hike up your skirt a little more and sho...'s blog: "Just Jill's!"

fuck feeling sorry for myself... heres a random ass thing i wrote last year... This dark musty room…the smell of cigarettes lingers in the air. I pick up my guitar and start to strum. Drunk, I sing a song of sadness. I sing of life after death, of pain before pleasure. I let all hope that drowns beneath my skin invade me bitterly. I never let anyone in, don’t let anyone out. I take another cigarette out of the torn and ragged pack…spark it with my new bic and begin to sing with more effort. The tears start to roll down my face as I reminisce of days that life brought me happiness. The only happiness I find now is a quickee in the front seat, ten shots of JD, and blunt or 5. I turn the nearby fan on to watch the smoke filter throughout the room. “You were all I had, all I ever needed. Where are you now? Why didn’t you stick around to watch me grow older? Why can’t you take care of me now?” I glare at the memories on the wall. You were so happy with me and now you’re not. We’d make love under the stars and you’d stare at me with those big ol’ green eyes and kiss me with those tender lips. Now it’s all gone, just like that. “Baby, where are you now? Why won’t you come back around my way? I’m sick of sleeping and not smelling your sweet honey hair when you’re gone. Just come home babe.” My fingers hurt from pressing these strings. I put my guitar down and lay on my bed. Shoes still on, you’d always bitch at me for shit like that, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You left my heart screaming and aching for you, but you don’t care anymore for my “shit faced, going-nowhere, bitch”, your words I recall. I miss that tone of voice you’d get when you wanted me and no one else. You’d just run your fingers through my hair, and nothing was wrong, because everything was perfect. “You said it once, and I’ll repeat your words, ‘life never gets better, but you can make yourself the way you’d like to be.’ I done made myself better, but you don’t need me anymore…” I pull out the ol’ shot gun you’d go hunting with and I stroke it gently. Flashbacks of shooting ducks with you, cloud my memory. Riding horses through open fields, ditching friends and fucking behind the shed…man it was perfect. I now see that pine tree that we carved our names into…you and me babe was what you’d said. You demolished the knife your grand-daddy gave you that day, but you didn’t care ‘cause we was in love. “I’d give my life for just one chance to take you back. To feel your love surround me as I sleep is all I need. I’m sick of crying, sick of lying to myself. You’re not coming home, and if you were, then shit you’d already be here. But it is now my time to go, and you’ve made me realize that, ‘deep down inside, no man has got real reasons.’” That last line, I never understood till now. What you were trying to say was, deep down underneath every man….their is a woman…and baby you just aren’t it. I put my half smoked cigarette in the ashtray and I pick up a pen and paper. I scribble down something, if it’s not legible then shit be god damn, but if it is this is what it said, “I’m gone for the night…I’ll come back when it’s my time. I’ll sing my song on the front porch again with you on my mind. I’ll make love to you under the stars again, but not till the time comes…sugar pie, not till the time comes.”

Through the deserted forest there was a cry. A cry slicing the thick silence; a cry so full of rage and anger. It was the sound of nails crossing a chalkboard in order to attract attention of a disobedient adolescence. It was the painful retched sound of a child screaming, one who had lost his way through he Promised Land. Abandoned by his kin, left to die, stranded in a place so cold and so deprived of joy. He was on his own in a deep and disastrous rage which would soon be his demise, his indefinite home. His only thoughts were to die, to live no longer, and to scorch his tender flesh with whatever he could find in order to no longer continue the never ending search of security. He wanted to die as such sinners do. The world stood about and enjoyed their life. They didn’t think about what lied beyond their own boundaries and if they did, they wouldn’t care. The trees mocked him, birds stalked him, and the leaves flocked their way at him as the wind blew heavier. It knocked him over and weighed him down as if it were his own shame pushing him to the end. Left alone in a sate of wild depression, he grew angry at all that he construed. He reminisced on the poem where the Raven quoth, “nevermore” for the loss of Poe’s Eleanor. Was he also to be nevermore? To think of this burned his aching heart. It put him in a state of maniac insanity. His body was his straight jacket holding him from the world, and mind was the key to the padded room, if only he could find it, he could escape and survive. There was no way this young lad could get out. His sentence was to be forbidden to see what could have lied ahead of him. That’s when he saw it. In a second his heart fell to the ground, and he stood still in his track. He stood more still than a corpse and his pigment became ghostly. It was misery on four legs, had antlers of severe pain and look only found in that of a murderer’s eyes. They say you see your life flash before your eyes before you die, and he did. All the way back to infancy, he saw all the pain he caused others and the pain bestowed on him. Tears streamed down his mud wrecked face and in a blink he saw how quickly his end was coming. A silent gun shot was fired and the boy ran with a fierce passion that his mind froze blank. He looked up to the sky and screamed, “God, why have you forsaken me? Save me, save me, and LET ME GO, LET ME GO HOME. TAKE ME OUT OF THIS DECIETFUL WORLD. GOD PLEASE JUST LET ME GO, STRIKE ME DEAD INSTEAD OF LETTING ME GO DOWN LIKE THIS.” His curse had caught up with him. The past 18 years of his worthless life was now his cause of decease. The beast saw the blessing of Satan marked upon his soul, and when the beast caught up with him he stood clearly 4 feet over the boy. It deviously smiled and drooled for the demonic child in which it would save the world from. The boy was trapped between trees, ditches, and a monster. A creature beyond this world, and only nightmares could make it real. Was he dreaming, or was he apart of someone’s dream, the boy wondered. The boy ran faster and faster, his heart beat heavier and heavier. He could hear it in his ear, feel it in his chest as if it were to fall out. This was it. The monster jumped in front of him, and before the boy could realize it, the beast had jumped atop of him. Shredding him to pieces, screaming with horror, and agony the boy screamed for his own dear life. He asked Jesus to accept him into heaven, but he already knew he was going to be rejected. He yelled into the night and with one last horrible crackle and rip, silence struck. Through the thick, dark, deserted cry, there cried a boy “nevermore”.