The Ghost Piano, the missing fingers, the missing hands

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I was walking through the woods, not sure how I got there, or why, just remember waking up walking, I am alone in this memory, and walking careful not to alert animals to my presence, and I am scared, not sure of what, but I know it is not human…

You come up to me, I do not know who you are, or what you are, I mean to say….

I just know that, the instant I see you

I know I am safe.

You tell me you feel it too, a pulling in the air, as if we…

Are in the ocean, and there is an undertow.

You talk to me, and I feel like you are keeping us above water.

I am in the woods, so it doesn’t make much sense, because it is the woods, not the ocean, but I feel the sense that we are always on the verge of sinking, as if we are treading water. She keeps her head close to mine, and every so often, I can feel her breath. She whispers in Spanish in my ear, I am not fluent, so I don’t know what she is saying, but I feel safer with every word she says, knowing only that as I continue, i am getting safer.

I wake up sweat drenched and alone, but not anywhere I started. I am in the woods, alone, there is no one around. I look for the woman, and no one is to be seen. To this day, I am convinced I met a ghost in those woods that saved me from drowning in a swamp. My name means from swamp, I wonder to this day, if this was some sort of vision of a relative.

The Laughing Woman, and the Krystal Ship

I am a ghost, I have a face, no one can see me, my form exists in space

I am a ghost, and you can see me, I exist in blank space, so wonderous and free, you envy me, but I envy you, you have hands made of matter, and I wish I was you.

You don’t like your form, but at least that you have, I do not have earthly hands, and for that I am sad.

If I was you, sir, I would take great care, because what it is like to have no form, of that I am aware, I wander this hall, where I lay trapped, and chased by other formless spirits, I remain attacked, I am a ghost, took my life, yes I did, I was afraid to live life with my kid. I was once human, but commited suicide, now I wish, I had done anything but die.

I am a warning, a sad tale, I am, I took my life, and now here I stand, I regret doing what I did with my life, now I pace back and forth, a victim of strife, I am a warning, to not do the same, I wish I hadn’t, my life was my claim, I took my life, and exist only as me, I am not a judgement of those like I see. I am only a statement, to you

See Clearly

I am a statement to look twice before you leave, you cannot take it back, when your hands attack your own form, I wish I could, now I am forlorn, so please think twice, and don’t act rash, I killed myself, and now live in the backlash.

They spoke to me, I talked to rocks, to stones, to pillars, to rock formations, which are not usually talkers, but this time they were, on that hill, that day with her.

Telling their story, they spoke quite softly, they talked at night, and quite darkly. They spoke of death and of loss they had seen, they spoke in voices, like in a dream. It was quite strange, and out of place, being reality, and not dream space, they spoke to me, and told a story, it was of magic, and not gory, not like the other stories, that I already knew, and so I sat, and knew not what to do.

I dare not wake her, lest make them made, she woke anyway, and I felt bad, why must she miss all I see, she was asleep and in a dream.

You are everything I do not have, because I have lived of a life of too bad, so sad, goodbye’s, of too high to live, but too sad to try to die. You are everything I never had, becuase I was too mad to put a bottle down, too angry to throw out mixed poison, and now I am stuck in looking back, because for the moment, it is Sunday and I have nothing to do, but think of you.

I am a gasoline fire, made of pained backward reflection, smoke billowing everywhere, anywhere and nowhere, burning embers, burning leaves saved from September, the last time I remember feeling anything other than small and addicted to pain.

She looks like our friend, baby.

Yeah she does, are you done ****ing now?

Yeah, I guess so, at least I have you.

Burning Canoe

Sometimes, I wake up and I am not me, but someone else, somewhere else, and if nothing else, I am aware, that this means very bad things are happening to me, somewhere else, where I am actually myself. This time, I wake up in a painting. I am not sure why, but I am aware that I am in the painting, which kind of feels like lucid dreaming for normal people, I guess.

It feels like actually being in a canoe, like I am imagining is in the painting which I am hallucinating, or for regular people, lucid dreaming. The only difference is very strange. I am extremely warm. It feels like sunburn.

I am so warm in fact, that I want to jump out of the canoe, which I do, immediately, and feel the water in the painting hit my skin, but also feel the burning sensation go away, as I imagine other water hits my real skin. I am comforted by this fact, that somewhere ele, where I actually am, I am not burning alive, and then I hear it, a commotion, coming from somewhere else, it is a sound I recognize, fire alarm, blarring, somewhere else.

My apartment is on fire.

I am brought back to present time, someone is spraying those of us walking out with a firehose. I am holding a painting of people in a canoe. The strange thing is, it is not the painting from my apartment, there is someone in the waterr next to the canoe, they were not there before.

Do you see?

I am staring at a mirror, and seeing something that most people would argue is not there, and having a conversation, that most people would argue is with no one, but it is someone I know very well, who is not myself.

She tells me she loves me, and asks me to follow her, she is an idiot. I cannot walk through glass, well not in this way anyway, I can walk on it, not through it. I tell her this and she tells me

“If you step on me, you will surely die”.

I am aware of the problems that come with stepping on shattered glass with two feet, thank you for the reminder.

I come closer, and she kisses me, and my mouth starts bleeding, but she tastes good, like lavender and vanilla.

I walk out of the room, and hear a crash, I go back in the room and the mirror is broken.

How many times have I made this bed?

I am room 39.

I am ironic because I am very eeriely close to 36.

I am a room in a motel, but I am also a number close to 36.

I am a number with a 3 and a 6 flipped upside down, which is the same as the hands that write this on a computer.

I am a room where there is a ghost that locked these hands in a closet for an hour.

