pain

Day 201: Strangled Love

| Aspergers Girls

Strangled Love

I cannot love you anymore

I am done

I have given everything

And you have taken nothing

But the best pieces

Now shattered and disfigured

Unrecognizable to even death

 

I cannot love you anymore

You are torture

The cruelest kind

That wrings the neck wet

And sticks probes of fire

To ignite electric harm

A fence singed into screaming flesh

I cannot love you anymore

My heart a piano

To be tuned and banged upon

To be opened

Used for company

And left in isolated silence

No longer

I cannot love you anymore

You are the slow bleed and I am emptied

You are the wind and I am chaffed

You are the widow black

And I am babe

Last light extinguished in poisoned bite

I cannot love you anymore

If I am sun

Then you are surely night

If I am proximity, then you are distance

If I am truth, then you are bundled secrets

If I am voice, then you be the empty echo

I cannot love you anymore

With throat aflame

Eyes streaked crimson

Ears mangled in blistered bursts

Soul purged of stagnant dreams

I dismiss you

I cannot love you anymore

This pleading woman

Garbed in netted veil

lingering in your vacancy

I strangle her with vengeance

Until she knows with last breath

I cannot love you anymore

~~~~~

Images and Words by Samantha Craft, August 2012

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Photos taken at Mt. Rainier National Park, Washington, USA

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Captures my heart, indeed.

Day 200: Goodbye Sunshine

| Aspergers Girls

For day 200 I couldn’t think of anything better than James Blunt singing and stripping! Now that’s hot (and snowy cold).

A fictional piece of writing based on emotions of the past.

Goodbye Sunshine

There were small dresses hovering above.  Light spilled in through the bottom of the closet door in the shape of a crescent moon.  From where I sat, I let the moon kiss the back of my hand.  Then I stretched my hand through the narrow crack beneath the door and wiggled my tiny fingers in the space outside the darkness.  After counting to three, I pulled my hand back and returned it to the thick warmth of my dog’s fur.

An hour earlier, draped in my yellow shooting-star-patterned nightgown, I head reached across the dining table, and said, “One plate for you handsome Mr. Thumper and one for you dashing Blue Pony.”  My animals stared back at me and smiled then, Pony resting on his side in the side chair, because he kept falling down with his bad balance, and Thumper on his tail with his paws on the table.  “No arms on the table,” I said, and placed Thumper on his rump.  “That’s better. Did you wash your hands?”  They nodded.  “Did you say grace?”  They nodded again.  “Good,” I praised, picking up my red plastic piggybank from my chair and taking a seat.

“Good job,” Mother said, as she walked in through the kitchen door.  She plopped down a platter of cold meatloaf and a blue bowl of buttered potatoes, and then lit up four candles.

I held my plastic piggybank up to my ear.  “What’s that? Let me see.”  I looked up.  “He wants to know if he can come to the sitter’s on Monday.”

 

The rest of this story is in the book 🙂

 

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com

 

Day 192: A Walk with Light and Shadow

| Aspergers Girls

The Light

You make me young again

Twelve or twenty, or someplace in between

I want to run and skip and sing, and be so free

You are everything to me, my sunrise and my sunset

The prettiest ones

The very best ones

You are the stars I count on

You are the clouds I dream upon

You are the ducks dipping, the ferris wheel spinning

You are the lights strung upon the summer tree

You are all that makes me smile

And more, so much more

I can’t begin to explain

It would take a lifetime or two

Just to count all the reasons I adore you

Your hair, your eyes

Your nose so cute

I want to nibble you whole and in completion

Bite through your sexiness

I want to run my fingers through you

Every part

And dance on you like some worn out disco floor

I want to tap and spin

And glide on knees

Feel your smoothness beneath me

And eat your very soul

The Shadow

Release me bloody panther of the night

The one I spear, who keeps rising

With claws to chest

Carving name into my flesh

I run and you follow

My scent, your prisoner

You are naught but heavy stones in my pocket

Backpack on weary shoulders

Silver spikes beneath my feet

A broken time piece

Your face a façade

You are unwelcomed fever

The torture of still birth

A labor of death

You are the stripe of the honey bee

The symbol of nectar’s sting

I will not be your dance floor

Your river or mountain

I will be nothing you move upon

You feed me not, whittler of bones

And nor shall I be your prey

I turn you mystic muse

To the muds of moors

And make the howling hound your bed song

Cry for me now

This light slipped through your fingers

So I might collect your tears

And spit them at your shadow

I am blood-dry to your enchantment

Fed upon the last time

To me you are the stinging nettle of pain

The poison oak of itch

The jelly fish of sting

In leaving I shall paint the walls of you

With my echoed screams

So you may sit now

And hear the wing-clipped raven

Crying in the attic’s mind

It is your turn

Of empty ghost

Your turn to grasp

And find nothing but empty cloud of drought

I will be not your star

I will be not your sun

Instead I shall step dark upon your grave

And kick dirt at your memory

My laughter, your sorrow

My victory, your loss

My hope, your awakening

To the world without me

