February 13, 2012

The smell of me on unwashed sheets.

I’m meat. I’m heat.  I’m timed heartbeats.

A voice I wouldn’t recognize as my own.

My soundless breath as I breathe alone.

Thinking thoughts only I will think.

Forgetting my face each time I blink.

 

Makeup stains and unrelenting pains.

Exaggerations and permanent chains.

Rust and lust and fading pulsations.

A list of worries, a book of temptations.

A personal protest for a cause no one knows.

That hidden emotion that always shows.

Why do we break when we’re left on our own?

Our seeds make us sick when they’re not sown.

We all ask ourselves the same tired questions.

We’d push our neighbor down before we would help him.

The thought of all the time that has drifted by.

I’m gore. I’m poor. Too defeated to try.

 

We’re all here to live and to die.

Why do we laugh when others cry?

Crushed by cruelty, saved by anger.

Keep your eyes closed from the threat of danger.

Your touch was once electric, but you lost your spark.

A throbbing, inflamed ego in place of your heart.

 

Whisper in bed, “deliver me from hate.”

I’m apt to break in this brittle state.

Pounding heart and sweating skin,

Whisper in bed, “ forgive us our sins.”

Teeth and grease and feet and smells

Rewrite the line, “On Earth as it is in Hell”

By: Kati B.

February 4, 2012

This woman

Of indeterminate age

And of stature that would make

The most seasoned chiropractor

SNAP

Was covered in

mismatching jewelry

gathered from daring international missions

or

 flea markets.

October 15, 2011

She whispered it was fine

And that she didn’t care

As she was living out

her worst nightmare.

The wind was icy

And the moon fought fog

As she screamed out

like some beaten dog.

He smiled real wide

And exposed his fangs

She tried to brace herself

for the coming pain.

He sunk his teeth in,

In real deep

“Soon, you’ll have a secret you’ll forever keep”

She was never the type

To give in like this

“This can’t be real. Vampires don’t exist”

She knew she couldn’t fight it any longer.

As her push got weaker, his pull got stronger.

The blood dripped down

From her punctured flesh

“It will only hurt when the bite is fresh.”

There’s no going back, you’re forever changed

It feels like every cell has been re-arranged.

You still can’t look him straight in the eye.

You want him to leave, so alone, you can die.

“Remember this, sweetheart”, he sang, smooth and slick.

“Vampires don’t exist.

It was only a kiss.

It was only a kiss.”

em·ber noun

1.a small live piece of coal, wood, etc., as in a dying fire.

2.embers, the smoldering remains of a fire.

Burn out, little ember.

Fade from orange to grey, as you fall, alone.

You burned so bright in the fire.

Evoking ‘ooo’s and ‘aah’s.

Your heat warmed us,

Your dance kept us mesmerized.

The twitching, sparking flames

Entertained us all

But now, you’re nothing.

You’re an ash in the grass.

Why did you fly away?

Did it get too hot?

Did you want to become the grass?

Providing critters with sustenance

Instead of burning and destroying?

You broke away

Now, you’re dying.

You had a purpose

And didn’t serve it.

It wasn’t your calling.

Burn out, little ember.

Once a source of light.

You should have stuck with your brothers

And cooked our meal.

Other sparks break away

And follow your lead

One after one, leap from the fire

And dance across the grass

And up the trees

One of your brothers landed on a leaf

Another, on a wilted flower.

You grew into a flame

You grew into a fire

You grew so that you re-joined your original fire

Now, you’re bigger, brighter than before

I’m sorry I mocked you

And questioned your motives

You’re out of control now.

I have no means to put you out

I have no right to extinguish you.

So, I watch, powerless.

Oct-28-2011

By: Katelyn B.

[this is a story that’s best read in a room full of people. Great for ghost story readings]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

I still can’t believe what I did, or what “other me” did.

I like to distance myself from her. She’s not me.

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night.

There wasn’t a full moon, and it wasn’t anywhere near Halloween,

that’s what makes it truly scary.

