Ruth Cutler



With a piercing shrill, once more I am forced upon another dreadfully, blessed day. Laying in a pool of sweat and tears, a speeding heart and screams fading into whispered echo’s, the alarm shatters, the never ending nightly play of terrors. Grisly visions best kept unsaid and kept away from the mousy and the measly.
For seekers of the beastly macabre, those strung out from too many discomforting thrills and misspent youths. I offer up a delightful feast for you, the blood thirsty. I serve for your eye’s dinning pleasure, upon a platter made of cold steel. Pitted and rusted, with just enough webbed corrosion to make a flat surface between the two handles made of braided barbed wire. But barely enough to hold today’s daily special, a millions of acres of burnt and smoldering wasteland.
Garnished heavily with the broken and slaughter bodies of “Lil Bo Beep’s” crop of fleeing mutton. Some in chunks and pieces with fluffs of fleece splattered in gore and gray matter. Some slaughtered just that very day, the rest over the decades.
Decaying, with a stench so fowl, a wake would fly away, reeking of their own vomit and excrement. Too many to count and nowhere to turn away, not until life bays the shadows, and forces reality into my weary, blood shot eyes, with the bloody shrill of that infernal clock!
A brighter day is promissory, only after surviving sleeping tight, avoiding bug hickies, and all the foul breath demons, lurking in shadowy corners, behind creaky doors, in the swaying limbs and branches of the overgrown trees, just outside your window’s eve and under the very bed, where you kneel with prayers. Never knowing you are kneeling before the wicked and vile, demons for whom awaits with evil delight.
Bartering our souls for bestowed blessing with empty reassurances of sweet dreams awaits the obedient and those foolish enough to trust resting their souls upon the sacrificial alter.
If you haven’t noticed the vacancy sign, there hasn’t been nothing here for years, and what little there, it isn’t worth the keeping. Just a belfry thundering of unfulfilled wishes. And overwhelming desire for whomever came to keep, would have remembered to switch off the lights, when they left! The cost and upkeep on this worthless wreck isn’t cheap, in fact, at times it isn’t worth the cost at all.
Hatefully I struggle for meaning or reasoning to see the day’s end, but really, why should I pay life’s dues once more? Maybe in this blackened room, through the choking darkness, this hollow shell, will seek out, in some small corner of this world or somewhere far within, where it’s dark and foreboding, a reason once more…
Maybe some great work of tall tales and fiction to make me believe, that today is just one more day, I’ll have to face with blessings and amazing grace. Without rolling my eyes with great disgust, I’ll silently hide away my sobs. Claiming allergies, if a tear should be spied. I mustn’t allow for the living to be offend, or burdened by someone, who’s way past due for burying.
Today, as each day before, I’ll leave crimson impression on jagged shores and polluted beaches. With my slumped shoulders matching every step, as I painfully sink deeper and deeper into oblivion. Struggling daily for soothing relief for a throat, left blister and raw from explosive rages and primal screams. That has remained trapped, throughout the dismal abyss of space and time. Mockingly called my promissory heaven and just desserts.
A struggle for each feet, indeed.

So, for today I’ll do as I have done before, and like the steps before now, I’ll take one step at a time. One torn and blood crusted, tired foot in front of the other. Throughout this house, without temperature, or sunlight. Across the cold wooden planks that leads from the cell, to the next. And to the bathroom, down the hall, and on the right. Where the cabinet hangs full of choices, hidden behind a pane of mirrored glass that once framed an image of beautiful child.
Once full of future hopes, love and laughing eyes, she now looks hideous and distorted by the turpentine & solvents of life. And that forever classic one liner, “I love you” to make me want to hurl. If I had any more strength in these useless arms, I could punch out this gallery reject, if I didn’t mind a few new scars or wanted to come face to face with the many bottled options, that could lighten this darken path, once and for all.
Or I’ll just stumble towards the kitchen for the first cup of Joe. Stirring in my cream and sugar, wondering about today. Will I have the courage to right so many wrongs and silence all the voices that agree? Will worldly peace rain down in jubilation’s in ticker take, if I finally make all of this go away…
If I make all of me, go away?
All this pain, this enduring suffering and internal torment of the unjustly accused and convicted.
Today, will I have the courage to finally end this birthright? I wonder while stirring my coffee, as I study a wooden block full of sharpened keys, answers and solutions. Some smooth, some serrated, short and long…
I wonder, which would be best to get the job done?
Whose true desire is this? I’m sure it is what they want and I am doing, as I am told. Could I say with conviction, “Not until this is, what I want and I am ready” with hopes of being convinceability?
Can I look into my eyes or yours, for a matter of fact, and say “Today isn’t the day” with conviction paid with a painted on smile?
Can I crawl once more to the center of the world’s stage, and never show or let onto, all that was destroyed and left in ruins by misguided souls and hatred?
Can I hide the tell tail signs of agony as I fight to straighten a weaken spine for the last ounce of strength to hang on to hope, that daylight never comes once more, to strike me down like sixteen thousand times before!
For today…
Maybe once more.


Webbed Porch 3


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