Burnt Beyond Recognition [Parts 1 & 2]

Stephen Pimley | Drugs,Family,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Friday, July 26th, 2013

What is a life worth if to save it you must destroy all that it was? I thought I was wise enough given the circumstances. I thought I was doing all that I could. I tried holding a magnifying glass to the sun and burning a hole through my skull to exorcise all the dark and slithering things inside. I am left with a grey void where there was once an endless spring of light. I close my eyes and look inside a cold static field made up of a billion sparkles instead of the defined and brilliant images that used to form there. My ears pick up background hums from electronics and the creaking of an old ceiling fan where there was a chorus of neon angels playing tribute. There is a place deep inside of us where mirrors are meant to aim their focus into a single guiding ray. It is this core, heart of being that boiled off under the onslaught of my misdirection.

I wish I could describe my brain damage in a way that other people could understand. Something is gone where I used to be. I wish my family could stop believing in me so it won’t hurt so much when I have to leave them. This signal is breaking up and cutting out and I still haven’t had a chance to grasp what it was all about.

Preamble

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts,Writing | Wednesday, July 24th, 2013

I lay you back onto the mattress and loom over with my hands on each side of your shoulders. Left is just enough enough space for you to wriggle free should the fear and memories flood back. Our eyes are locked and wide but I am no predator, and you are no prey. Bared teeth meet your earlobe in a pinch as I whisper all the words I can push out before our animal takes over. I am so cold and lost inside of this shell. Please come inside and find me, free me. The locks on our prisons were made to be broken without hammers, files, and bars. Still yet, just as much force, sweat, and screaming. I want you to sew up my heart with your hands and your lips, your moans and your hips. I need you to place your soul inside of me the same ways I place my body inside of you. We the lost souls of Earth, in order to form a more perfect union, establish trust, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote each other’s welfare, and secure the blessings of love to ourselves and our children, do ordain and establish this united state. Suspended in plasma… tears… passion. We are merged and unbroken. We are one.

Solitude [Part 2/??]

Stephen Pimley | Friends,Illness,Thoughts | Wednesday, July 24th, 2013

The types of women I am drawn to almost exclusively have a history of trauma/abuse. So far I haven’t identified any other types for which my only positive personality traits are of any use. I guess I should preface the explanation by pointing out that my overwhelming capacity for empathy is always a double-edge sword. I can feel so much for someone, their every tear becomes a drop of blood seeping out of my heart. It opens me up too far and lets me be used by people that don’t deserve my attentions. I feel like I must be the most gullible man alive. I’ve fallen for women that completely fabricated terrible stories about their past for attention. Not only with me, but the dozens of other guys they were using in exactly the same manner at the same time. When they got caught there were no apologies or explanations. They just disappeared. Perhaps, to find a more clever way to do the same in another arena.

More often I’ve been used by people with some minor affliction or another exaggerated to dire proportions at the time. The problem being that once I’ve exhausted myself towards their cause or they find their own recovery elsewhere, I am not needed anymore. Worse even, I am a reminder of what they used to be and I am avoided and cast aside immediately. There are no thank you’s or strung out goodbyes. It’s as if I never was. I suppose I can understand their motivations. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less.

As far as the positive effects are concerned, I have genuinely helped people on their road of recovery. At least, I’d like to think so despite whatever that insidious doubtful voice whispers into my ear. I have given what others cannot. I have shared what others are afraid to express. I have welcomed the tears others suppress. You are not alone and you don’t have to cry yourself to sleep in shame or regret when I am around. What has this gotten me over the last decade and then some? A few distant friends I can contact every month or so. A lot of terrible memories I wish I could purge from my mind. So much closer to my death without anyone to hold me in my final hours.

Solitude [Part 1/??]

Stephen Pimley | Friends,Illness,Thoughts | Wednesday, July 24th, 2013

I know that I am too clingy and in need of emotional reassurance constantly. I never know when I am doing something wrong and pushing someone away. All the persistence with which I attempt to counteract these fears ends up pushing them away just as successfully. I’ve simply given up on my abilities to interact romantically in a healthy manner. Whenever possible I deflect or avoid any woman that shows interest in me. When it’s long distance I generally try to get them interested in someone else. I point out realities they refuse to accept like the tons of potential mates near them that are just too intimidated to approach them. I take their compliments of myself and twist them around in my mind because I cannot accept that anyone sees me as anything different than this horrible, twisted monster I see in myself. I tell them it is only natural for them to have feelings for a guy that does as much as I do to care for their emotional well-being but that in itself does not constitute a basis for attraction. It will always come to head with an argument that ends our friendship instantly or they will fade away from my life as they lose interest.

