But all she gets is burning walls into ashes

The way seemed so true and solid first

Now everything crash, everything mashes

It’s obvious that they’re all going insane

What kind of world could hang it, after all?

“To be whole”, that’s what we hear when they claim

But all those dreams, it all started to fall

And it feels so hard to understand ‘em

Why she just can’t see herself in blank

That damn mirror turned against the wall

Her eyes pushed deeply throughout their call

It’s obvious that they’re all going insane

What kind of world could hang it, after all?

Sit and wait and smile and be nice

Forget ‘em, kill ‘em, cut your fantasy with a knife

Into the fire she swallowed their hate

Into the darkness they fell for their crimes

How could it work so perfectly well?

How could she know they’d step on those mines?

It’s obvious that they’re all going insane

What kind of world could hang it, after all?

And it was the funniest thing she had ever seen

That sweet psycho pretendin’ to be a human being

Wasn’t it appropriate, after all?

Her love murdered inside her chest

The knife resting peacefully on the table

The blood mixed to ashes in a whole damn beautiful mess.

It’s obvious that she’s all going insane

What kind of soul could hang it, after all?

What kind of bipolar love wouldn’t fall?

What kind of feeling could survive under a world so small?

For sure wouldn’t step by the lake

But boiling in so deep anger

Looked to the glass water, a glowing face

First he thought it was dreamin’

Those eyes that shined in blue

But a sweet innocent voice singing

And his heart, by love now full

All his problems vanished away

Magically captured within

Melting the elegy of May

Such a pure little song echoing

He coudn’t wait, needed to feel it

Warmed,  blinded it was his mind

Walked his way, body screaming inside

A deadly desert fortune, that he’ll surely find

His muse was nothin but a passional illusion

Construction of his corrupted heart decayed

He wished someone to love, a true fusion

Now all he gets it’s with him at the bottom of the lake.

The wild symphony echoing inside our heads

The reptiles crashing into the cretaceous death

Ambivalent emotions from us, stole.

Since our birth in the very ancient goddess’ womb

We’re running out of control throughout the greed

Slashing and dilacerating the fresh and dark meat

Waiting only for our spirits to get out of their tombs

The Song of Creation will make them wake up

The Dance of Shiva will make them fall

Beneath the whitish roots they oddly call

For all the forces hidden to come up

Bleed your own river, slash your own soul

Because there’s no escape from the deadly fortune

We can try to resist, but we’re not immune

So let your body be consumed and mutated into owls

For life and death, both.

The very last Dance of Shiva,

Apperaring to come and vanish us.

It’s the right time to a new birth and essay

Developing beings to fantasy worlds, where we’d like to stay.

Or it would be just something diferent from this strange reality we live in, we drown in, we kill in, we die in.

Skulls of delusion, bones and flesh for them, to feed ‘em,  to grow ‘em, to call ‘em into life, to take ‘em away from the darkness.

And a million flashlights and lighthouses shining so bright at the top of that highest mountain, in this odd dream we live in, we drown in, we kill in, we die in.

Fullfilling our empty mind, our insane walls crashing into ourselves, consuming us, taking us away from the darkness.

And just putting us into glacial caves, with our bodies exposed through the ice glass, deforming our so decayed morphology.

Waiting for the sun to come down and burn the whole atmosfere, takin’ us into this crazy reality we live in, we drown in, we kill in, we die in.

We survive in.

Get mad at it in.

Inner.

Mechantecharnivore soul.

Destroying the white forests we run in, the stems we hide in, the clouds we curse in.

Mutating into owls.

For life and death, both.

by Dorothy Parker

I first heard about this poem on a movie called “Girl, Interrupted”, said by no one less than Angelina Jolie, playing the character of a sociopath named Lisa. I don’t know if you, my rare and precious reader, had already watched this movie… but if you hadn’t, then mark this on your notepad or schedule, you gotta watch this. Not because of Angie (what, I agree, would be a damn good reason to watch anything), but the story is so well written, and the characters are so well played (and by others great names like Whoopi Goldberg and Winona Ryder), that it really worth your time.

