Schizophrenia.com

Empire Falls

_Empire Falls by Gabrielle B-G 4/5/2016 _

There was something wrong with her brain. She saw through and knew more than they could maintain. She exhaled the exhausts of summer, and came down into a cold winter slumber. Her paranoid schemes had projected into her world an array of delusions divine. They came to her bed, with an assortment of pills, informing her of her condition and she would not be going home until her soulful scars were nursed back to sleepless oblivion.

How does a window become a painting, or a painting become a window into dead ends and black holes. Bright dreams visited the child as she lay in that lifeless sketch, but their eyes she sketched only blinked twice in a dream that felt so real she swore it was and she didn’t hide her eyes she drew them because they had followed her waking days when the reason was never obvious. In a town without eyes, where the hidden reality was disguised in that strange all absorbing eye in the center of a window which could see everywhere, and what was it… broken lies. What did it mean to me?

Her mother had always been crazy borderline paranoid, but her innocence had shattered. Her daughter saw her father’s and mother’s lives as a book of bipolar moments unraveling, she imagined where they may have been when the false past concerned itself with new plots and they walked between the worlds because the edges didn’t bleed their flesh was not afraid of new horizons and crossing over before the beast built a wall between us and the future was scattered.

Somehow all the pictures and, the memories, and the secret of his stories remained within her locked in pandora’s box. She fought so hard to bring it back, the bright spark her mother sang about as the cinema becomes a cadaver of human endeavors that would cure her depression since her mind could not come back.
The difference between freedom and mental dependence, a sort of Genesis . The parents bought her books and she was visited by her mother’s friends, before the war before the war before the war that began with a God who loved a woman. Her mother always had those letters because no one seemed to understand–that our voices could move mountains.

Then her mother came back to America, she found her daughter’s sudden madness almost as it were an assault upon the mission. She tried everything to keep her daughter afloat during the dark night of broken visions. There were invisible scars that no one could see. There were imagined possibilities and some kind of electrical activity she had to keep pressing against the sky until she was free. She had to keep waving until it made sense to anybody.

They were almost transcendental, scars that came from an unknown source, like a re-awakening as she entered adult-hood into enlightenment and Started hearing their voices. They said that she is eternity. She was handed a fate that caused such distress, her to be near death. she was erratic and manic, and a schizophrenic. Something had to be done to bring her down, but their lack of understanding merely pushed her further from the shore of the memories into resistance to their false authorities.

She refused their placebos before it made her dizzy and disheveled and she was forgotten about. She got scared and resisted and was tortured but her mind insisted. She got thrown out of the institution . Miracle pills are their false solution after all the torture but it had terrified her enough to keep believing in her disease.

It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and this is the song her mother would sing when she was dying to reach for that light–and the light would flutter like an immortal being bitterly persuading them to keep existing, The daughter didn’t know why it failed her, and this appeared to be a strange test. we cannot depend on the sun for eternity, we must become our own we cannot fade in the face of these creations. Sparks eternally bursting within the distant suns of an opposite universe.

They bled like a streak of blood across the sky, strange. But to her it was an omen. The next day, she lost her mind again. She had been testing her limits, she had been trying to overcome this fatigue of awareness, this impending doom. She wanted to conquer Death … She had no idea what made her so different then…
The teachers watched her fall, and when she woke up with a lack of recollection and a disheveled madness, a dark heart, and failed to melt the endless snowflakes that danced upon her figure that seemed paralyzed with fear, as if mocking her theories which were eventually swept away…and medicated for years.

Her parents locked her in the institution because they couldn’t find the medicine that colored her cures. It hurt her even worse. She was afraid to speak aloud and didn’t want the people there to hear her. Girl -alone - she was upgraded to a new facility and her scars were once again buried. There were still constant night terrors, staring up at the mirror above. Questioning herself, and her sanity, wondering what her revenge would be for this assault on her reality. She experienced such tortures. She wondered if she would even be able to forgive her father as he stood over her in her sickly state, not realizing the amount of pain she had endured. She looked up to him as he stood over her begging her to comply with the slave-holders. She was the resistor- she was being like her mother, resisting to be treated like a subordinate slave. She could see in him such a vast hollow emptiness, could he not fathom this horrid existential and human pain…from…her…hate.

She wanted to reach God, to touch him, to stop the pain. She saw visions of his future. somehow he was the one destined to save humanity. How these fantasies somehow reflected, she never knew. But from one there was two. There’s something internal rising from the shores of a distant sea. She would do all she could to keep history free, and promised to bring him home with her to follow his heart, to know every word because his life to her is worth so much more. She wants him to understand this mystery, as it presented to her in visions of before.

