And when there is nowhere left to turn, or when you have nothing else, not even hope, all you can do is stand to the best of your ability, even if you can’t take the pain, and face the world.
When all are gone, or when all have abandoned hope, and when there is no one left to help you, all you can do is dig deep and face what comes.
That is all.
It is morning, again.
Another night went by and another gurney took away another inmate, gurgling their last breaths, bleeding from an apparent mauling by the guards and in return, all that was left was the bloodshed inside of an empty prison cell, which we all assume will be filled again before breakfast ends and the day begins.
There is a revolving phenomenon here. I see people come in each day and no one ever leaves. At least, not really.
The darker times can always get darker. And we see this when the new inmates arrive.
They all look the same, regardless of their backgrounds. No matter how tough anyone is when they were “of the flesh,” they are infant-like and weak here.
Everyone is unsure of what they’ll face, unsure of the punishments that have yet to ensue, and unsure of the slithering predators, which are honored and rewarded by the beast, himself, to keep his torture at a respectable level; to hear their cries and allow them to endure while they die in pieces, one scream at a time.
The beast knows what he’s doing. he knows how to lengthen the suffering. How else would he get the job here?
Of course, he knows what he’s doing.
I want to leave this place. I want to be free.
Or even better, I want to relive and re-feel the freedoms that come with the undying nature and the purity of youth.
I want to feel that feeling one has when sitting in a field, bright yellow sun, clear blue sky, and the grass is green, the trees are happy, and all else is sweet.
I want to feel that childlike feeling, like when the carnival used to come to my old town and the Parking Lot at St Raphael’s Church was alive with tiny amusement rides, like the little Ferris wheels and happy carousels and silly little games that lead to prizes lie stuffed animals or tiny orange goldfish that died within days after the carnival.
I want to feel that feeling I used to have when springtime finally came around and the first warm day was enough to thaw the Earth.
Summer sent us a figurative postcard, as if to say, “Don’t worry, son. I’ll be home soon.”
I want that feeling I had when my Grandmother touched me with her hands, softer than silk and more delicate and soothing than a rose petal.
As a boy, I remember riding my bicycle through town and passing an Italian woman placing sheets on her clothing line, outside, in her backyard.
I want that feeling back.
I want to feel the way I did when I played baseball, and little league had their opening day.
I remember the parade through town. I remember the hotdogs with mustard, ketchup, and sauerkraut and the White Rock soda cans, and the stick of gum that came with the packages of baseball cards.
This was a great feeling.
I remember practicing my glove skills when my Father, The Old Man was teaching me hoe to catch a baseball in my mitt or field a ground ball by getting my body in front of it.
I want that dream I’ve had which takes me back to a farm I lived in, back in 1989. I want to be on that hill, which was off to the side of the main farmhouse and on the side of the land, which I had worked when the mowers came through and the grass was cut and gathered for the baler to make hay bales for the cows and the sheep.
I have this dream, which is real to me. I dream about this hill whenever there is no room left for me to retreat.
I have this dream when my struggles are tight and my endurance is questioned.
There is no more time left to resign my post in my real life. And I am stressed, and afraid.
i hate feeling this way.
I hate the oncoming enemies who are threatening my safety worse than the shithouse rapists and the crooked guards who trade with the demons to provide the beast his dues and fees.
(and keep us sick)
I have this dream whenever the pain becomes too insurmountable and the angst or the desperate measures come to remind me that yes, I am here in Purgatory.
I am where I am with no exceptions, no excuses, and no amount of pleading will change the laws of accountability.
I know this
The dream I have is longstanding and has been with me for more than three decades.
I am on a hill, high in the Upstate New York mountains. The air is quiet and the appearance around me is bright and soft.
I am with someone who appears to be faceless, and yet, I know her.
I see her.
She is my love. She is my soulmate.
She is my temptress and more.
She is everything I have ever wanted and everything I have ever dreamed about. She is my heart, and she is my truth.
She is the object of everything I see as pleasing and peaceful.
God, she amazes me.
And oh, how I love her.
And oh, how much love hurts us, beautifully and painfully, and still; I cannot help myself.
She is beautiful and more, she is my Angel, alive and well, and in the flesh—only, I see her in my dreams as brighter and fuller.
I see her as more than just my love. She is the counterweight that balances me. And I love her.
I love her without fear. I love her without hesitation, without condition, and without question.
My dreams always show her the same way with slight alteration.
She has this look on her face.
This is her. This is her love coming back to me.
This is truth exposed and this is the heart of me, recognizing the other half of me is alive and true; and this is her, my dream, my love, my inspiration, my muse, and the ignition to the flames of my heart.
She sees me.
She sees everything, in fact, because she sees through me.
This is her.
She is my purpose and my reason for living and waking and rising each morning. She is my wellspring and my source when facing the day because when there is no room left to fall and where there is no place left for me to seek shelter; I know that somehow, she is my heart and the wealth that supports the dignity behind my soul.
She is the reason why I choose to endure and she is the reason why i loom to survive and stay alive because Hell cannot have me and if Heaven does not invite me, then this will be the only place I see her –
in my dreams.
I have to try
I have to reach her.
Even if I fail and she disappears like she does in my dreams; I have to touch here
I know she is real.
I know she is out there and whether the walls close in on me to crush my soul or if the judges decide to separate me from my existence, —I know that she is mine. I know that she is real.
And I know that I will have to fight with all I have if I am to ever get to her.
She smiles at me in my dreams.
She knows I am afraid.
And she waves towards me to come closer to her.
She is calling to me to come to her.
But my dreams are escaping me and the more I walk towards her, my feet seem to fail, and I seem to stagger.
Then I wake.
I want her.
I want to live.
I want more.
In fact, I want it all, —my dreams, my fantasies, and her as she is, perfect and pure and beautiful too.
I have never been in love like this before.
And I never will be in love like this again.
She is my hope.
She is my freedom.
And the beast knows these things, which is why he looks to separate me from her, to keep me guessing, and confuse me with doubts, until I lose my mind and surrender my soul. Hence, I would be a tool and fortune and fate would have used me to nail the final pieces to my coffin.
Dead and alive.
What would be the difference without her?
When there is nothing left, you have to find whatever it takes to fight back and resist with all your strength.
My back is against the wall; only, because the prison cell is small and there is no place for me to pace back and forth anymore.
They took my life.
They took my freedom.
They took my space and they took away my chance to feel the sunlight.
But no matter what, I will never let them take away my love.
One of the guards saw me smile yesterday.
He warned me:
“Prisoner #7940178!”
Yes, sir?
“There is no smiling here in Purgatory,”
I responded:
Yes, sir.
No smiling.
I understand.
But no matter what they tell me . . .
I swore an oath
I swore to a new truth.
And above all; I swear that the day they steal my smile is the day they stole me.
Understand?
I can’t let that happen.
Not here or even in Hell.
I swear to this.
I swear to you.
I swear to it all.
So, help me God.
I refuse to be fortune’s fool
I love you –
The Written Addiction 