I have nothing to say
That could sway you
I have nothing to say
You are able to hear
I have nothing to say
That would touch you
I have nothing to say
You could understand
You have nothing to hear
But your hatred
You have nothing to hear
But your spite
You have nothing to hear
But your darkness
You have nothing hear
That would give you respite
For years I try to find words
For years I try to understand
For years I try to empathize
But all I can speak of is darkness
But all that I can grasp his vile
But all I can feel is evil projectile vomiting of hate
When have you gotten so lost?
Tag: psychopath
Outer Hebrides: Zombie 2
Dolphins, eagles, seals, and the zombie
A holiday interrupted
By Nothingness
Outer Hebrides: Zombie
Zombie
Empty shell
Ran out of energy
Am vegetarian not eating brains
But eating life force of everyone I encounter
Must have the boy!
For my energy
Must cause pain!
For my pleasure
Must cause harm!
For my joy
Must cause grief
For my thrill
Must cause drama
For my entertainment
Zombie empty shell
Cannot feel but hate
Cannot feel but anger
Cannot feel but despise
Cannot feel but arousal
I won the battle
I got the boy
I showed them who’s in charge
I shoved two fingers and climaxed
In my victory
I know not
That I already lost the boy
I know not
Of his strength
I know not
Of his heart
I won’t understand his compassion
I won’t understand his love
I cannot love
I cannot feel empathy
I am a life lost
Outer Hebrides
The last two weeks were spend camping in the Outer Hebrides in Scotland. Whilst kayaking and walking there were many moments for reflections and insights, I am going to share in poetry and blog form. I am also really excited to share some of my experiments with you. Working with the environment we were in, I created a ‘Washed Away’ mini-series around themes that follow abuse, such as shame, and fear. And another one focusing on taking a closer look. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the images and sounds, and laugh, cry and think with me as usual.
A child hiding within
He is dead inside
The poor boy
So you say
As if you would know
An army of zombies
From the living
We see no death in him
The sad boy
But you
Are another story
A life lost long ago
But must you spread death?
But must you spread hate?
Can you not see somewhere within
A scintilla of love?
Do you know how to love?
In my own words
If I could
I would
In my own words
If you could hear
I would tell
In my own words
If you could feel empathy
I would make the effort
In my own words
If you actually could feel
Anything but hate
My words would be worthwhile
In my own words
Silence is what you hear
In my own words
Silence is what you feel
In my own words
Silence is what you fear
My silent words are worthwhile
Suffixes for Abuse
The prefixes you have for me
Usually start with fucking (insert derogatory term here)
You used them the moment you knew off me
Not anything about me–just off me
A threat to your carefully spun web of deceit
Of course you feel threatened by me
You cannot manipulate me
You cannot predict me
Your open threat:
‘Hands down I will win.’
Won’t work with me
I am healing–the noun
That means I am ripping off band-aids
Granddad always said:
‘Let air touch the wound to heal.’
Air, and light, and love
You won’t stop me loving them
You won’t stop me healing them
But you, you
For you I have given up
I have let go
And as of now
–after enduring years of your prefixes–
For you I have a suffix
May she rot in hell
Abused Men
Like an Ikea shelf
She dismantled him
There were screws left
Who cares
She shrugged
Women can be abusers too
Get over it
Trembling the boards fell down
Every time she incomprehensibly panted down the phone
Threw up words like bile that won’t stay in
Projectile vomiting of hatred
Like an Ikea shelf
He would tremble
Dissociate
Disconnect
To cope
His sin? You ask
Was not to obey the psychopath
Not play the game any longer
Making her meaningless in his life
She can’t abide
Not winning
Not playing
Not cheating
Not lying
She needs to fucking win
She cheated with three different guys
Just because she could
She abused until there were witnesses
Then she ran
She span
She twisted
She warped
She threw up more bile
It’s all pointless
She is spinning
A perpetuate motion machine
Without hope to win
Over the one thing she ought to win over
Her inner demons
Poetry by Nathalie 