Velocity of Sad

 

    I feel it already; this despondency is eating me whole. What's a girl supposed to do about such incurable diseases? I continue to return to the same conclusion of humbly accepting defeat and wearing the Mask. The Mask  hides the flesh eating virus and keeps a painted smile. The Mask makes me tolerable. There is no desire to be a burden to anyone, but my sadness encumbers everyone. I cannot simply be sad or lonely or cry. I aught skip down the invisible path with my eyes gauged out, mouth sown shut and heart in a jar I'll inevitably smash to pieces. Maybe even hum a tune for my few but avid listeners. Lye between my teeth about hope and faith and future. Then, in my solitude, sink into and unleash the disease in all it's horror. Focus on it solely so I might stare her in the face and question why she's returned to antagonize me.

  It will only fester below the surface until the space is so full of empty it bursts from the pressure and the whole heaping carcass is run over with maggots. If this is not yet hell, then I am most assuredly rotting away in limbo. Not even able to climb to the gates but one of those souls who must sit and wait. Governed and ruled by a time that never seems to pass.

  Did someone pull the rug out from beneath my feet while I wasn't looking? My soul aches and cracks, blind sided by the absence of something it cannot explain. The wind knocked from it, smothered by a " Have a nice day!" The plastic bag with the complacent grin, making a mockery of this whole suicide scene. Where are the rotten tomatoes? I suspect they'll be hurled at me any time now. I am deaf, blind and mute in her face. Only the ability to feel the pins and needles of more and forever loss. The perpetuation of loss stalking like a shadow for months at a time. I cannot express articulation, I cannot see past, I cannot hear to understand. Forbidden to feel my own pain or thrust it from me. My propulsion is pushed back onto my chest with the laughing cries: you are not to feel! Yet I feel.. the taught strings binding my heart and begging it simply hold itself together even if the strings have begun to dig into the soft tissue and draw from it blood.

  My angel says," It's always darkest before the dawn." I can hear you but my lamp has run out of oil and you are no where to be found. This inspiration is not applicable here. There is no sun in my world when you have fled from it. Only this intrepid, insipid darkness. Without the sun, how can you hope to greet the dawn? See for me, blind faith cannot manifest a rising son. I am imprisoned by this, my own feelings. This beautiful notion that this life could know happiness and peace and connectedness I never knew existed. Imprisoned knowing I must wait and waste away, with waning resolve and eclipsed sanity, apart from your arms. Your eyes that contain my whole world.

  In truth I have no words to chisel away at this wreckage. No poetry or prose to capture this immense, indescribable feeling of what it is to finally taste fullness and in the same instance, total emptiness. I get to thinking this is to bottom out. This is truly lost, bogged down, pristine pain. There is no escape from this. No one to compromise my feelings, saying," This isn't for you." No, the hitch is knowing this is for me. The discernment of the blind path laid out ahead of me. This path is so precipitous and I am raw flesh rubbed down with salt. How to climb such an arduous path, make it through such constant, scorching malady. I am left with no choice but to wrestle my own starving self into pushing past all impossibility as it is equally impossible for me to conceive of life absent of you. I could not rob myself, could not rob you of this thing.

  So I retire to kill my self, beat my self bloody with the sheet force of velocity to conquer this would be windmill and meet you at the crest of the hill. I don the Mask of a happy deception, who's secret makes me ill and feed's the disease. No one is so lucky and so unfortunate to perceive this puzzle. To with such Olympian resolve, see the cliff with their eye's closed and still jump.