Considering the superficial aspects of the night, it was clear, warm, there was a gentle breeze, but there was an always-present feeling of overpowering eeriness, the crippling sensation of being absolutely terrified, that feeling you get that makes you jerk quick, and look behind your back to make sure no-one’s there,  that dark moment you feel when you completely let go, when you stop fighting it. When you, defeated, give yourself over to the “other” side of life, and that “other” side of life, is full of death.

It’s so attractive from the outside looking in, like a hot, inviting bubble bath. You emerge yourself in to find that it’s full of acid. You try to jump out, but you’ll be forever scarred.

I was told not to mess with things like this, but naturally, I didn’t listen. Of course I didn’t listen, that’s why I’m here, talking to you today.

I was in a bad place four months ago. I had no one. I had not a single friend to account for. In my time of weakness and internal turmoil, he found me. He spoke to me, I saw him, we conversed, but I was sure he wasn’t real. It was one mistake after another, each one being worse than the last. My first mistake was listening to him in the first place, even though it wasn’t my fault that I was in that state of mind, my second mistake was saying he wasn’t real. I should have known that that would just excite him, empower him.

I’m just a normal girl living in Cape Cod; I wasn’t the type to be overtaken by these demons. I was intelligent, I was rational, I was strong, but “other me” wasn’t.

 

 

We all have a part of us that we can call the “other” part. It’s the part of you that you don’t tell your husband about, you don’t tell your children about, but she’s always there. She’s the one who wonders what it’s like to hit a pedestrian, she’s the one who wants to try to seduce someone’s husband, or a priest, or someone half of double their age,  she’s the one who’s always wondered what it’s like, to bite hard, into someone’s flesh, and tear, tear a chunk clean off and chew, the warm, red blood, trickling down her throat.

Don’t you wander what it’s like? I used to, but now I know. Now I know a lot of things. I let the “other” me take the driver’s seat for a while, and oh, what fun that was.

It’s easy for me now, to see when someone’s “other” self is talking over. They get that twinkle in their eye, the universal symbol of being alive. They usually smile, the very core of them is happy they’re finally giving over to their temptations. This force is so powerful, it’s what makes you tell off your boss, it’s what makes you pull the trigger, it’s what makes you just snap, and scream, and break something.

That’s who spoke to me, that’s who told me what to do, it was all of you. It was all your thoughts created by your “other” selves. All of your evil, primitive, beastly thoughts floated out of your skull and gathered. There were so many of them, they were so strong, they formed a nearly-living being who spoke to me. I now know all of your desires, each and every one of them. He told me. He channeled all these horrible, nasty urges into me, and I had to do them. They all seemed like such fun. Your “other” selves are such fun.

So, thanks guys. Thanks for having that “other” side of you, thank you for thinking all these thoughts. You had some wonderful suggestions. Do you wanna know what it was like to do all the things I did? Do you want to live vicariously through me as I tell you all the disgusting, repulsive, gory details? I’d love to share that with you. Maybe you can say the “other” side of me is now the main side of me now, and the good part of me, the one with shame, regret, and good morals, now she’s the “other” me.

I have to be going now, I still have so much I have to do. There’s still so many thoughts I must attend to.

Goodness, you are a dark, filthy bunch.

Oct-6-2011

By: Katelyn B.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

I’m a siren; come drown with me.

Let me drag your body down through the sea.

My scales of green, your flesh of white.

Complement each other under the moon’s blue light.

I’ll supply you with bubbles so that you may breathe.

I’ll extract oxygen from my underwater trees.

Don’t gasp, don’t splash, don’t make a fuss.

You’re afraid to die? I thought we had trust.

There’s so much more to the ocean floor

Than sunken ships, I’ll give you a tour.

I’m a siren; come drown with me.

Float in my water, feel completely free.

The deep dark water to the icy shores

Let it cleanse your every pore.

You heard my song, an unbreakable trance.

You should have steered clear, you had the chance.

You know my type, how sirens can be.

You heard the folklore, but you had to see.

You crashed your ship, you lost your crew.

Dear captain, what a fool are you.