I am deathly quiet

She is staring at a candle that is underneath a sheet. The candle is on the wall of a house that has been abandoned by its owner’s long ago. She tells me that she feels the pain of the walls, and I ask what she means, she says she too has been abandoned long ago. I tell her that human beings should not have owners, she laughs, and tells me she does not understand why I am telling her this.

I am fading into the walls.

I explain that she is not like the house, which has been abandoned because the house was owned by humans, she tells me she knows how that feels, and I ask her why, this time not bothering to remind her about her humanity. She tells me that since she could remember she always had the company of a male stranger, and now has no one. I tell her we should leave this house, getting an eerie feeling by all that she has revealed, she says she does not think she can, and I tell her she can do whatever she likes. She asks me if I mind if she stays in this house because it has always been her home. I tell her I am leaving, she refuses to come with me.

I left the house in the middle of the night, and the woman followed me, despite her claims that she intended to do the opposite, when we were about 50 feet from the house, I turned my head, and saw her running back towards the dreadful house, I did not follow her, afraid of what drew her back to it’s unearthly darkness.

I am sitting staring at the ground, in this memory with lack of sound, lack of presence of anyone around, simply staring down not up at the plain old ground. I am thinking about nothing, that is a lie, I am thinking about

She Came Out of Clear Glass

Her, as I am usually thinking about her, but not the her that I usually am thinking about a different one….

I heard this voice…. a strange voice, long ago…. this is a memory… this whole thing… not just this part of it…

THE NARRATOR IS INSANE

You don’t even use my name now…. that’s kind of ****ed up

You have too many names to keep using one or the other.

I have two, and one of them is yours.

Point taken.

Are you going to finish your story?

No…… I think I will just leave it with this……..

The strangest things

I was walking once, in the middle of the night. It was about three in the morning. I had been drinking after hours with a group of people that I had met at the bar that seemed interesting enough to be worth talking with a little longer, so I went back to their place and stuck around till about 4 in the morning. I like to watch the sun rise, so I left with enough time to be able to catch the sunrise.

I began walking from the house, unfamiliar with where I was and trying to get my bearings, I was beginning to return to hated sobriety, and had the very beginnings of that having slept in a whiskey bottle feeling, like the mouse in Dumbo.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a vehicle come up alongside me, or so I thought. I looked to my side, having sworn I saw it move. The strangest thing, was the car alongside me, that I swore had just parked next to me, looked unoperational. It had two flat tires and a bunch of tickets tucked under the windsheild wipers that were soaking wet, looking like they had been there long enough that the car was recognized to be abandoned.

I still wonder to this day, why had I seen the car driving… was I in some alternate dimension for a second…

Addict Resentment Haunted House

Haunted House

Standing in front of the mirror, as a child, not right now, not here.

Well, obviously, you are not a child right now, right here.

Are you sure?

Yes, even though you act like one, you are not one.

Unfortunately, because I would be the funniest child ever.

That already happened, and we were pretty funny, if terrifying is funny.

I am the creature in the bushes.

I am my own nightmares.

I am denial of self.

I am life spent on shelf.

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I am the ghostly figure in my childhood night terrors.

I am a child standing in front of a mirror, staring into space, or looking in a mirror, or staring into space.

I see my face now, not then but now.

I was afraid of this person that looked kind of like me, but older that I said had done things I would never do, because I was eight and doing heroin was bad.

I think now that I might have been able to see me now, but that is probably some delusion or something.

https://wordpress.com/tag/dailyprompt-1841

“From Me”

I can’t even see, I am so exhausted from making myself cry, clawing and scratching, and scrapping, and ripping and tearing at my own eyes, fighting to make it impossible to use them, so I can never see this again, myself through someone else, who ripped me so far away from myself, I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I am a cat who cannot see the cat in the mirror is them. I jump at the mirror, slamming with full impact into the glass, a marriage of breaking, a marriage of crashing, a marriage of skin meet sharp object, so very much like my tragic love affair with things heroic, but not, because they hide in human skin, and only bring death and pain and loss and women who used me like a severing knife, and then turned the knife on me.

I have become her outer monologue manifest in my mind, manifesting in man of festering infected soul. I am so stupid, I am doing this to myself, and I can’t bring myself to stop doing it because that means I am alone, and I don’t know if it is worse to talk to demonic ghosts or be alone.

I can still talk to you though we exist not in the same dimension, all the time at least, I visit you because I see you, you see me and you speak and I hear you because I listen. I listen to everything, to the mutterings of the under spoken word, to the shouting to mad dark night, to the words callously yelled into chaotic dark night, because they used to consume me, but they don’t anymore, because I realized I can cast them out on here.

I travel back and forth to Misery through my mind, and through others, who I see, stuck there, and they speak to me from there. I can see it in them speaking to me, speaking through them now, this came to me last night after a dream, I have been having strange dreams.

I am thinking that ghosts sometimes just want to be heard and are not used to being heard so say thing that they have always wanted to say very quickly and it is up to me to decode them because the universe is showing me them and them me for a reason, positive being the key over negative.

The universe paints in color, mostly, but there are beings in black and white, shadow people who do not get the colors of reflected light

Colored beings dance throughout the world, reflecting light on shadow men, who do not participate just observe and defend something that I do not know yet, I am not sure, think I forget… and I have been wondering lately what I forgot, sitting and thinking about what remains to be sought.

I am thinking so, and sitting alone, as I do because I know that I am a shadow of the people I can see, I see them, they can’t see me. I am a shadow of their reflections of light. I am not real, just a lack of light.

I hear a sound from behind and turn around, it is not a light beaming but the sound of down.

I am taken back, but I am not scared, some how it feels like I always knew this was there, speaking to me in shades I get, anger, pain and deep regret

I look to it, and it sees me, makes eye contact and warns me, do not be like me, please.

What do you mean? I say, and then it simply walks away.