But, back to that poem… ‘Cause I’m definitely not here to talk about the movie or make a synopsis…

The brilliants words of Dorothy Parker are so full of poison and, at the same time, so filled of a strange candy illusion, artificially sweet. It gots you. Those words have been echoing inside my head since I heard them for the first time, many years ago. But not only because it tells with humor about something so strong and ignored (wich is the suicide), but because this is a subject that we all should be concerned of. Instead of it, we keep on pretending that no one next to us will never do such thing, and when we hear it, it’s always something so distant and so surreal, that it seems almost to belong to another world. Well, it is time to assume that this is not some crazy-psichiatric-far-far-away-problem that we would just leave for the professionals. Suicide is a public health problem. Such as flu or even AIDS.

I read an article about it some time ago that opened my eyes to this. I was already confortable with this kind of subject, since I’ve been dealing with this for so many time in so many ways, but that article showed me the numbers, the statisc, the real portraid of this problem. And then I just realized that caring so much about death is caring so much about life. I still don’t understand why people keep on avoiding the natural path of our biological condition. Let me explain it better…

Not only we ignore death, wich is an inevitable end for all human beings, like we ignore most of our desires (natural feelings and impulses) just because we now pretend to live in a civilizated society and then we should hide the truth even from ourselves. I’m not saying that we should become wild beings and go back to the jungle. I’m just saying that people are so into this fantasy called civilization, that they’re forgetting what they really are.

This poem could be considered by some people like something innapropriated, only because it talks about suicide. I think we should really begin to talk more about suicide. We should stop pretending that we don’t care, that we don’t see, that we don’t know why. Does it looks like too creepy if a teenager girl wants to kill herself? Would you consider it irresponsable just because it’s a teenager? Does the age really counts? And if it was an adult, a rich business man with a pretty beautiful family? Now you would consider it some kind of financial depression, right? C’omon, why don’t you admit to yourself that you don’t wanna talk or care about it because you are part of this fantasy civilization and you’re always pretending to feel and to be something that you definitely don’t , but you’re so numb inside that this void can’t be filled anymore and you just decided to ignore it?

We created our most deadly disease.

And we are killing ourselves only to avoid talk about it.

Something must be done. I’m starting with this post. And you, what you’re gonna do about it? And if it’s too much do something for the others, then do something for yourself. Now.

Magic, isn’t it?

…

And then she was singing for the fairies and dragons that were flying above the great mountains of the east, and spiting fire for all over the green forests, a magic fire that made everything just shine instead of burning… And it was just like a dream, in fantasy, where we could stay forever, listening to that music, feeling that surreal sensation and breathing all those fresh air that was surrounding us… The brighest light, the greener grass, the glowing water and all that feeling…

Violins… And a bunch of dwarfs passed through our village, running in hurry, soon disapperaring among the white stems, among the yellow leaves, among the mists of a reign full of peace, full of love, and full of incredible adventures, just waiting for us, just standing there, and calling us for their caves, mountais, lakes, volcanoes and heavens…

Soon we will be among the gods and goddess of this world… And then, we’ll belong together, forever and ever… You in my magic symphony, and I into your mystical eyes, those eyes that captured me so long ago, and made my heart ran as fast as the wild horses out there, playing in the rain, and showing us that hope is the most powerfull goddess we will ever know…

…undead…undead…undead…undead…

Bela Lugosi is dead…

…undead…undead…undead…undead…

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.”

