280. The Death of Dreams

in_the_mirror_by_sad_cat-d3geaay

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

238. Inside My Head

room-with-bed-fineartamerica.com-GaryHeller

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

232. A Sick Joke of a Poem

everything_dies_by_msdudettes-d5iwsd9

What is the point?

Tell me what could it be?

What could be the use of life so lone and empty?

I’m tired of trying to lie to myself.

This life of a prison suffocates me!

Hate my body.

I despise all the games.

I’m tired of playing all these filthy games!

I love my family so much it hurts.

The joy I find in them hell quickly claims.

No matter what…

No matter what I do;

They will die, or I, and time will fade what we knew.

No longer will I hold them or see them.

E’er left with bitter-dreams of phantoms I once knew.

It is all wrong!

I have to fix this joke.

What a sick f***in’ joke this is…A sick joke!

How can I enjoy what will not last?

Love deeply this flower….now watch it choke?

K. Aldaya, 09/13/12

Picture:  “Everything Dies” by thefoxandtheraven at Deviant Art; http://thefoxandtheraven.deviantart.com/art/Everything-Dies-334093725?q=sort%3Atime%20%28%28everything%20dies%29%20AND%20%28by%3ATheFoxAndTheRaven%29%29&qo=0

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

Can_you_see_the_ghost__IV_by_Supermalade

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