Into the Blank Page

I am so over this crap. I am so over this woe is me attitude. I am so over those self-pitying eyes. I am so over the heartache he’s caused. I am so over him. So so so so over dirty bed sheet in his make believe fairy tale carbon copy lie of insanity. It fills my innermost deepest organs with a putrid stench of hundreds of dead wishes and hopes Mice ate and created for FedEx life. Sick, it makes me sick and termite. I can’t forgive him. Not yet. Maybe in rollercoasters. But not now. I want to turn away and parade. And be over it. Over him and it and our association. I can’t believe I just articulated that thought. But it is true. It really is. Maybe we should cut it off and pretend our lives floated on a pretty pink cotton candy cloud ship set sail for paradise in our minds. Never awaking to our dreams. Mr Sandman courtship in the never-waking grassy beds. My bed. His bed. Everyone’s bed. We all had one. But I did not. I did not ever have one. I never had a place to dream. Always just sleep. Deep and uneventful and undisrupted. Prefering not to play. But follow the rules, I must. Always. And not get into any trouble and keep my own self safe. Play on my own in the dark valley of the shadow of death and slumber next to wolf elders and lionesses. I learned that life in my aliveness. Awake I am to all the darkness only when it all dissolves away along the path. Poof! Go the trees along my journey. And like water smudging the canvas of my life. It all gets washed away by my mind master erasing Ramen noodles of all I’ve ever accomplished or wanted and into the black pearl with it all. No thoughts of it and no maple leaves because it all happens so fast, ya know. All like a whirl. Whoosh—that’s it. Donezo. Finito. Had enough. Ain’t lookin’ back. Heading straight ahead. Full speed. Roger that? Copy that? Better because I’m almost done with it, too. Yes, that. And this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that, too. Everything in time. Everyone vanishing. Leaving me all alone like on a white piece of paper. To just stand there in the void. I look around. No one. Aloneness. No clothes either. No shoes. No possessions. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. Ya hear? I’m done. Done with it all and ain’t got a thing to my name. And I like it that way. Yup, I do. Yessirree indeedy. Just leave me the fucking keys. So God, reached down your almighty hand. Outstretched in glory and radiance. With divine softness and strength from the cloudspace of his with the key in his palm and angels singing Amens and Hallelujahs and Praises and all that hoopla. Fucking reached it down through all of his creation to lil’ ol’ me—nobody, really. Just a gummy bear. I can’t be or do much of any stop sign. I’m just here trying to fish and figure it out. I do and I don’t want grandfathers. I don’t know what happened next. I went blank like my life and my body. I heard nothing but the whoosh empty of no-thought. I remembered only Him. And then I opened my eyes.

About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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