482. Take a Deep Breath


How to explain it? I have not the words.

My brain and body, they are cowards.

How do I explain that feeling inside,

When I’m with others it hurts not to hide;

To run away to the comfort of alone.

The feeling is one that I’ve always known.

A tension…A pain locked in the chest,

Which may only find release and rest,

When solitude (the oldest of friends),

Returns to assuage and make amends.

I long to feel comfort and connection,

Rather, I feel distress and rejection.

Nothing need be said or done,

Yet my head feels pressed against a loaded gun.

The nerves,…the discomfort…the body responds.

The same human body which should create bonds,

Tells me I’m crazy for sticking around;

That there is nothing here to be found.

If only optimism and love were the cure.

Yet no matter how thoughtful, caring, or pure…

The feeling never goes away,…just hides,…

Behind masks and smiles it resides;

Twisting the stomach and wrenching the heart,

‘Til again I lose, and fall apart.

Strength and optimism have their rewards,

Though do not mistake toothpicks for swords.

Strength keeps me going. Optimism’s my friend.

Howe’er there are things they too can not mend.

Please excuse me while I try not to show,

How hard it is to be human and know,…

The pain of never being at ease,

With connections, moments, synergies.

How to explain it? I have not the words.

My brain and body, they are cowards.

As my thoughts live and fight on,

I take a deep breath, and continue along.

K. Aldaya, 7/23/19

Picture: By: Melanie Wasser on Unsplash ;https://unsplash.com/photos/j8a-TEakg78


479. System Overload


It’s not real…not real;

Yet your legs have grown weaker,

Finding it best not to feel.


The illusion clears.

No one’s coming to save you.

There is no use for those tears.


That pain in your chest…

It tells you it’s not over.

For a victim, there’s no rest.


There’s no going back.

The program’s installed…running…

And insanity’s the hack.


A system with eyes,

Which carries out instructions…

As it’s humanity dies.

K. Aldaya, 7/10/19

Picture: From Humans; Emily Berrington as Niska; https://giphy.com/gifs/experience-amc-humans-sXhM9f1UIgYW4

478. The Elsewhere

In the stillness of night she leaves,

The world and time behind.

She slips out of her bones,

And deep into her mind;

Where dream and reality meet, and,…

Breath upon breath create,…

Life, in desolation.

Feeling’s merely innate.

A door appears, she touches the knob,

And turns it, but slightly.

With a click, it opens.

She enters and closes it tightly.

Within is shelter, and protection;

Lost,…misplaced from the start.

Yearning becomes misery,

When men forget the heart.

Would you seek and pull her out from there?

Would you tell her she’s wrong?

That she’s better off staying,

And just suffering along?

For who knows what the answer should be,

To loss and sentiment.

If time can’t be rewound,

Should love and safety remain absent?

In the stillness of night she leaves,

To find what can not be.

Life is not fair they say,

And nothing is for free.

So, do not judge as she slips away,

Out of her bones and mind.

Oft’ we must seek elsewhere,

That which we’ve yet to find.

K. Aldaya, 5/25/19

Picture: By Sam Burriss on Unsplash; https://themighty.com/2017/10/how-to-help-dissociative-episode/

477. Flashbacked


Be careful, she could break with a touch.

Her skin is like glass,

And she feels too much.

Tread lightly, in following her trail.

She’s gone far away,

And her mind, it is frail.

Come quickly, or it may be too late.

Time waits for no one,

And time is our fate.

Talk softly, and don’t scare her further.

She can’t see you move,

Your face is a blur.

Be gentle… She’s meager and brittle.

Her body is old,

But her mind, it is little.

Be careful, she could break with a touch.

Her skin is like glass

And she feels too much.

K. Aldaya, 5/22/19

Picture: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbPVrZOLO3I

462. The Sinner

Pulled apart. I come undone.

From the start I’m forced to run.

Run from one point to another.

I am me and then the other.

Words confound. I spin in place.

I make no sound. My words: they race,…

Inside myself where they collide,

And try to escape to the outside.

Drained and weak. I grip my heart.

I can’t speak. I’m torn apart.

My heart beats, and beats, and beats,

While inside, history repeats.

Pulled apart. I come undone.

Will this fight ever be won?

For as in war, there are no winners.

There are no saints, only sinners.

K. Aldaya, 12/28/18

Picture: https://rightsinfo.org/excluded-schoolchildren-at-serious-risk-of-knife-crime-and-youth-violence/

441. PTSD

The world is so busying telling me,

How I should feel and who I should be,

That it’s never, even once, stopped to think,

Whether I’m not exactly who I’m meant to be.

Maybe I will never be like you.

Maybe I’m not supposed to.

Maybe asking me to be something else,

Is the reason I can’t get through.

Maybe I would be okay,

If the world accepted what’s different.

Though, no matter how accepting it claims to be,

Some of us leave too much of an imprint.

We make a mess. Stand out too much.

Cops trail us and build up a case.

“It’s odd you were at the crime scene,

Even odder that your prints were all over the place!

Guilty by association, my child.

