Post by Nicole on Nov 25, 2005 17:10:25 GMT -5
Laughing through a breath of insanity. I broke up inside. My friend full of spirit left. She took mine spirit with her. My pain was subsided by an empty flame. The kind that is filled with blue and white on the inside. Almost empty looking. Empty likemy previous life as a bi female. Looking now for no woman. Looking for nothing. Just sitting waiting for my breath to become a reality when I pass. When they find my art. My words, my life on a page. It was all I had to give to them, my children. That they could know me deep within. Yet I do not speak of the gift. The one I have that rare few know of. The breath that touches the air from my lips. Now years later, smoke free. It was all I could do back then to remove the nicotine frommyself. To get away from the drug that almost took my father's life 11 times that week in 2004. The week he was in University of Michigan hospital for having 11 heart attacks. He was so bad that his heart attack would begin as he started to sit himself up in bed. So bad that he could barely use the restroom. I stared at him that very last cigarette we smoked together outside of the hospital door in the dead cold winter night. Him in his wheelchair and I in my coat. Shivering as we puffed the cancer, lung killing cigarettes. It was that night I would decide taht I refused to die like my father. Him with his grey eyes. black hair and German olive colored complexion. I looked apon his face. The face that I wonce love adn hated so many times. He was only a man. One that I loved deep in my heart.
It seamed that no matter what I did I could not find his sanity. Ilooked and loked for it. I tried to be "real" with him. I tried to reach deep inside his endless empty soul to pull some sort of real emotion fromhim. Some sort of reality that matched my own.Some way for our minds to colide. Our feelings to meet. Or simply for us to have atleast one thing emotionally in common. Atleast one morsel of energy. To remind me that he was the father that I knew. Teh father that he was when I was just a small child looking into his eyes.
It seamed that no matter what I did I could not find his sanity. Ilooked and loked for it. I tried to be "real" with him. I tried to reach deep inside his endless empty soul to pull some sort of real emotion fromhim. Some sort of reality that matched my own.Some way for our minds to colide. Our feelings to meet. Or simply for us to have atleast one thing emotionally in common. Atleast one morsel of energy. To remind me that he was the father that I knew. Teh father that he was when I was just a small child looking into his eyes.