Your soul belongs forever to the sea,

You’ll live as sea foam, indefinitely.

I’m a siren; come drown with me.

Oct-18-2011

By: Katelyn B.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m more into the wrapping paper

Than the precious gift inside

I’d rather take the shiny ribbon

Than the diamond ring it hides

A gift all wrapped up with sparkles and paper made of gold:

I don’t care about the broken gift that it may or may not hold

I want something that would look good

Sitting under my tree

This is a gift chosen by no one else but me

I see that box sitting there, covered in brown, boring wrappings

Don’t try to tell me what’s inside, me listening just won’t happen

The beauty’s only paper thin, I am well aware

I say it’s what’s on the outside that counts

I may be wrong, but I don’t care

I won’t take pride in a box covered in wrinkled, ripped up trash

You try to convince me otherwise, you say I’m being crass

If I’m so picky, do I even deserve a gift at all?

Am I so entitled that I pass up anything bought at a mall?

You’re right, I’m wrong, return these boxes right back to the store.

Take it all away from me, leave me feeling poor.

I’m not the most perfect gift sitting under this year’s Christmas tree

I’d too be passed up, by a superficial bitch like me.

Oct-17-2011

By:Katelyn B.

>———————————————-<

We let this rabbit out before.

We stood together, and watched him clawing at his cage, chewing at the door, looking sad, trapped, and hungry. We knew the dangers of letting him run free. We heard the stories about the foxes and hawks. But together, we decided to do it, regardless.

All we had to do was crack open the door and he was out. There was no stopping him. He slipped out so quickly, so easily. It took nearly no thought or effort on our part.

This animal wasn’t even ours. Who were we to decide to let him run free? We knew it was wrong, we knew the situation would get out of hand.

The second we unlocked the cage, he was gone. He ran out of his tiny cage of wire, and into the laboratory. He thought he was free. He hid under furniture, gnawed at wooden table legs, and ran through the rooms. Then, he saw the open door, leading out into the backyard, and realized he wasn’t truly free.

We glanced at each other and, running, tried to stop him. We tried to close the door, but he was too quick, he darted out.

He ran into the grassy lawn and felt the sun, something he had never seen or felt before. It was so warm, so welcoming. For the first time, he felt the sun-warmed, thick, green grass under his cold paws. It felt so much nicer than his cage of metal. He hopped and leaped and munched on the fresh greenery.

We decided that this was ok. Things were still under control. We watched him carefully. We loved that he was so happy. We watched him play with the butterflies and preen himself under the slowly setting sun. We thought we were in control of the situation, so we returned back to the lab to work.

That’s when the rabbit discovered the fence, and again, he realized he wasn’t truly free. This drove him wild. Something beastly and evil fell over his eyes. He went absolutely mad. He felt tricked. His carefree and reserved nature was overtaken by something dark, something primitive and wicked. He stuck out his teeth and claws and tore at the fence. He began digging viciously at the earth, kicking up clumps of dirt.

That’s when we sensed the danger, heard the noise, and ran out to stop him. We tried our hardest to catch him in time. We tried with everything we had to run, reach into the hole, and prevent the catastrophe. But, he was already gone. We ran out, crying out for him, trying to entice him back with handfuls of hay and clovers. He looked back on these treats, which he used to find delicious and special, and scoffed at them. He looked ahead and saw endless miles of freedom and ran.

This is when you left me. You couldn’t handle the pressure. You couldn’t accept what you did. You went home thinking, “It’s just one rabbit.” I’m sure you’d readily free another one. I’m sure you still haven’t learned. You’re planning some type of cover-up. You’ll buy a new rabbit, perform the same tests on him, and return him to his cage. You’re sure our boss won’t ever find out what we did.

So, I’m left alone to find and save him. It could take days to get him back, if I ever do. I don’t know where to look. I’m completely lost and scared. Every car, person, or animal is a likely threat to him. I call out, “Rabbit! Rabbit! Come here, bunny” We hadn’t even named him yet, but we felt we had the right to set him free.