You’re guilty for showing-up: time and again.

You’re a victim, but perhaps an accomplice as well.

Did you not know it would drive you insane?

Now you are just as responsible.

Only criminals return to the crime!

You could have been normal…like us,

Instead, you’ve wasted this courts precious time.”

Yet, if we may speak to this court, sir.

We feel guilty and shameful each day,…

That we haven’t moved on…couldn’t move on…

And fell down, and apart, and astray.

We didn’t know how. We still don’t know now,

How to escape from that place,

Though if we could one day do so,

As you’ve stated, we’ve already left our trace;

A trace of guilt. A trace of our crimes,…

Of guilt by association.

No matter what we may say to these crimes,

The world will ne’er forgive the implication.

The implication that we are criminals.

That not being like you. Not living like you,

Is a bloody-bed of our own making;

For there’s only acceptance for crimes you live through,

But ones which stay, fester, and remain,

Which turn us wretched, and drive us insane,

Are the ones which society won’t accept.

And refuse to consider,…o’erlooking the brain.

Yes, the world is so busy telling me,

How I should feel and who I should be,

Yet has it ever wondered why we’re not free,

To be who life has made us to be?

No, I am not like you or them,

And no, I will never be in the end;

Though just because I am different,

Must I be rejected ’til the end?

Placed up on trial again, and again to defend…

Why I am the way I am?

I’m a lifetime of sounds and sights you can’t see.

Yet, men like to spurn what they don’t understand,

And charge for the crime of PTSD.

K. Aldaya, 5/23/18

438. Doppelganger

I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t want to know,

The secrets and the truths held,

Deep within your eyes…and although,

I see you near to me. I’m afraid to glance your way.

For how can one save the lost;

Trapped in a time far away?

I can not speak of the horror; Only of the screams.

I hear them slip through your lips,

And besiege me in my dreams.

I’m sorry I left you there; In that place, all alone…

Where the clock’s forever stuck,

At quarter-past “never-known”.

–I stand atop a dark stairway. I see you below,

And as your eyes look my way,

I spy a looming shadow;

And as the shadow passes o’er, our eyes, they fin’lly meet.

I know I can not save you,

So once again I retreat.–

I didn’t recognize, ’cause I didn’t want to know,

That the girl in the mirror,

Had the same bleak eyes which show…

The anguish of a child betrayed. A child left behind…

Deserted and forsaken,

In the corners of my mind.

K. Aldaya, 4/27/18

Picture: Vintage image used in the book “Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children” by Ransom Riggs; https://www.pinterest.com/pin/330522060122327068/

437. While You Sleep I Lie Alone

While you sleep I lie alone,

And cry, curled up, in my old home.

In the corner, where I lie,

I cry, and cry, and cry, and cry;

Yet never does the house fill up,…

The tears, they always dry right up,

And leave me all alone.

While you sleep I lie alone,

And drift away to my old home,

Where even tears wave me goodbye;

As swiftly as they drop…they dry,

As if they never fell at all.

Time ticks and forgets it all.

Nothing left, just dust and bone,

And memories left all alone…

On the floor.

K. Aldaya, 4/25/18

428. H(a)unted

I am h(a)unted by the past,

It stalks me in the night;

Pounds on the doors of my mind,

And causes endless fright,…

In passing.

I am h(a)unted by the past,

It preys upon my fear,

With arrows ready for the kill;

And I, just another de(e)ar,…

Am game.

I am h(a)unted by the past,

It follows in my wake;

Relentlessly, after my life,

For the past we can’t forsake,…

Or change.

I am h(a)unted by the past,

It’s traps are placed and ready,

To spring when least expected.

The path’s long, and feet unsteady,…

As I step onward,….ever onward,…

To live.

K. Aldaya, 2/27/18

Picture: https://www.shutterstock.com/video/clip-16391017-stock-footage-romantic-woman-in-forest.html?src=rel/23381599:1/gg

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

274. A Drama Full of Suspense and a Little Bit of Insanity


Is happiness more than distraction?

I wish I could say so.

I wish I knew just what it was,

That makes “happiness” so?

I feel the breeze softly blow,

And the warm golden sun.

The beauty is so great I worry,

It’s just a distraction.

It’s said life is a middle road,

Between two vast extremes.

So I wonder why I cannot find it,

Even in my dreams?

Beauty is sad and cannot last,

So I promptly reminisce;

And wind up just as sad as if,

There were no “happiness”.

Yes, it is sure, I am insane;

And certainly too intense.

Oh, I wish I could change out my brain,

And stop living ‘melodramatic-suspense’.

However, this drama called life,

Has always been this way for me.

The plot plays on through the screen,

Of my minds’ TV.

K. Aldaya, 7/22/14

Picture: by evolutionsgonnacome on Tumblr; http://www.evolutionsgonnacome.tumblr.com/post/6038009903

253. Why?


I oft’ wonder why you chose me?

Why did you only choose to play,

Your sick sadist game with me?

Why was this my price to pay?

There were other easy targets;

Opportunities to relish.

