Tag Archives: People

The Mother – Domestic Violence


motherThe Mother – Based on True Events

This story is very close to my heart, it is a story roughly based on my Mother’s life, I have changed the names and certain aspects of the story. I hope you see her vision. And can I just say, any woman out there how is suffering from domestic violence and would like help, do not hesitate to get help, there are people out there for you and if you would like to talk, I am here. Don’t be alone in your fight, we are here for you; don’t suffer in silence.

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She cowers in the corner, her limbs have been possessed by the jitters of fear; holding on to her swollen cheekbone as she sniffles up the sobs. The children John, Lori and Stephen were asleep, school in the morning, which she had to get up for; another ball to juggle. She knew she would have to explain to someone in the playground about the cuts and bruises she could not make-up over or hide. How else can you say the best father, friend and son in the world, has taken his controlled anger out on the love of his life? I can’t…

His shadow from the middle of the living room grimly overshadows her. She doesn’t move a muscle so he wouldn’t use his again. Looking at his art work he stands analysing every angle and shade of red, chomping on a variety of meats sandwich.

“Are you gonna’ get up or are you gonna’ sit there like a petulant child all night? I barely even touched you…” He grunts over a mouthful of food. Her eyes glued to his shoes, she will see him move before the next attack.

“So you’re not talking to me now? I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” The monster grumbles. She slowly shakes her eyes to reveal her eyes to him. “Listen, I gotta’ get to work; we’ll talk about this later. I love you baby.” He walks over and kisses her on her scruff driven arid hair. He walks out the room; the rustle of a coat wafts from the hallway, the door opens and closes softly.

Peace at last. She extends her shivering legs and walks over to her dressing-mirror. She sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair; each streak was prolonged and emotionless. She places her brush beside her makeup bag which rested on her table. She can’t look at her reflection due to the black eye from her, through sickness and health husband. He recently lost his mother and began drinking heavily; every movement within a moment was classed as offensive which she paid with, in damage. She wipes away the tear from her eye with the ball of her hand, then reaches in her black leather bag and retrieves an ID pass for a Mentally disability hospital, Sandie Moore is printed in black bold letters underneath her photo.

The moon shimmers in through the window and reflects from her ID to her eye’s, for a brief second the warmth from the light rests her soul and rejuvenates her, but the reality from her disfigurement brings her to the truth of life. She Inhales the air from her broken home and exhales the screams of her tortured insides. Sandie exits her bedroom and heads swiftly and quietly down the dimly lit hallway, checking each of her beautiful children has kept in their slumber and didn’t wake to the scream.

Her house was unkempt, never unclean. Sitting on the toy clustered couch she stares into the blackness of the corner chasms, trying her hardest to find sanctuary in her madness.

“Sandie, you have to take a stand. Your kids are growing up so fast and you cannot allow them being brought up in this house. If you leave him now, wake up the little’uns and bolt for safety you’d be doing the right thing. He’s not a bad father, only a bad husband. I know people will judge your accusation about your actions but you have to stay strong, this is your life and you will not fall further into pain. You’ve already made up your mind, Sand’. You still have you job and family, yes, at first will be hard to get on your feet and hold everything together but you must. He’ll come for us, he’ll come for you blood; but to ensure your children never witness this on any level, it is a sacrifice you must make. Now get up, get what you need and disappear before morning. Holding in your cries, girl, you’ve shed enough for him.”

She stands and suppresses her demons and doubts and walks into her children’s bedroom, gently shaking Stephen, he was the less likely to cry and make to loud of a noise.

“C’mon, get up, son…” She stands there.

“Where we going, Mam?” Rubbing his eyes opened “We’re going to stay with your uncle tonight, wake up the other two will ya’. I need you to do as I say and be strong and whatever happens after tonight just know, I love you all.” She stands a step backwards.

“Okay Mam, I love you too.”

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My Insane Scribbling


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My Insane Scribbling

Stones spread well through-out the land, as the temperature has dropped with the weight of a brick. Tears will freeze on your face for all time to laugh and point at; within your graveyard museum, I am waiting forever. Left on my knees, you took my ability to move on, shuffle or walk. My screams work willingly; this pen will make me lose my mind, again, you were my teacher.

An indestructible idea is moulded from the clay of skin that you have left cracked with the bubbles of beneath. Everyone is nobody and I am an alien sent to Earth to take on the pain people prick onto me. My heart is an endless cave, footsteps beat with the dance of escape.

You look upon me as someone who is shipping nowhere but even an unknown voyage arrives at a destination.

Committed to this addiction now, something so beautiful turns quickly into death. Kaleidoscopes of vibrant pills turn the viewer into a handful of pills, which transforms into a mouthful; the results are in as a pill problem.

