Prisoners

The two state officials lagging behind me in their grey uniforms wore them like the straight jackets that they are, though unaware though they are. Their documents authorizing them to follow me are their handcuffs, imprisoning them more than any prison could capture me. But still they follow me down every alley and around every dark corner. They know I see them. In fact, they want me to see them so that I know and live every moment knowing that I'm surveiled. All they know to do is lurk. Why are they following me? When I manage to dive behind a corner and watch them as they try to watch me I can't help but notice that they're uncomfortable as they persist in following me, a nothing person who presents no real threat to them personally.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye today. But I didn't dare let her know I looked at her. She haunts me day and night and yet I can't imagine being with her. I wish I was healthy enough to tell her how I feel about her and how beautiful she is on so many different levels. But I dare not, for her sake as well as my own. I remember when I first saw her bare feet. I knew then that I was madly attracted to her. I honestly didn't hear a word she said as we talked. Her passions are overwhelming. She sings to the angels but hears from the devils far too often. It's funny. At first I didn't really like her. I couldn't get a bead on her personality. She's wicked angsty. Very complicated. I didn't recognize her being coiled up as being a self protective posture. I didn't realize that I'm just as coiled up as her.

I sit here in my solitary room. Hell. God, sometimes my solitude can be both at the same time. Isolation from others is my salve and salvation and my anti sanctuary from reality, Nonesuch as this rings in my deafened ears as the silence rings out telling me lies about myself. My screaming silent lies decry my self satisfied lies which hate myself so much, as such, too much. I'm so tired of the self sabotaging self destructive lies imprisoning my mentality.

The fragmented stained glass is all I have left behind from the church fire from 22 years ago. I got the call from my mother that Friday afternoon after I got home from work. She told me about the smoke billowing from the steeple in Saint George.