Did you throw out many nets,

To catch the best trophy fish?

Oh, did you carefully choose me,

Because of who I am or was?

Was it personality?

Visual? Or just because?

Was it foul luck or destiny?

That I so young became your toy?

I born strange in some degree,

That in hurting gave more joy?

Was it fun finding a captive?

Destroying and haunting their dreams?

So every day they’d have to live,

Swimming in echoing-screams?

Did you know you would find a home,

Inside their head:  a black shadow?

Ghost of you to haunt and roam?

Bring terror and lasting woe?

In dreams you haunt. It’s hard to sleep.

I know you are not there, but still…

It’s so real, can’t help but weep,

When you go hunting to kill.

Oh, how many years of running,

From your ghost at midnights’ hour?

Far too many spent singing,

In my head while I cower.

It’s like you are a part of me,

That I cannot escape or kill.

Which hunts the others in me.

Trying to kill all at will.

Isn’t it enough yet to stop?

You can smile and be glad. You win!

Took my soul and with a chop,

I became your sin,…yes, grin!

Oh, should I hope forgiveness comes?

Is that too much to hope for now?

And take from hearts’ beating-drums,

Your relentless black shadow?

Creak, Thump.  Creak, Thump.

Creak, Thump, and a thud!

I can’t take it anymore….Go!

Go away! Leave my blood!!

Pour fast out of me and go!

I oft’ wonder why you chose me?

Why did you only chose to play,

Your sick sadist game with me?

Will my soul find peace someday?

Why was this my price to pay?

K. Aldaya, 10/11/13

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.planetcalypsoforum.com/gallery/files/1/5/9/6/0/jase_dark_basement.jpg

243. Live for the Moment


Late I lie when all are sleeping.

In my bed tossing and stressing.

I try to think not ‘gain of weeping,

But my mind won’t listen.

I cannot run from the reelings,

Of life movies inwardly playing.

Cannot stop or destroy the feelings,

Which torture yet again.

The pain of living with the truth,

Bleeds me dry, until I lie,

Closed-off and aloof;

I am the walking dead.

I long to get it out of me.

The shame and pain and memories.

There is no way, don’t you agree?

To save my soul anyway?

I could bleed it out my veins.

I could bandage and heal it,

But the truth is as long as I have veins,

The pain will be there too.

Only a moment would I find relief,

By taking care of outwardly-pain;

Then later, heal, and feel only grief,

That the mark is gone.

As I still feel the pain…didn’t heal at all!

No matter how much I bleed it’s there,

So what can I do?  I have to live or fall.

A moment longer.  A moment.

I must live for the moment or die.

Let it all out and cry.

K. Aldaya, 07/23/13

Picture:  “Rainy Night” by GMK9VII on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Rainy-Night-506473363

238. Inside My Head


Inside my head.

A couch.  A bed.

A world.  A dream.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A girl.  A ghost.

One hiding.  One host.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

She’s tortured.  She’s dead.

Over and over…

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A shadow.  A man,

With perverse plan.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

He haunts.  He hunts.

He torments.  He affronts.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A blackness.  A shape.

A darkness.  A rape.

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

A demon.  A hell.

Fear; despair dwell,

In my head.  In my head.

Inside my head.

As I lie down in bed.

Wake to the dread…

In my head…

…..In my head.

K. Aldaya, 04/25/13

Picture: by Gary Heller; http://www.garyhellerphotography.com/album/abandoned-places?p=1#25

234. Just Another Broken Soul


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

230. Let Go of the Past


It’s often said, “Let go of the past”,

So that you may live free;

But what a lie this statement is!

What distortion of truth!

Everyday I try to hide,

Or run, or disagree;

Yet everyday the past appears,

Pursues, and stands with me.

“Let go of the past”…Oh what a lie!

It won’t let go of me!!!

K. Aldaya, 06/18/02

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/229854/

229. I Am Shame

What to do?

Tell me how to,

Lose all this fretful shame?

Suppressed and masked,

Through time in same.

In death my life has passed.

Try to bury,

In cemetery.

It haunts me in the gloom;

Whispering of sweet-death,

And trading life for doom,

With each gasping breath.


Try to free.

To let it be.

To get it out of me.

Truth is truth, even when,

It’s hard to have to see.

Please….don’t look at me then!

What to do?

Tell me how to,

Repel the guilt eyes’ impart?

More shame for shame;

For in letting guilt depart,

I burn in your lit-flame.

What to do?

I have no clue.

I am shame and am ashamed.

I exist whether liked or not;

Am made more when I am blamed.

For inside his body is fraught,

And is screaming from the relentless onslaught.

K. Aldaya, 05/23/12

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.mensxp.com/images/article/health/Mental_Health/Depression724311.jpg

226. The Basement is My Home


The basement is my home.

It haunts me when I’m away,

And chills me to the bone.

The basement is where ‘she’ lives,

And where the ‘demon’ lives.

I’ve heard dog bark at his voice;

Though near the door will never roam.

The basement is my home.

I close doors to hideaway,

But the voices won’t leave me alone.

