Posts Tagged Chocolate
Broken Spirits with Smooth and Soft Cookies
I am a mad man with big disease,
and it’s nice to be able to accept that
in a globe that spins continuously,
dumping me in and out of brightly-gray cement
that always seems as though it is ready
to cure and freeze me.
But I never freeze, continue tumbling,
keep breathing through the gray,
hoping someone will accept me
in return, for who I might be or might
have been.
I accept my disease
while chewing on my chocolate,
evenly, with Buddhist aplomb, but
I do not, can not
accept my self.
And so those tubby entities
continue to smother me,
and I wonder why worry
about such an inconsequential life,
for it is over so soon.
The Hurtful Empty at Dessert Today
Delicious brownie thing with chocolate mousse
and the richest damn frosting, sticking gallantly,
and smoothly lunging in, I feel that joyous murmur
welling up, not gurgling, saying, “mmm, soooo good.”
I’m in Hell.
Sitting in a room full of people,
alone and by myself,
hoping I did not praise the dessert aloud,
and I think I wish that people would think of me
like a chocolate dessert, like I think of this dessert
because that is how I think of many people,
especially when my depression isn’t choking
all of my spirit, but I am alone because not one
of hundreds would choose to be around me,
making me even more tortuous than I normally would be.
God, please make me a sweet dessert, and let people
see through all of the detritus of a ruined soul
with a broken spirit who sits alone thinking
he surely doesn’t deserve another desert.
And I go somewhere where the others don’t go
so that it won’t look like I am an intolerable
human being, but my self-hate is rich.
If one could get through, there is marvelous joy,
but I sit here and cry at my horrible odds.
We Met at the Bottom of a River
The last I remember, seemingly alive, I was judging the business owners in the flat prairie with webs of railroad tracks in the valley on the way to the city for continuing to operate businesses that were flooded every couple years and wondering how they could possibly acquire insurance. It was not a 100-year flood, but it was a major flood.
I seemed consciously aware of being dead to the prior world because I was standing in sifting mud, dark chocolate brown, completely under water in an area that seemed clear only for me, surrounded by thick cloudy water that was so dirty, it appeared to be milk chocolate sauce, or perhaps more accurately, the stuff that came out of my dachshund, Daisy, that should have been solid but was only soft liquid because she had her frequent digestive problems, and I was breathing the clear water in and out as if it were my sustenance, staring at a beautiful woman with a silky dress, long and reaching the river bed but with an intriguing slit running up the left leg.
I know my angels. I’ve felt my angels but I had never seen my angels.
The woman was my angel and I was dead to the old world. I was certain. She was staring at me and by her stance and facial expression, I knew that I was expected to be doing something to meet unknown requirements. It was like my first day on the job, hoping my new boss doesn’t think she made a horrible decision by hiring me. I was nervous, but I stood waiting for her to give me instruction, waiting in my new world.
All of the spiritual wreckage, the trail of sick damage in my old world was running through my mind at a super high speed with a whine in the sound, and I was hoping hell would treat me kindly. My intentions were almost always good regardless of my outcomes, and I was praying in a fashion that some entity in this new world might recognize that, but I was doubtful.
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It’s Inspiration Monday VII but it’s only I (roman numeral I, not me) for me. The title of this piece was one of the great prompts. Check out BeKindRewrite’s post for other intriguing efforts.
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