After searching for hours, tired and filthy, I finally found him. He was shivering, bleeding and half dead. I reached out for him, but he didn’t trust me. “How could you do this to me?” he asked. I cried, and took him up in my arms, his blood staining my white lab jacket. I cleaned and stitched up his wounds, but I knew it would take more than that for him to forgive me.

Before, all he needed was clear water and pellets to satisfy him. Now, he knows what’s out there, and he’ll never be content. Sure, he experienced the dangers, he got hurt, but this safety he finds in his cage once again, has him feeling trapped.

We’ll find this rabbit again, looking sad, trapped, and hungry. We’re going to look at each other, as we did before and think, “Let’s only let him out for a minute this time. We’ll watch him more carefully.” We think we repaired the fence. We think we know where we went wrong, and that we learned from our mistakes. He’s going to look at as, us he did before, and plead for freedom with his eyes. We’re going to want to make him happy, let him out and feel the sun. But, we can’t.

We let this rabbit out before.

We can never do it again.

We WILL NEVER do it again.

But, doesn’t he look awfully sad?

Dear Mr. Morgue,

stuffed in a drawer.

Toes poking out drawer twenty-four.

How’d  you get there?

Where you scared?

Did you wonder who would care?

Where’d you go?

Does heaven have snow?

Did you bring your skiis and poles?

Can you feel them, the bugs nibbling?

Can you hear your children crying?

Where is your soul?

Was this your goal?

Do you feel alone and cold?

When do you leave?

When is there peace?

Did you feel when your lungs stop to breathe?

 

Dear Mr. Morgue,

decaying in the cold.

What if you had a trapped soul?

You feel all the rot, you see the lessons you taught.

About how happiness can never be bought.

Dear Mr. Morgue,

silent in your silver cave

What if you could see them

crying over your gave?

What if you could come to peace with all the mistakes you’ve made?

If you could come back,

what would you change?

 

Dear Mr. Morgue,

I’m sorry to say, that you’re going to be stuck this way.

See the casket, feel the knife, see your daughter and your wife.

Selfish acts don’t go unpunished.

Your body’s now good for only rubbish.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust

And you thought being alive was tough.

-Katelyn B.

Strong, impenetrable walls are supposedly meant to protect against bad weather or attacks. They guard something fragile or damageable inside. They’re built up before any damage can occur, or after it’s occurred to prevent further damage.

These walls are not invisible. If anything, they can draw unwanted attention to the hidden secret inside. It can be seen as a threat, people will either be scared and avoid it, or they’ll violently work to break it down.

Although, it may protect its contents inside for a while, it cannot sustain. Not only is the evil blocked, but so is the good. Sun and air and earth cannot get inside. What’s hidden behind this wall becomes cold, isolated, lost. If anything manages to get in, it’s never something good. A cold leak from above, formed from countless ignored storms drips on your head. You’re alone, so you don’t have the right tools to make an umbrella. You shiver. Bugs bite their way through the barrier and enter, they eat away at you, you don’t know how to fight them off, because you’ve never had to before, you can’t prevent their poison from making you sick because you haven’t built up a resistance.

A weathered house, unsheltered from the elements has an inviting welcomingness about it. It has stood strong threw the wind, the sleet and the burning sun without falling. People want to fix it up, since it has done its part of standing strong, and not crumbling. It’s a scarred building that has seen the worst, yet it receives help, and it lives on, proud.

When the wall finally breaks on the first house, it cannot go well. The sun is so blinding after spending years in total darkness. The bricks became heavier as parts of the outside world piled up on top. They fell, crushing what was hidden inside. The house didn’t receive routine care, so its materials weakened with mold and termites. Cracked walls only let in the bad.

Walls and barriers do not protect us, they only cause more damage. Do not build up walls. Let in the good, let in the bad, even if it hurts. Scars are beautiful and prove that we’ve seen the worst, we’ve learned from it, we healed, and we’re still alive. Live under the sun and amongst the bugs. You cannot stop them from biting you every time, but you can learn how to manage the pain of the sting.

-Katelyn Betrovski