The basement is where ‘her’ voice,

And where the voice of horror echoes;

Whispering: “I’m still here…..hear?….

Come down to my vast catacomb!

The basement is my home,

And home to silent screams.

A dark penetrating moan,

And horrid silence….a silent drone.

Frozen with fear: dead-inside,

I forever roam…..

A world of endless doors,

All leading to my basement home.

One day I’ll have to return home,

Chained for all time,

Afraid and alone.

K. Aldaya, 01/03/12

Picture: “Creepy Basement” by DevilishInk on Deviant Art; http://devilishink.deviantart.com/art/Creepy-Basement-267035411

223. Chaotic

River Tam

I want to know.

I  have to know.

I need to know everything.

I will fight and ne’er will rest,

Until I know and sing:….

You cannot get away with it,

For I know everything!

I don’t want to know.

I just cannot know.

I don’t want to know a thing.

I will hide and e’er will rest,

Pretending not to know a thing.

Nothing happened. Not a thing.

No…..Not anything.

Open your eyes and see.

Close your eyes and flee.

I want to cling…I must know,…

No! Not know!

………..All I want is to bring,

Order to the chaos,…. in everything!

K. Aldaya, 12/23/11

Picture: from Serenity: Summer Glau as River Tam; http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xfHjU-Pwxbg/TbLcAMwH0DI/AAAAAAAAAS8/eXpoGAIw8f0/s320/River%2BTam.jpg

222. An Illusion


Eyes used to the darkness,

Are blinded by the light.

Mouths used to cold,

Will find the hot a painful plight.

Ears used to shrill tones,

Still hear ringing in dead-night.

Noses used to smelling death.

Smell with no corpse in sight.

Hands used to feeling pain,

Will cringe feeling soft, despite.

Souls used to unhappiness,

View happiness an illusions’ invite.

K. Aldaya, 12/20/11

Picture:  “L’amour De Pierrot”, Artist Unknown; http://www.blacksunsoftware.com/pics/illusion/amour_de_pierrot.jpg

221. O’ Pretty Little Thing


O’ What a pretty little thing.

How do you not, now know?

That you are here to bare your self;

Naked. Soul-aglow.

Porcelain skin and glazed, glassy eyes,

Gaze a world of whips; chains.

Hands are icy-cold, stone’lly things;

This you’ll learn in pains.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Dance and spin ’round for me.

For I am master. You the slave.

Ah, dream of what will never be!

Only the sweeter to taste….touch….

When lips meet each new crack.

My doll you steadily break way,

To each piercing whack.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My favorite little toy.

Stop escaping from our play times,

And in pain find joy.

Soon, my dear, you’ll be so ugly,

From all your hopeless dreams,

That I will have to leave you ‘lone,

To drown in your screams.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My broken little doll.

Savor the torment and the care,

Damaged toy so small,

For that is what you were made for;

To give pleasure to us.

To play and cry blood-tears for us,

And ne’er make a fuss.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Black-fractured porcelain doll.

Now I must leave you,

(Didn’t listen….so freed you)

To hang by the neck on my wall.

You could have accepted your place,

But you had to dream more.

Now you’ll be broken forever.

Toy doll turned a criminal and whore!

K. Aldaya, 12/15/11

Picture:  Artist Unknown; (Some writing in corner but can’t make it out?) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4029/4655914640_888667c445_o.jpg

218. Faceless Foe


Today I’d really like to know,

How does one face a faceless foe?

Where can I go?

What can I do?

When past is behind, and although,

I know it’s there (fleeing to-and-fro).

How can one view,

In the dark, black and blue?

K. Aldaya, 06/20/11

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://images.forwallpaper.com/files/thumbs/list/22/229308__shadow-man-hands-silhouette-drops-glass_t.jpg

217. Betrayal

Today I saw across the way,

A little girl all dressed in gray.

She made no sound but seemed to say,

“What am I to do with day?”


I laughed and laughed, and in the fray,

The sun had set…..now time to pay!

The girl sang out….”Betray”…..”Betray”…,

I screamed, “Go away!”. “Please go away!!”

I closed my eyes, turned in dismay,

And heard a heavy whisper say,

“Did you forget I’d gone astray?”

Crimson tears fell in disarray.

“Sorry”, I cried, as I faded away.

Today as I walked across the way,

My reflection in a glass doorway,

Lay bare vestments of scarlet gray.

K. Aldaya, 06/16/11

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://24.media.tumblr.com/b1607074d0339d7dc2970c7ceee28d73/tumblr_mhhfreGmFr1ryfc77o1_500.jpg

214. Scream or Shout


So many thoughts inside my head,

But how to get them out?

I wish I knew, or had one clue,

As to how to scream or shout!

All this pain locked away,

Since the dawn of time.

My skin is pain, although in vain,

I ask to know my crime.

Rock is cold and has no soul,

And feels not pain or sorrow.

How is it then, my skin feels it when,

My soul hides deep in marrow?

So many thoughts inside my head,

But how to get them out?

They hide behind, walls of stone and bind….