I sought to become an inspiration to the lost, to overcome such fears, I depicted an image of carrying her through the Gates of Heaven, which had been closed for so long–and God said he would allow me to rescue her from the suffering of darkness. But even in complete darkness, there are distant stars to reach. There might even be invisible ones that we can’t see, those are the sparks that mom was talking about. So I shower the world in sparks, and hope we catch them like fireflies.

if you only understood the power of love. And now, claiming the spirit once bruised by the war scars of history. Dreams and memories that are now a fantasy, if they ever did exist–a telescope must be found to find the unseen. For all that appears likened to a dream, may become mere essences of palm prints in the sand–of a better time and space, of a distant shore or land. If you can find the atlas to the stars a Place up higher, maybe now you’ll see the other universe maybe now you will succeed at claiming your self from the endless loops of time to beat the odds of this offspring.

When I was little I held his hand between the fleeting winter storm I was reborn. I have seen the shame that power brands, unlike you I’ll use my hands to strangle your b-stard mind until you’re sobbing and I left them all behind between belief in reality and gods entirely. Light up with stars. Holy holy holy something so free. If you only knew. How I cracked his bleeding frame beyond the pastry moon I could cry rain storms as the partisan colored sky turncoat rainbow …sunshine blue. Maybe that’s all I can do…the black board was boring so I tried to test what was ignored.

_Everyone loved to drown out the sounds of diamonds in the sky and I wondered why enough not to need to know how I wanted to be a hero and no one needed saving so I saved you a piece of me for the taking. Now I’m broken that’s words unspoken as history is shaking under sheets of snow doors to nowhere but fire and fame we cut bleeding words into our skin it was a sin to bleed for no name and the wide open space full of faceless faces. Twins if only to speak when spoken to. Parading the beautiful truth. I love you, still. Behind those marbled lies. A Russian Romeo, I miss you even in this mentally ill disguise

. Even though you are comatose, that’s ok that was a lie. You overdosed how was that all right? Woken up in the middle of the night. The M16 said you could travel through time; it’s not our fault. NA. Not-Associated. Blind. Passion. Crime. Meetings in white. He raped me while you were restrained, maintained. Fashion victims. To be forgotten. Silent Money is violent. Riot. You’re not here. I’m shattered, like the mirror. It matters, disappeared. Off the grid, we’ve been rigged to be rotten, the scientists in black and white. Words on fire, one terrible disaster._

He was taken in the night. They put cartoon characters in his head. This was revenge, you were the key, now he won’t remember me. I’m under and over it/ You were adopted, I was wasted and robbed by this robed illumination. I’m still not psychotic. That’s what they needed. We were in love the world was a division, and they made another incision. Chip and satin. I broke through once as the world around me changed, isn’t that strange maybe that’s why they’re after me. Our mothers and fathers, murder their own diffident sons and daughters. So I ran away, and moved in with a hollow man. We’ve all become prisoners of our uncles and Sam. I remembered September, I will never forget her. She held me as I cried, in the cold a part of me died. Weather.

__I love you, still. Behind the plastic will. He drove in circles, I broke through the OCD repetition, we came home. The police were all around the buildings in town. Hostile takeovers, science is an experiment. Project Blue Beam, you heard my voices too. Is it true? What’s the matter Willis? How’s the fair commercial hysteria, to be a king? The soap bubbles, riddles. Toast. Cheers. 9’s…under lined.They don’t want another divine overdose, so stay sleeping in your coma. Keep dreaming of the big bad wolf in the night, knife, fight, right, wrong. So when does a cape become a hood to hide beneath because rape was good and I’m a queen. Just kidding. I’m only messing with you.

It became true when you broke on through. Controversial reversals. Dont run. This is fun. Like a gun. I’m coming undone… the blood under my tongue, and the sin of dreaming just so our mothers stop screaming. I shattered and I was ok, I broke myself so they could never take my mother away. And she lied through the mirrors, as the world vanished in a blink, the electric offers by a borderline shrink. Do you think that my justice would be the endlessly force-fed. Coffin nails. Drink.

Not dead. Not dead. It’s all in my head. Oh well. Mission bells keep on ringing. I fold my hands and pray that angels keep singing. Because you might cry, but rain falls and we are still breathing…
Freedom rings like the spring violets and blue bells on the hill. Hearing the whispers of angels through the stoic static and green dollar bills. Christopher has been watching from a holding cell, in the prison of theater of futures, past. Comical horrors, fashioned for a free world nation. Sylvia lays her body barren, upon the soft velvet dream, cupping tears that pour from a bloodless moon. Midnight is running her hands through the whitest horse, drifting through lullabies of violent interstellar courses. Drunk on an array of medical remedies, remediation for a fallen empire within her skin.