Everything is falling apart, I can see the bones of reality; eyes – flay all that is real to me. A problem is born again. I am lost within this mind, found within the madness of my words. I pelt my way from rejection letter to relationship rejection, hope to hopelessness, literary to literary agents, the night and its loneliness is what I am left with. I will hide above these murky clouds one day. I used to believe as a child that when it rained someone died, now even my beliefs are all lies. I am so resilient today; I make up my own stories to destroy your beliefs, lots of laughs.

My mother speaks on behalf of my subconscious to make sure my choices are no longer wrong. When will I put this knife down? Trying to put an end to this endless life. Drunk spits at my mirror reflections. Alex; pick-up your whiskey bottle, write your life-out and toast to death. Congratulations, you are now evil.  You can now let your soul fall from your mouth and lock it within a jar with no air; shake it and threaten it with fire.

I need a sharper knife. You have opened your armour, dumb-wittingly, within the moonlight show this world a beast along with your love with the same mouth. Howl at the sun so there is no more night-time. Spiral your fingers around your throat like a suicidal snake, keep hold of that dream. Lash another wrist, lash another. What came first within my life, time or death? Cannot have one without the other, I guess they come from the same cut. We shall see soon.

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Trapped Within Me!


Richard Mansfield Jekyll

Richard Mansfield Jekyll (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Help me; I am trapped behind the eyes of a weak man. If I wasn’t tied up and made to witness the humiliation and beatings this body takes, I could conquer all. I am the evil you are waiting for; I am the choke of a lodged chicken bone in your throat, I have never eternally taken anyone’s breath otherwise. I am your alter-ego, a personalized Hyde and Jekyll.

I am biding time, the hope for a crossed-wire or malfunction in his control room. He is boy of the light-walkers and I am a shadow-stroller, can you see our dilemma. Now I know you are sitting there with a mopsical expression spread across your chops while reading this and that is a good thing for me, because one day I will show you something not even your mind could comprehend in any fashion. You are your own worst enemy; this is line where we part, where I push myself to my limits, you sit idly by thinking all will come to you while you sit there within your room reading this. While you are taking baby-steps I am base-jumping.

I am an extremely extraterrestrial extinguished extremist and this world is my chessboard, check-mate for this guy. One day the bars will bend and my escape will swallow his soul and drag him into the war zone I have planned, you can imagine a hell of some sort when I write these words, but where I place him in my memory and imagination as a writer, all his horrors will take pieces home with them.

This is no idiolalla, this is me in the truer of senses; his fingers are the vessels to claw myself word by word into your world, as if I were a fictional character coming to life from the page.

Pootly-nautch that’s all this is. I have seen him listen to people speak negative about him and what does he do? He shows them a smile. I have seen this so-called-man live day by day on perhaps tomorrows and others true dreams. What a fool!

Alex, you will be here forever to look through that glass, just as I sit watching, how ironic. No it wasn’t your fault for your childhood. No it wasn’t you fault when you were on our crossroads crossfire, your friends stole your money so you couldn’t buy food and let you almost starve to death and you let them back into do it again. No it’s not your fault you are weak! Why not step over to the darkside once in a while. You have all the tools you need to make this world pay. Why won’t you learn, these people leave you because deep down you cover me up and you do not wish to uncover this disaster. Ask your friends, family and ex’s. They know you have darkness, so why not show them?

I know you can hear me, Alex…. ALEX!

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A Hate Letter For Forever Love


Cupid

Cupid (Photo credits: http://www.roadtrafficsigns.com)

Each blink is too long and each beat is too much to cage and bare, so I shall rip off my eyelids to keep you in my sight’s a little longer and tear through my chest and place myself as a sacrifice to the goddess of my inner war. My lips become unworked and dry without your pressure and I wonder and pace in circles to this addiction called you, your essence or smoke clings to my lungs, I know each inhale is deadly but the remembrance will one day be my murderer. I know you have found your feet and walked the ground you stood on but you left a blood-trail when you drove your hand through my ribs, clasped your fingers around my heart and dragged it off to the unknown, thank you. I have tried to rip and burn the photographs of you but your witchcrafting spells are protection against your stillness towards the weak. It feels as if I am chained to a monstrous mountains peak of snow and I am kneeling at its feet, tortured to watch the skies clouds that have now been replaced with images of our better times and precious seconds. There was no Cupid with a bow and arrow only a silent thief with a dagger. No medical diagnosis or prescription to help me now, the only answer it to go cold turkey, the oldest of remedies and cures but it will surely almost destroy me as you have ripped out my insides, cooked them and now I am ready to carve. The thought of you make me throw-up, not in a sickening way to your portrait but fear, anxiety, frustration and anger, those are the invisible fingers down my throat.

Thank you, Love.

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