My tears:  They scream…..they shout!

K. Aldaya, 05/23/11

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.free-hdwallpapers.com/wallpapers/abstract/173332.jpg

196. The Great Inundation


Days of light, and black of night,

The endlessly faded-years,

Arise in mind, the wish to find,

The ground unwashed with tears.

Shadows of night,

Flashes of light,

Drip in and out the eyes.

What can I say of where I’ll stay,

When rivers run and rise?

Wooden floors, and creaking doors.

I do not dare to linger more,

For waters-rose, sift through the toes,

And send shivers before.

I do not wish to make a splish,

And out of door make ‘scape.

I only ask, what is my task,

For drying times’ landscape?

I know this house has been a house,

Through myriad ages and storm-rains.

What is, just is, and what is…,

Has left me with these pains.

Give me a firm place to stand firm,

Within the flood-torn remnant thoughts,

Of the mind, which I still find,

O’er-run and soaked with fraughts.

K. Aldaya,  4/20/06

Picture:  “Flooded Subway-Murder” by etwoo on Deviant Art; http://etwoo.deviantart.com/art/Flooded-subway-Murder-174655998

183. Note to Self: That’s What You Get


Why can’t I forget those days?

Those lingering memories: a phase,

Of life so long since passed.

Though hours and years have flown away,

The visions burn and steadily prey,

Upon my undead soul.

None bring up, but sights remind,

That the past is well behind,

Yet still so felt and real.

Hate is there for its’ own sake;

Hating the hate that lies awake,

To chaos hope with guilt.

Hate and love both held within,

Wailing loud of selfish sin.

Who cares how things had been!

This life is hard for everyone.

Isn’t mine just another one?

Lacking a strong spirit?

Weakness and self-pity there,

Deep in my mind, create despair.

Unwarranted. Unjust.

I’m the real freak and con,

The one who cannot move on.

Who keeps evil alive.

I deserve what I feel here,

Every pain and every tear;

Figments of a horrid head.

I cannot forget those days.

Dreams and memories a haze,

Of pre-tarnished truth.

Nothing will e’er change what be,

Within a heart that cannot see,

That it should settle for,

Deserving pain forever.

K. Aldaya, 11/4/05

Picture:  “Can You See The Ghost? IV” by AlexandraSophie on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Can-you-see-the-ghost-IV-165270619

164. Be At Peace Little Ones


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/

156. Falling Rain


The body won’t forget what the mind wants to,

So I’m stuck with these old feelings,

And a constant aching-clue,

As to why there are no ceilings,

On this house or any other.

A protective realm of dry,

Under the blackened shadows of the rainy sky.

Bones rust and rot, …hoping to die.

The mind doesn’t want to recall what the body’s kept,

For the mind escaped somewhere while the body slept.

Dreams…0’dreams have brought me here,

To this time I own,

But skin decays, in gripped portrays,

Of storms the mind’s disowned.

The body won’t forget what the mind longs to.

The damage is already done,

Though God’s pulled the years through,

Out of the flood and mounting mud,

Having no reason…not one…haven’t a clue,

For the hours and minutes here are,

Undeserving of a mind.

In a cursed tomb as this with no covering to find….

And there’s one drop…more behind.

K. Aldaya, 8/6/05

Picture:  “Rain Drops” by Austin Tolin on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/austintolin/124121992/in/set-72057594085954911

155. Lost Voice



No words to find,

Within the reasoning of the mind.

Searching, searching, far and wide,

For ways to speak the words confined.


The mouth sewn shut,

To seal the emulating smut.

Searching, searching; Chaos fused,

In pursuit of another cut.


Letters lie lost,

Piercing out a bloody-cost.

Searching, searching,…motion-faded…

Lips present a scarlet, glossed.

Shed no tear,

And mourn no wrong,

For these days continue long.

Redemptions’ voice echoes here,

Speaking out of every wrong.


Another day seen,

In an ever-frightening glean.

For unspoken words of sorrow.

Ravage the flesh unclean.

No words,

No words to find,

Within the furor of the mind.

Searching, searching, the un-heards,

For a voice of humans’-kind.

K. Aldaya, 8/2/05

Picture:  “Silenced” by JolsAriella on Deviant Art; http://jolsariella.deviantart.com/art/silenced-207287676

152. The Worthy Grave


You truly don’t know what the hours can bring,

The shrill stinging-winters, and fresh buds of Spring.

The seasons hastily wither on,

All entangled and used as a pawn,

In the deaths nights discernibly bring.

The graveyards are open for guests or the dead,

And isn’t that you when you sleep in your bed,

Dreaming of a consistent view,

Agreeable to aspirations in you?

Which disintegrate, with all I’ve said.

Don’t worry my plot has been worked myriad ages,

Slumbering shallow there, in ordered stages.

Tombstone reads, “Here lies the dead”,

And yes, I’m still lying here in my bed,

Citing forth head-words to pages.

You truly don’t know what the hours carry,

Floating o’er my ossuary.

I’ve bled, and bled, and bled to live;

But to ghosts, time cannot give,

Blindness to what all can see.

