They call her by a different name

Sometimes we meet someone and we know we have met them before,

or maybe that is just me.

That is how I felt when I met her.

I felt,

in my soul,

I am not sure how you feel with a soul

I can just tell you I know how it feels.

I felt in my soul,

like I was repeating an action.

That I had preformed before

that I had preformed before

and done wrong.

You know kind of like in a video game

the feeling of the second play through

When your head is screaming so loud

You say it out loud,

Better get it right this time man

No more failing.

Anyway, now I am ranting,

I felt it,

That I had met her for a reason and she revealed something to me,

in that moment,

a purpose that I am supposed to fulfill

so that I don't have to play through again, because I am running out of time.

There is no more time for running to corners

for secret appointments with figures shrouded in dark anonimity,

No more time for using my mouth to place orders,

Because important things are going on

things I have just started to notice now

because I just fucking opened my eyes.

So when she spoke

and i paid attention

It felt like a resucitation

Like her talking to me about God

was the same as CPR

except she was giving it to a dead body.

I have been dead before,

and apparently I never became alive again,

well not completely

until she spoke and I was like

huh? Like I had been hit with a rock

stoned to life.

She turns paper to stone

She showed me

Ironic,

Because I try and fail to turn stone to paper,

Stone or whatever I see that I throw words at and hope to bounce those that hit it right

HIT IT

No, not anymore

Onto that paper,

so I can deliver them to you

my invisible audience.

But she told me there is something bigger

than me

and this time I am going to pay attention

to the voices

no voice

that sometimes comes me at night when I am alone and afraid

because maybe this time

I can get it right

so I don't keep writing this damn

bloody eulogy for my own funeral

with my own blood on dead trees.

Millennial

I am a rubber duck

Floating down a river,

With a hidden talent.

I can sing.

Rubber ducks can’t sing.

Well, others can’t,

But, I can.

The thing is I can’t speak,

So I can’t tell anyone,

And it’s driving me crazy.

I found out I could sing

By accident.

I was floating,

In peaceful, monotonic, silent

Surrender

Down a river,

When some beautiful stranger

Stepped on me.

His workman’s boots

Ground me into the river,

My rubber head collided with

Callous rocks.

They were

Sharp,

So sharp

I sang

In a beautiful voice

So loud it cut through the water

And everyone heard me

Just once

And that was enough.

I once dug a hole in my head

I have on several occasions, ingested poison

For fun.

I drank it, or smoked it, or stuck it into my blood.

And then stayed up all night or for days

Like a lab rat being studied in a cage,

but I was the test subject of my own experiment.

I have found out what happens

to the human mind

after 12 days of no sleep,

and with tweezers dug out pieces of my own skin

because i thought i saw something that wasn't there.

I have spent hours with my ear under a faucet,

like it was a seashell on a beach,

and allowed the pour water to flow into my ear,

for hours.

I have done all these things, and I am sane. Right now.

But, I understand the desire to consume poison, thinking it will light the darkness.