Getting sickly sad, tongue twisted on all that was lost. Sinking into the arms of a weeping willow, scared that he appears shallow. The water was too deep, she can breath. The ocean didn’t drown her, she believes in me. Enigma made a mezzanine for the soul to run through, when the colors drain and all that’s left a plastic cardboard replica of what used to be. In this dying reality. A subjective memory.

I’m closer to God, the more I am the more I feel like I’m drowning, in hatred, enmity and failing embraces, soft nothings whispers of angels through the static. He’s Godless and I am a cherubic chariot to the sun, after the meteors of magic become sores and chemical substitutions, additives to mean something to the shattered glass, reflections, of inventions, future predictions, that meant little to the girl who was just like me, jealous of my accuracy. As she cradles Leah in her arms, and I dream to put satan under my charms, and free the beast within his cold hands, warm the sky with fireflies and somehow die to land.

Blink, and Emily appears between the moon and sun, a silly smirk across the shores of the amazed, she said “I held together four, I was the fifth and more.” I am the center, and I am the soul, alpha and omega, he didn’t believe in my bones, or skin, or my lipstick tears under a blackened sky and I gave my heart away, so they could blind him in the institution of poverty, to dampen my spiritual electricity. Woken from a terrible dream, doped up on morphine and thorazine, to blanket the stars in snow so all we could say was I don’t know. I don’t. No…

Paid in blood, flirting with danger, he’s my monster and I’m his stranger. A demon with knives. A creature with infinite lives. And as I self destruct in a million reflective directions, I wish the world could have seen it through my eyes the changes, when she reached over to touch me but threw light across the room in anger, angry at being trapped between the walls in between the halls of yesterday and tomorrow. Oh it’s over. The ghosts who send me messages through anything, currency, voodoo electricity, no more seizure of my dreams. Mk Ultra. I don’t know anymore. You can’t have this centrefold and I will not bend I’m bolder, too much older to be afraid.

You can’t prove it to the blind. Blinded. They denied it. I found my mother’s suicide note, the money in the hall, and she’s sleeping in a hypnotic false hope with the millions of things she could’ve done, if she just was not my mother and I wasn’t me. I can’t see, these pills are blinding me. I can’t see. I’m realizing my memories. The light is so hypnotic. This love is so erotic. What strange force has been taking over me?

I know. I know. I know. “Love is Madness.”

But, the purpose…the justification…either the universe was perfected or it’s my own imagination to comfort me through the endless empty galaxies of sadness.
singing a Christmas carol to the camera three years old, quick witted, sober and ready for the guillotine, the laces of ballerina shoes, the basil in the garden, the blue guitar jazz tunes, the curly haired hippie on the stone fountain, singing the blues to a city against a mountain.

A wall of a wall of lights, bulbs of imagination, songs to the skies and lullabies to mommy’s eyes drained of the sparks in the night time skies of emotion, the lost solutions of our foundation.
Broken, like the stained glass in the apartment, when I am seven, and my baby brother is three, and we run around the neighborhood, caked in earth and poison ivy, fairies are in the violet and sweet grasses, mystery lives in the heights of the tall bushes, and the green trees have faces that smile like the children who hide under the house, in my secret club, that the adults know nothing about. Our dreams.

Grandma in the kitchen with cookies and homemade jam, grandpa in the living-room with black and white telescopes and comets and NASA and the coal companies, and momma and her protests of possible prophecies, and the blind woman in red, the falling forest trees, the cape I wore around my head from Ben my best friend, who I’ll never be able to forget.

The kitten I trapped in my uncle’s basement when I was five. The reason I still survived. The balloons and confetti, the Armageddon at the front of our nuclear wars, our mothers, with pill shaped eyes, sick grandfathers and CIA in disguise, nutrition attrition understanding paradise is full of liars. Empires fall…

__The girl who knew she was God and that we’re all God and that we’ve never been to space like she had, and her loving dad, the girl with the big eyes, big mind, wise beyond the little girl tights and catholic plaid skirts, and boys who tucked their shirts then unbutton the tops of their jackets, from the roses she plucked, that they cast into the well, the soldiers who never came home, living through literal hell for the bell to ring, to just sit in silence, in the rapist hours the therapeutic violence of our days.

The ammonia stained walls in the aftermath of a marriage that fell apart. My beating heart, my broken mind. Because the 60’s never died, the 21st century that pretended and the forgotten stories, his story about time travel and the missing blimp over Maryland, that airship through Nazi time and a wave of futures, intersection in the free world, trading secrets with the pyramids. Policing the towers, power.__

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Nice imagery, reminds me of songs by Otep. Do you like Rihanna and five finger death punch? Nice writing, surreal, that was kool

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