(So just leave your knife inside of me.)

I remember the smell of damp death and earth,

And the screaming silence of broken-birth,

Driven to solace with your purging-pain,

A blade of turmoil and chaos to the brain.

For you see?….

Your souls’ deathbed was granted as my worth.

K. Aldaya, 7/13/05

Picture:  “Feet Strapped Down in Bed” by Mary Ellen Mark: http://www.maryellenmark.com/; http://www.bulgergallery.com/dynamic/images/display/Mary_Ellen_Mark_Feet_Strapped_Down_in_Bed_1976_c1976_1858_41.jpg

147. Black Roses

I thought if I expressed my pains,

The pain would be too great,

That all the flower, in one brief hour,

Would wither in dead-fate.

But I’ve been wrong as so often I am,

Forcing-out the inner world,

Has only made the flowers grow…steady and slow,

Into dark interpretations of my world.


Seeing there before my eyes those tinted-petals,

Swaying in a windswept field.

Shadows set free for all to see,

My mind fogged with unsettles.

I thought the black-blooms would turn,

My eyes to love its’ hue,

And grant this love to rise above,

All thoughts of life in me to view.

But I was wrong, as I’ve always been, about this too.

You cannot hide what lies inside,

To live you must show you.

To the world show all the pains,

Materialize them…they are real.

If they lie, your heart will die,

For flowers need room to reveal.

Thickets of thorns: crimson and black,

Grow ‘neath tear-drowned skies;

Swiftly slicing their way each day,

Through bones and skin to your demise.

My moonlit roses ashen and set,

Far and wide upon my face,

Have released my heart burdens of its’ part,

In fading tears to bloomings’-pace.

Flowers must be able to grow,

And show what must be seen.

Hiding deep pains…draws weep stains,

To choke burdens unseen.

So leave me my field to show,

That I can let each flower,

Grow and be for all to see,

And daily greet each new rain-shower.

K. Aldaya, 6/15/05

Picture:  “Rose Gothic” by Zefir4ik on Deviant Art; http://zefir4ik.deviantart.com/art/Rose-Gothic-144655365

142. Broken Toy


Why is it when you’re near my heart becomes rigid with fear?

Your presence makes me fall back into myself with tear;

Screams descend with minds’-call.

Why is it when you’re here my life progresses disappear,

Into resonant past?

And yet I try to persevere by destroying the cast.

Why is it you appear to chaos my soul with endear?

What did you do to place the horrors of each life-year onto your aging face?

Why is it when you’re near my solitude is made severe?

–Lose everything again–

On my eyes a bloody-smear becomes a perm’nent stain.

Why is it when you’re here distant pain-memories appear?

Cannot escape them now,

Not now, or ever my dear,

For that you won’t allow!

Why is it you appear to float within the hostage-drear,

And love what you destroy?

For with murderous domineer you break your favorite toy.

K. Aldaya, 5/26/05

Picture: American McGee’s Alice 2: Madness Returns; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m160r1FDr61qcr9a8o1_500.png

136. The Buried Past


How can I help you understand,

What I’ve seen and known?

If there’s something to comprehend,

It’s not to use that tone.

Exhuming secrets long o’er-grown,

Isn’t your work of hand.

Tell me how to explain in words,

The scen’ry shrouded,

With stinging o’er-powering senses;

Absorbing the clouded,

Days of what is sought in crowded,

Rooms, found afterwards.

Quick, be still.  Calm inquisitions.

Forcing forth sealed-core,

To recollect its’ provincial,

Ghost-shadows, broke and tore;

Which plague the confines to the pore;

In repetitions.

Please let the time forget itself,

Be ye still and know,

That although I may oft’ look lost,

Hope is found with cost low;

To all who seek to be thou so:

Dwellers for times’-self.

For time must seal itself a grave,

In everyone bound,

By the inhalant-smells of death,

Faulting ‘long cold, hard ground,

Spreading the stark resonant-sound,

Of the ancient knave.

For in each of us there lies,

What cannot be had.

To live, be, in this torrent-sea,

We must lose olden-bad,

And forget the set-stained sad of…,

Days lost to the skies.

K. Aldaya, 5/3/05

Picture:  “The Ecliptic” by Larry Landolfi; https://500px.com/photo/339318/the-ecliptic-by-larry-landolfi?from=user

134. Consention


You asked me to release my heart,

And let you tear it all apart.

You asked me to give everything,

And let you rape the eminent Spring.

I let you stare.

I let you care.

So I must have let you dare…,

To gather innocence for despair;

To mutilate the distinctions,

Between dream and nightmare.

You asked me to stretch forth my hands,

And let you bury ‘neath times’ sands.

You asked me to sing lullabies,

And let you mute the chanting cries.

I let you see.

I let you be.

So I must have let you free,

To alienate the alienee.

To misalign all truth and right,

Ever absorbed in the debris.

K. Aldaya, 4/17/05

Picture: by ecstasyart on Tumblr; http://ecstasyart.tumblr.com/post/117674003058/i-have-a-hand-you-have-another-put-them-together

126. Lost Innocence


Then: a deathly shroud covered the sun.