~~~

By Sam Craft, July 2012

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The Walk

The following are photos from the bird sanctuary. There is a mile long platform that stretches across the wetlands and leads to the salt-water sound. There are hundreds of birds flying everywhere and adjacent nature trails.

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Day 184: One Drop

| Aspergers Girls
by Sam Craft

One Drop

I come to you whilst sun still sleeps, my soul an empty well

You offer bright a pleasing drip of crystal blue, the flavor of your skin

I watch, my eyes upon your virtue, fingers tracing thin, such shallow ripple

By sunrise cruel day has harvested my sweet bounty and sky cries with thunder

And thusly, parched, in early morn, I return in famine to feed from you

I clutch, heavy bucket firm, hollow and alive, beckoning for your taste

Again, you offer naught; say single bead of blood, a grain from savored heap

Yet still I take, I gobble, devour, forlorn lady of the dust, shapeless in her struggle

With the coming of noon, I yearn, spiteful satisfaction laughing, and crawl to noble feet

Slaking, I rise still,  cherished flask in aching hands, I bring forward

In one move, without thought, you dip into me, a cool touch against my phantom being

I am quenched for but a fraction of a step, before your image fades to misty past

Leaping back through shadows, I stumble fast, and mourn the lost bit of you

In longing,  I return once more, pulled forward at midday, to harvest with cold metal spoon

I watch spent, with heart grey, as lonely drop you drip from butterfly’s tongue

So singular in action, so sparse, a flea would gasp for more. But I? I dance

And in spinning, spoon bends, and the gathering of hopes is lost within the moors

Sundown comes with sorrow, a thinly eye-dropper I balance true, to abide my knight

At long last you call me hither, I blush and bend, with breath held, a beautiful droplet to humbly seize

Steadily, I squeeze, bringing your essence into the dry caverns of my waking dreams

Bathed in fleeting gratitude, I bask boldly, as soothing rivers travel through starved holes

Until the midnight hour, and I find I am no more alive than before, still this gatherer of scattered splinters

Shaken by seizing ache, withered and dried, familiar prison of emerald charm, free this wanting child

This empty well, before the last tear escapes, and all I am is perished, through the release of one last drop

~ Sam Craft, July 2012

Day 170: The Broken Board

| Aspergers Girls

A bunion of a gal, I called Cousin Betty, leaned on a century-old redwood tree picking at a quarter-size scab on her elbow.  She was unsightly, red all over with flakes of skin saluting the wind.  When I thought about Betty, I visualized a witch hunched over a littered kitchen table yanking on the blue ligaments of a cold chicken leg with her silver-crowned, tobacco-stained teeth.

I couldn’t help myself.

 

This complete story can be found in the book Everyday Aspergers

Based on True Events  © Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com