Saturday, December 24, 2011

A Real Nightmare Before Christmas

The holidays-to many- (the sheer thought of them) brings such marvelous images to mind, memories of years past but also promises of this year to come.

The mind is not so kind to those who hurt.

Intrudes without a warning.
Shut up. Closing In. Sliding.
Slowly the walls grind, pressing down and inward.
Smaller...the space to live, to exist to breath naturally, yet so-not-normal to the average person with an average working brain, with fibers, cells, the chemical uptake, with a spark, a leap, a jump across the synapse.

Of not! Out of rhythm, a mis-fire, a bit of energy is the passing chemical so taken for granted in person who lives day by day above the riff-raf of those with less ability.

It is all wrong.
What I see is what is not in place.
Nothing being where it should be.
Discarded, unwanted, not right.
A miss is assumed without even a look.
Of course, it must be wrong.

Out of hundreds, what are the odds that I could ever select 'the one' that could receive the sought after appreciation - "approved" - well done - wow, thank you. I really mean it, its lovely. Exactly 'the one' I picked, 'the one' I planned to select.

Why play the game?

A charge of shopping, wrapping and mystery.
The odds are so large against being 'the one' wanted.
What a waste of time and no thanks, just mere haunting grunts of disapproval, followed by a full and depressing grey sigh as futility.

Why do we waltz these dark steps of this unnerving dance? 

Haunting, hollering, hear the grating shriek. The shrill of what could have been, but what clearly is not and never will be.
Just numb darkness.
Hollowness with no capacity to be filled, complete or accomplished.
Always the holiday minstrel tune left unsung, a melancholy drool of dread.

Alone is intoxicating.
Leave me alone. Go away.

Silence is the only sedative - a mere moment of peace is intoxication.

Drunk on not and none--the twins robustly traversing through murky time.

And once upon a time... she died... morbid, sick, and so warped.
It brings joy.
The uglier, the steeper!
A vertical plane, a sheer grip-less wall to climb, or quite more logically to slip, slide, and fall into the abyss of regret, torture and sorrow.

And they all sang underneath the mistletoe that turned into a wiry metalic worm. Tubes of remorse coming, darting, and trying to strike an attack.

If only I could get one bite, a good deep sting, to penetrate the marrow of her soul, to kill the hope, to boil the blood, to curse the shadow lurking just behind, and closing in, foretelling what will be.
We never let go, she will never be free.

Be warned, leave her.
Stay away.
She is mental, in a-not-so-right way, get it?
Fact-check... the history if visible to any clever, practical person in charge.
Don't be trick into thinking she can do or be. Truth be told 'it is never finished".

Laughter - a dark, coal chilly bark of the one called "unlove."
He is coming from what is not, nor never will be.
No need for stabs--a sharp, steel, reflective edge that could slice with ease, like a swipe through butter with a warm, metal blade.

So unnecessary when she is already gone, a prisoner of regret.

A snobbish smirk and the felt movement of air brushes over her bony fingers and in to her outward flaring nostrols the slight breeze brings comfort to the present moment but in reality where-ever it may hide, and precisely where no one will ever find.

Never more, Never, Never, Never more.
How crass! The lever of knowing its forever, the titanium threads tightened in a web so meticuluously weaved.
Clawing about her tender shoulders like a pretend shawl.
They think it wraps about her as a decoration running along the mantle - all for show.
But why?
Isn't it obvious?
It is all about the same.

Such a deafening perfect distraction, and it can be sad how well it works. 

Makes one miss-out on all the fun of the tactless contention--the sharp, jagged words cleverly placed in a festering spot where repeated jabs remain hidden--just under the surface.
They are always there, a dull, pricking nerve.
The source of pressure so easily sends her into a tissy. The wire-trip to anger, an explosion sends bits imbedded into anyone near her presence. 
So guard yourself. Protect. Keep safe. Stay away.
Rejoice! Again, She is all alone. The echo of time ticking away, against itself. Forever to be remembered as a menace, and she longed to be left alone.

It always works, year after year, after year.
The perpetual perfect plan until death do you part.
"It could be worse."

"IT" always can! But that tis OK by me, because stealing her joy and leaving her empty once again is all the holiday cake and ice cream I need to be full.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
And it's all wrapped in pretty paper and stuck with loops of colorful ribbon, in the boxes snuggle under the Christmas tree.

Mystery under the Christmas Tree

What can they be... inside, I mean, of course?

Hope... grace... peace... We are within.
We may not surface, not show, but know no weapon formed against us will ever prevail, and though in the victory dance he is rejoicing like the enemy enjoying his spoil of battles won. It is never, what to him it seems.

Never doubt... in the center core remains a soft flickering flow, a permanent sense of knowing self.

I may be captured-a prisoner held within while here in his dominion of earth.

Don't be sad - he can never harm her, as a sweet child of innocence she runs through the field of daisies and wishing flowers up to her arms like playing in a field of wheat, so full of nourishment and sheer delight.

My love can not be taken away from her, so don't shed a tear. 

She may look tormented, broken, imprisoned by chains of sadness and misery, but it is only the false reflection of what he wants you to see.
Trust me. She is OK.
She may never experience the fullness of living what she knows within while she lives here on earth.

Believe me she breathes easy and peacefully snuggled in close to Me, covered in a rain of colorful sprinkles of lasting joy. She is safe, and happy.

Christmas brings visions of sugar plums, santa traveling, and reindeers dashing - maybe she fails to engage every season, year after year, because she doesn't know how to live the innocent world of holiday charm and wonderful make-believe!

"Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! "

All turned upside down, and inside out - it truly is his greatest fear - she knows happiness, love and contentment within her core being.

Hark, grace is the real nightmare before Christmas to the enemy that wants to rob, kill and destroy the Merry Christmas of every girl and boy. In the end, and in eternity, he never wins.

Game over.

Have a MERRY MERRY Christmas and a New Year filled with hope! 2012

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