When: vehement shadows harshly reigned,

Decisively ruling: rerun. rerun.

Repetitive witness in grays and blacks,

Of innocence dead, from go, to the cracks.

Through passionate summers of achieve,

Grew denser the stalkers’ expanse.

A hovering, creeping reprieve.

Tainting the airs of belief in rebirth,

Fogging the pathways to towns of life worth.

What hunters these lost phantoms be,

Slut-trophying…death in a breeze.

Distending the cracks with their new debris,

Constructed cracks of prophesied disgust;

Ends in cruel death…

Starts from a demons’ lust.

K. Aldaya, 2/27/05

Picture:  “Broken Doll” by spacedlaw on Deviant Art; http://spacedlaw.deviantart.com/art/Broken-doll-100896724

117. Past Clouds

The past o’er hovers,

In clouds of thick smoke.

Cov’ring the sun,

Of futures’ yoke,

Hope: held by gun!


If wishes came true,

What man wouldn’t wish,

For azure skies,

Rays of hope to languish?


The sadness.

K. Aldaya, 1/28/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-46dx_VyCBug/Te7mSLsggYI/AAAAAAAAAPw/EzA_lKlvVTs/s1600/11.jpg

109. Seclusion



Years in lone seclusion.

All alone.

Dark, empty intrusion.


No one to hear the screams,

That echoed,

Off these old roof beams.


Dwelling in this castle,

Of ancient.

No kind company’s hassle.


What such a soul would give,

For a voice,

To make the silence live.


O’ to be cared about.

One small glimpse,

To wipe away kinds’ doubt.


Ghosts only fill these halls.

Their shadows,

Bolt across the walls.


Haunted by these shadows,

From the deep,

That speak what ne’er shows.


Desolate phantoms wail.

Vile, dead hopes.

Time does not avail.


Out from tower seeing,

For cov’ring,

Grim forest unfreeing.


Above I oversee,

The mis’ry,

Which is hanging over me.


The sky is dark and cold,

Faded black,

As a nightmares’ enfold.


In this place I cry,

“Find me here,

As I here ‘lone, must lie”.


Eternally lost here,

In castle,

Which in the mind does sear.


No one to hear each breath,

Keeping me,

From the near land of death.


In the corner I hide,

Shaking as,

I so often have cried.


Is where I e’er reside.

K. Aldaya, 12/09/04

Picture: “Girl Interrupted Series IV” by LivingDeadGurlx on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Girl-Interrupted-Series-lV-50416935

106. Crimson Corridors


Deep inside there is a need,

To the very soul, to feed.

In echoed voices in the head,

A calling that does heed,

A relentless urge to bleed.

Crimson halls and corridors,

Endless rows of clos’ed doors.

All lead to the same end.

Self-defeating little whores,

Bleeding out scarlet abhors.

Beyond each door there lies,

A flaming heart which cries,

For unmerciless repent.

Until the vile river dries,

And the corridors’ light dies.

K. Aldaya, 11/25/04

Picture: “Corridor to Hell” by William McLaughlin on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/billmclaugh/2965702055

103. Silenced Dreams

Alone in the Dark 1

I often feel I should not speak,

Of dreams I oft’ have dreamt.

For bitter stories can they leak,

Stirring up much contempt,

And isn’t need irrelevant?

Though longing, long in silence,

For expressioned visions.

A contemplated final sense,

To reasons that dreams run,

With same old things, never done.

K. Aldaya, 11/14/04

Picture:  “Alone in the Dark”, Artist Unknown; http://dark.pozadia.org/wallpaper/Alone-in-the-Dark-1/

102. No One Knows


No. No one.

No one knows my heart.

No. No one.

Sees even one part.

No. No one.

No one can see me.

No. No one.

Can make my soul free.

No. No one.

No one can change this.

No. No one.

Can stop all the sadness.

No. No one.

No one can know me.

No. No one.

Can in my soul see…,

No. No one.

K. Aldaya, 11/11/04

Picture:  Artist Unknown, (NECAOOSE??); http://cdn6.mixrmedia.com/wp-uploads/girlybubble/blog/2011/11/my-locked-heart.jpg

95. Too Late


It’s too late. Far too late.

Why do some think they can change things past date?

It’s too late. Far too late.

Nothing can ever change the past: a closed gate.

It’s too late. Far too late.

Things will never go or change.

Past is fate!

It’s too late. Far too late.

Nothing will e’er be better,

So don’t wait.

It’s too late. Far too late.

Don’t think the pain will soon leave,

And be straight.

It’s too late. Far too late.

I know the truth about the past,

That all hate!

It’s too late. Far too late.

None want to believe there is…ever the weight!

K. Aldaya, 11/04/04

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://ih0.redbubble.net/image.6655570.0980/flat,550×550,075,f.jpg

92. A Burning Vision

Sitting still, as still can be,

Knowing that I cannot see,

Anything behind of me.

