiving,

More abuse for running from fate.

I waited in dust for the grieving.

When there again, I saw my friend,

And she walked up to me, and I….

I stood and she stepped-in to lend,

Her anger, and voice, to try,….

To get the cop to comprehend.

“You do not understand”, I yelled.

“I have to get away from here”.

“If I am to live just once”, I yelled,

“I have to fight against my fear”.

“Hiding is its’ own hell!”

“Hiding from the truths that are,

Has kept me safe for awhile,

But one can’t hide: not close or far,

From the life-long mile;

Without a life-long scar.”

The cop listened and then of course,

He did his duty and tackled me.

My hands cuffed behind with force.

I’d found more misery,

By running off the course.

The course, for me, the world set.

And there are rules in this place,

Which one cannot change or forget;

Or be labelled ‘criminal’ or ‘basket-case’,

With a lifetime of shame and regret.

But the cops are just doing their work,

And the masses just shuffling along;

And the lost longingly lurk,

In the shadows just drifting along.

No salvation.  Always the jerk.

Plaguing the system with a wailing, sad-song.

Cop: “If you had just stayed hidden,

We could have all gotten along.”

K. Aldaya  6/9/14

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://dark.pozadia.org/images/wallpapers/34-Gothic-1280×1024-81205.jpeg

263. The Sphere

Foggy and groggy.

The day is,

Unsure; a blur.

Will the light stir,

And wake me?

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Laggy and saggy.

The mind is,

Weary; dreary…

Seconds:  leery,…

Of the time.

Sleepy and weepy.

The heart is,

Frigid, and hid,…

Inside, amid,…

The silence.

Broken; unspoken.

The soul is,

Hiding; residing,

In depths abiding,…

With the past.

Complex, the apex,

Of living is.

To thrive, alive,

Through death we strive,…

To find hope.

Detached and snatched.

The day is,

So near.  Not here.

Will it appear,

And wake me,..

From this frozen sphere,…of fear?

K. Aldaya, 3/6/14

Picture: By: Hiroko Matsubara: http://www.hirokomatsubara.com; http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/c2/29/77/c22977e4ecef54f85dd0aa1b6114bd4a.jpg

195. You Hold My Heart

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You hold my hand and hold my heart,

When it fights and beats you back,

And though I feel your heart may lose,

I don’t want my heart back.

My heart is but a gray mirage,

Of one I should have known,

And can one e’er hope to possess,

Something they’ve never known?

Sometimes I feel you care too much,

This all will end wrong, so…

Why chance such a beautiful heart,

On one which may not grow?

Still, you hold my hand and hold my heart,

When it fights and beats you back,

And though I feel your heart could lose,

I don’t want my heart back!

K. Aldaya, 04/13/06

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lsxqp2ZKCO1qzy3mjo1_500.jpg

164. Be At Peace Little Ones

blue-dark-girl-lost-photography-Favim.com-311870

In my youth I never slept,

As one of idle mind.

For children of innocence,

So soon are left behind;

To gather and to bind.

A mess of immature chaos,

Was carried from my early start.

Oh, youth should not be poisoned so,

Twisted by a blackened heart,

And dreams scattered apart.

I know not what it’s like,

To be free of my memory,

Nightmares and they intermixed,

Compounded in every degree,

By the years taken from me.

My body was the enemy.

My soul a fallen comrade,

In wars of power and control.

The armor in which I was clad,

Was made of fear…and bad.

When turmoil is your first bed,

And innocence costs you dear,

You learn to sleep alone at night,

And be at peace in the drear.

(As your side’s pierced with a spear).

So be at peace ye little ones,

When youths’ caress has left,

To comfort not within the strife,

That’s left your soul bereft.

Look beyond the theft,

As just one piece of this shattered-life.

K. Aldaya, 9/17/05

Picture: Originally on http://vodkaandvogue.tumblr.com/; Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/311870/

119. Broken Bones

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Bones creak and moan,

Tenacious in tone,

Creak, crack,

Creak, crack,

Woebegone and weary from…

Brick-brack,

Brick-brack.

Pathetic cadaver,

Degrading semblance.

Creak, crack,

Creak, crack,

Enervated soul: halted,

Steps back,

Steps back,

Backdrop of death,

Unsure as sweet breath.

Creak, crack.

Creak, crack.

Foul-skin decays as visions…,

Back-track,

Back-track.

Slanderous scum rusts bone,

Sickening contrite blood.

Creak, crack.

Creak, crack,

Bones break with fervor, eyes close..

Lie back,

Lie back…

Creak. Crack!

Disconsolate…

Unaided: fall back…

K. Aldaya, 2/2/05

Picture:  “Portrait of an articulated skeleton on a bentwood chair”, Photographer possibly Arthur Phillips, 1895-1905; http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/collection/database/?irn=386897