Monday, April 25, 2011

back to the dark ages...

Ok, so I just got done posting a bunch of poetry written during my last relationship in 2007 and 2008. But there is still some writing on my computer's hard drive that dates back farther still. Back to the previous relationship and much darker times.


Well, I might as well put it all up at once, right?


So in this blog post I am including 3 poems. I don't want to post them in separate blogs, in case my readers get confused and worried about me. The following were written in 2006, during the darkest period of my life. I was in a relationship with a very psychologically abusive man, had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and was actively suicidal. In retrospect, I really had little idea of the truth of my situation. I did not recognize myself as being a "victim". Yet the words I put down at the time were very insightful. That is why I am sharing them with you now, along with some art from the same period.

Again, I originally posted these on Myspace using the name "Marion V. Darkstag" (except for the first) and, even though I abandoned that alias long ago, I will still credit the authorship to that name. 



The Partnership of Division

Almost five o'clock
the door swings wide
the screen hinges grind in their sockets
thud
click
slam
and he's outside

A heavy cough echoes into the air
as the morning chill hits
his blackened lungs

Just one tiny
click
of his cigarette lighter
and he is gone
his long stride absorbed
by the undulating whoosh of rush hour tires
upon the rain blackened streets

No kiss goodbye

I am awake
almost always awake
waiting
breath held
for those minutes to pass

To pass without conflict
to pass
without acknowledgment
that for those few moments
we are
awake together
alone together
and totally uncomfortable in
each other's presence

We pass without a word

Sometimes I pretend
that I have gone to bed with the kids
furtively hiding
that I have been up all night
again

Sometimes
I intentionally wait for him to get up
so as not to
disturb him
before I take my turn in bed

But he hears my morning footsteps
upon the stairs
he knows
I am not sleeping

"I love you"
has become mere pleasantry
a phrase to fill the empty air between us
as we dance the steps
of parting
following the choreography
of avoidance
live together in
the partnership of division

Originally written April 15th, 2006 



"The Woman Inside" Mixed media, 2006.



TV Documentary: A Natural Disaster of the Mind

She scrunches into the corner of the sofa,
its blanket throw stubbornly slipping down
to reveal the gaping tears in its fabric.
She sits on a throne of misshapen pillows
her legs tucked compactly beneath her.

Her eyes gaze bleakly in agitated boredom
at the multi-colored flickering of the TV screen.
She is waiting for the hours to pass
until something comes on to hold her attention.

He stretches across the sofa
long legs sticking out awkwardly over the side.
He sinks the exhaustion from his towering body
into the already straining framework of the couch.
He is covered with a layer of dust that is
encrusted to a day's worth of perspiration.

He rests his head upon the pillow of her lap,
sharing the anecdotes and frustrations
of the previous 12 hours of hard labor and co-worker drama.
They glance occasionally at the flashing TV,
waiting for the hours to pass
until something comes on that will make them laugh.

*************

She had been gaining, slowly, her sense of balance.
Her mood rose and fell in a marked rhythm
synced with the oceanic tides of her hormones.

Her senses were as deceivingly innocuous as a steep mountain
draped in gleaming white robes of hard packed snow,
when she found herself helpless
trapped in the aftermath of a silent but swift avalanche of depression.
Her connection with the world was cut off
by an enveloping blanket of bone chilling pain
that suffocated her will to thrive, to fight,
her actions crippled by the freezing crystals
that formed beneath her skin.

*************

He rests his head in the pillow of her lap,
darting questioning glances at her drained countenance.
In an attempt to be understanding, to solve the problem at hand,
he barrages her with questions.
"I don't know" she replies in honest futility.
"It just happened."
Finally he accepts her lack of explanation and, dropping the subject,
they turn their attention to the seductive TV,
which is finally becoming more interesting.

*************

The anxiety of claustrophobia possesses her
as her essence wanes in the crushing weight
that has fallen, freezing, upon her.
Her family pleads for her loving attention
but she frantically dodges their talking and hugging,
as her flash frozen mind threatens to shatter
as the ice invades and expands the fissures in her foundation.

*************

He rests his head upon the pillow of her lap,
and suddenly stares, inspired by deep love,
intensely and infinitesimally into her eyes.
She averts her head, in shame and fear,
she knows her eyes reveal a world of polar harshness
and she cannot bear for him to see the sudden tension
that has evoked an armament of icicle daggers.

Keeping her discomposure under a silent facade,
she breathes a sigh and lays down her anger
saddened by his blinded mis-fortunate timing.
"On any other day," she mourns to herself,
"Please, not now. Not like this."

The screen suddenly freezes, glitches, goes black,
minutes before the show they had been waiting to see,
a show that makes them laugh, together.
"Fucking cable."
They move to the bedroom, turn off the light,
and adjust the antenna on the upstairs TV.
*************

The mild environment slowly melted her tomb
and exposed her limp and broken will
splayed on the dirty brown snow of despair.
The noise in her head went dead,
her mortal functions went auto-pilot.
*************

His arms and legs are spread across the bed
while she lay precariously upon the few remaining inches on one side.
He believes that his passion will move her, warm her.
He pulls her into him, and his long limbs fold over her
closing around her like a carnivorous plant.
He rises on hands and knees, playfully kissing her,
and trying to distract her from their show on TV.

Exasperated, she rolls with him onto his back
and lays herself down at his side.
She positions and contorts to his best advantage
and as he gropes and pulls her, plunges and grasps her,
her thoughts remain focused on the droning TV.

Originally written by Marion V. Darkstag
June 28th, 2006





"Torn" Acrylic. 2006






Stigma

It was a choice no one understands
unless at some point they have
made that choice for themselves.
But, as did I, they failed.

IT'S A SIN
IT IS WRONG
YOU'RE SO SELFISH
HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US?

Death didn't come for me.
Yet again. Despite all pre-meditation
my M.O. was filled with imperfections
as were my every thought.

JUST SNAP OUT OF IT
WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE
GO AWAY WITH YOUR PROBLEMS
SO THAT WE AREN'T FACED WITH OURS.

I have not pierced through the thin membrane
that held me inside the reality of life.
But I find myself exiled into the realm
of the internal torment I tried to escape from.

YOU'RE A FUCKING PSYCHO
WILL YOU HURT US TOO?
YOU'RE A FACELESS STATISTIC
AND WE'RE AFRAID OF YOU.

The life I had grown so numb to
now shackles, whips and stabs me.
It kills me to be alive, to feel
and see the betrayal in all of their eyes.

Originally posted by Marion V. Darkstag
July 20th, 2006 





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