Hear the creaking ever closer,

But there sit, and do not stir;

Wait for something to occur.

Close, so close , that I can feel,

Breath behind. Almost surreal.

Longing for a screams’ repeal!


Silence but for the soft sound,

As evils’ heart does pound and pound,

In my ears the beats resound!

The terror comes o’er in whole,

A terror without console,

Begetting a tormented soul.

Hand quickly seizes my arm,

So sudden as to cause alarm,

Which foreshadows coming harm.

Frozen. Too scared to make a move,

This vision I must now remove,

For all things to improve.

With a spark of strength I turn,

To see what I cannot discern,

‘Bout this vision that does burn.

Black, cold, and bitter sights,

Fill my heart with dreadful frights,

And a blaze inside ignites.

K. Aldaya, 10/28/04

Picture: “Rabid” by Charles Bodi: http://www.charlesbodi.com/; http://ridemypony.com/index.php/2007/11/16/rabid/

91. Random Thoughts #2

Truth Unseen

Dreams call.

Nightmares shake.

To the living world I wake.

Wishing still,

For clarity,

‘Cause truth is still a rarity.

K. Aldaya, 10/28/04

Winning Despair

Tears alone,

From fears unknown.

Fake’s release,

Forsakes the peace.

Trepidation there.

Won:  vast despair.

K. Aldaya, 2/05

90. Mirror Reflection


I look at the reflection,

A soul to soul projection.

Shadow of a place,

That hides beneath the face.

I stare in deep ferocity,

With heightened luminosity,

Into the eyes that see,

A door with lock and key.

Open with kind docility,

An unsure bearability,

Of what lies beyon’,

In visions long forgone.

A nightmares’ contribution,

Carries swift persecution,

To the soul that knows,

What this doth expose.

This reflections’ exploratory.

Unexplored interrogatory.

Never. Never. Never.

Will I continue this endeavor!

I know well the destitution,

Of past prostitution.

Trapped in mirror’s reflection,

A lost shadows’ inflection,

Only known by my detection.

K. Aldaya, 10/24/04

Picture: “Mirror Reflection by KimRaceQueen on Deviant Art; http://kimracequeen.deviantart.com/art/Mirror-Reflection-208504447

85. The Prison



A cold damp cell to sleep.


In dark silence I weep.


Nightmare dreams do seep.


I dare not make a peep.


Of what I’m soon to reap.


My chastisements steep.


Heart begins to leap.


Closer, shadow does creep.


Sentenced as below cheap.


In entombed dirt heap.


Shivering in nights’ deep.

K. Aldaya, 10/11/04

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://baseballfordinner.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/creepy-michigan-basement.jpg

84. Taunting Ghosts


Ghosts in the corner of your eyes,

Haunt and taunt you despite disguise.

You can’t hide what you have done,

Their tormenting has only just begun.

You can’t hide from them anywhere,

They can find you here, and find you there.

Ghostly visions of a tormented place,

Where you must ever await saving grace.

K. Aldaya, 10/10/04

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://i.ytimg.com/vi/lJarvZMi0gU/maxresdefault.jpg

83. Repression


I can’t touch anything now,

It’s all coming again,

These feelings I can’t escape,

From things that happened back then.

I burn from the inside out,

Losing realities grip.

Touching things made of soft,

That turn stone as a moment does slip.

How can the body keep living,

With the residue of the mind,

Haunting every motion.

A life sentence of rewind.

Please let this all be over.

I can’t take all this again.

Pitted against the recall,

Of closing off from the pain.

K. Aldaya, 10/10/04

Picture:  “Dead Inside” by Pure-Poison89 on Deviant Art; http://pure-poison89.deviantart.com/art/Dead-inside-280258615

82. Unspeakable


I can’t even speak what I’m feeling,

And if I did I’d hurt others.

It’s best if I don’t say a thing,

To save the  life of all others.

I cannot leave, but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

I’d have to be selfish to speak out,

Since I’m the deserver of pain.

What can I do to spare all,

From seeing in what bed I’ve lain?

I cannot leave, but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

I need to somehow make two,

A me to stay and a me to go,

One to keep all others happy,

The other to seek the suns’ glow.

I cannot leave but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

I must keep fighting and hiding,

For the sake of all others near.

It’s what I always must bear,

I must silence now all of the fear.

(Cover, wipe, hide every tear!)

I cannot leave but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

K. Aldaya, 10/7/04

Picture:  “Gallows” by HORNEDQUAD on Deviant Art; http://hornedquad.deviantart.com/art/GALLOWS-341519359

79. Foreign Intent

See a human.

Looks like all others,

Walks alike,

Your reality smothers.

See a being.

Talks as you do,

Must think,

Just like you too.

The truth is,

Your truth is a lie

I’m different.

No human being am I.

Something else,

Not you in the least.

I’m the typical,

Fabled ’bout, outlander-beast.

A derelict,

Similarity in appearance.

If inward showed you’d wish disappearance.

I’m not human,

I’m something different,

Living and thinking with foreign intent.

K. Aldaya, 9/25/04