99 Days {revision 29}

Stephen Pimley | Drugs,Friends,Illness,Writing | Monday, July 22nd, 2013

I am not here to meet, or greet, or attempt to know why
There is nothing to be done to – or for my
Deck that’s cut and will not alter
Cards born to fail and wills to falter
Alas ne’er stroke of luck for hands to play
I must fold again to mark this day
Like all the other withheld conations
My mere reflections and observations…

I could turn my eyes back matte, exposing sockets now dimmed and empty
Revealing all too much of life spent blindly pushing through

The brier neither escapes the scrapes nor scars
For you’ll not – time to admire as you’ll too brush
Back the hair tangled, rotten, or serene
A little plastered, shorn, or keen
Strung to pale white newborn skin
Slipped from youthful hands, aged within
Bouncing and slamming against the tiled floor
Two eager heads
   Too quick
      To know a little more

The agony that promise empty came to be
Was truth that stormed so distantly
That foreigner insider inside her – all while
I tried to say the words to which I had
Not the depth or breadth of breath
As her car faded down a swollen street
To a warmer life, to a softer beat
Of men whose smiles will react
So nerves inflicted will not act
To all these things done to and for
Not the things I’ve seen before
Or all the things we tried to say
‘Fore the rest come and wash away
The stain on my lips of ever past
Of times and tears that will not last
In minds, like mine, feeding these fears…far, far too fast

And why am I thinking here again?
I promise myself though never mend
These truths or doubts of mine mind
Portend of mental rifts and never end
The reflections of here, there and more
The shades upon the pains hast before

So I must sit back and reflect:

On days ninety-nine long
Days like these, cards like these
Cuts of mortal hand where change cannot
Touch the day, today, everyday
Lift nor sift nor right the wrong of
Today the day – one hundred strong

©2006, 2009, 2010, 2013 Stephen Pimley

Hero

Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Dreams,Thoughts,Writing | Sunday, July 14th, 2013

I dream of her every night because my heart and mind refuse to let go of this last ray of light. She is the Minotaur’s labyrinth, and I am the desperate soul braving her twisting depths for an answer. Imprisoned in this dark construction of my own design, I yearn to knock the walls before me flat with a bellow of frustration and rage. Whatever powers I may possess, nothing but pure determination seems to hold any offer of revealing an unobstructed path back into her warm embrace. Night after tear-bled night it’s always the same pitfall that shatters the flagstones beneath my feet and returns me gasping into my pillow. I come upon a crossroads of many paths and before me stands a great fountain feeding into a garden blanketed in mist. Cherubs of the finest crystal fly forth from a base of green-veined marble and blast upon their trumpets to usher streams of water for the lily and fronds beneath. I kneel down and cup my hands in the waters for refreshment when in my reflection a foul horned beast gazes back at me. My slit eyes widen in shock as behind me I hear the crunch of gravel beneath a boot and a sword being unsheathed. Starting out from under my sheets I wipe the sweat from my brow and wonder. Am I doomed to destroy everything I love? Am I doomed to be destroyed by everything I love? Another night comes and another question remains unanswered.

©2009, 2013 Stephen Pimley

Somebody to Catch You

Stephen Pimley | Friends,Illness,Thoughts | Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013

The harder I try, the more I fuck everything up. Is the morale of the story to do nothing at all? I wish I was one of those people that doesn’t care about anyone else. I wish I could sit idly by and focus on myself while the world falls down around my head. I wish I didn’t feel like the last dying soldier holding the beasts at bay while the villagers escape. I wish I could cast aside every sense of responsibility I feel and kill myself once and for all so I could find peace in oblivion. Why doesn’t every one else pick up the slack? Where the fuck are all the adults when you need someone to brush away your tears and tell you tomorrow will be better? How long does it take them to notice that you bleed from every little thing the world throws at you? Just because they can push through the bushes blind and safe doesn’t mean they should never stop to look back at how deep the thorns are cutting into you. They’re cutting away your future one day at a time. They’re cutting away your dreams one wish at a time. They’re cutting away your voice one friend at a time. They’re cutting you down to the bone and you’re never quite sure if you should scream for help or silence yourself and do it again. Why does it take a teen feeling the blade on their own body to notice others have the same taste on their tongues? Why does it take a parent having their child attempt suicide before they realize how deep the wounds have traveled? Why is the public conscience so blind to anything beyond getting through the day?

Somebody has to care. If we don’t, you’ll fall through the cracks like we did when we were younger. You never believe it but we were just as lost and scared as you are today. Trust doesn’t come easy. It’s one story you can relate to at a time. It is one fear you never shared with anyone and yet there is this perfect stranger thinking the same thing… If you push us back we may retreat. It never means we don’t care. It means we remember how much we pushed others away. It means we’re afraid of making you feel so cornered you’ll never feel safe with us again. It means we know how hard it is to give someone a key to a lock you never wanted open. Give us a little window. Give us a little glimpse. We’ll look inside and what we see may surprise you. Where you feel hurt we see the strength to carry on. Where you feel scars we see the knowledge to help others. Where you find no dreams left to lean on, we’ll show you that a simple touch; a hug that means the world is the glue that makes shattered things whole again one brittle little shard at a time. If you want to see them back together in all their splendor you’ll have to be patient and honest. Healing that means the world to you also means the world to us. We might not have had anyone that cared or noticed when we were you. Please, just give us the chance to make a difference before we die.

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