— William Blake

His big and thick hands were hidden inside his stuffed pockets. Something dirty and kind of disgusting was wetting that part of his pants. His chest was naked and being cutted by the tiny, but strong and sharpened, branches along the way. Slices of blood seem to be melting, confronted by the wind. It was hot as hell – He thought. But that insignificant detail would never bother him. The temperature was the last thing in the world he would be concerned of. At least the temperature there, in the middle of a lonely forest, so far away from the civilization, so far way from all those really hot segments of concrete and steel buildings, dark and fearful streets, toxic air and idiot people who looked like empty ornaments being controlled by some evil phantom. Or the phantoms would be themselves? They’re all just sons of a same devil. – He said to the squirrel running frightened along the whitish roots beneath his foots. Not that he thought the little animal would answer, but he used to feel less crazy if his words would be listened by someone, anyone. Even because in the last days he felt like no one could listen to him, or like no one could understand what he was trying to say. It was frustrating. And that was certainly one of the good reasons that brought him to that distant part of the town.

His pants began to split at the high of his knees, and small pieces of fabric fell to the ground. But nothing seems to care him. That irresponsible walk had an objective that was very clear in his mind. So he continued to keep his unskillful steps, crashing dead autumn leaves and making some sort of wild symphony, with the bird’s chants in the background, being companied by all those odds and mysterious forest’s sounds. Something esoteric was fulfilling the air. In other occasions he could swear that fantastic beings lived here, like fairies and stuff. But now his concentration wasn’t let him pay attention to the magic.

His fingers grabbed vigorously the trunks, trying to maintain the balance, because now he was ascending. The ground had inclined more than thirty degrees, enough to make anyone lost the breath in fifteen minutes.

His mind now was a mix of memories, insane thoughts and flashes of screams in the dark and something shining. The last hours were cruel and made him fell to the bottom of his blackest hole. Down there, only his consciousness continued to graze his skull. And those claws were made him bleed to death.

Finally he caught to the top. Now the trees weren’t blocking his vision, and the clouds seemed to be closer, dangerously closer. The dry blood on his chest started to freeze, even with the lasts sun shines crossing the sky.

At the top of that hill, everything seemed to run slower. Even the time now had started to creep. In front of him, a huge crystalline lake was merged by the greener grass he ever saw. But the low misty covering it was disguising the vivid color.

He moved closer to the water, got down on his knees, and holding hardly an insistent tear, took his hands out of his pockets. The great amount of blood in it could scary someone unadvised. That was the strange fluid staining his pants. He tried to wash it away on the lake, but the layers were too thick. Soon his tears started to falling, and in a few seconds he was crying deeply, getting desperate. He started to scream, making some birds flew away on the other side of the lake.

What have I done… – He whispered sobbing. – What the fuck have I done! – He yelled. The scratches on his chest were burning as fire. But he deserved suffer so much more than that…

He killed her. Without thinking twice. He got the knife, invaded her room at night, and stabbed her all over her body, exactly 27 times. His hands couldn’t lie. But he got time to run away, so he took the car at the parking and drove to the forest. And then, his escape began. And now, he’s so fucking regretful…

But what could’ve he done? That little whore was betraying him! And with their best friend! He was being abandoned, and the pain was too strong to be ignored. She left him without saying a word. But how could she be wrong about it? He was never there, ever. He closed himself inside his fantasy little odd world, with all his depressions and fears, with all those monsters and voices coming from nowhere. He closed himself to the rest of the world, even for those who loved him, including her. And at that night he was so crazy, angry, confuse and drugged, that taking that knife just seemed to be a good idea. He thought about cut his own throat after the murderer, but then he discovered he was too coward for that. The forest was the best shot.

And so, looking to the rocks merging the lake, he knew what to do.

He took a bunch of wet and heavy rocks, filled his pockets with then, and started to walk into the lake. The water soon was at the height of his waist, and then at the height of his mouth. After his head disappeared into the gray water, the silence turned back to reign on the top of the hill…

There would be more…

More than he thought.

More than you can see.

But now, all of this was just resting at the bottom of the lake.

— Excuse-me, I’m tryin’ to find the bridge Saint Peter.

He stopped pulling the baggage out of the car, raised up his head and looked behind him, seeking the owner of that sweet voice. His eyes faced a strange woman. She was wearin’ black jeans and a gray t-shirt, the same color of the sky above ‘em.

She looked sad, but yet, incredibly beautiful, with deep blue eyes and provocative lips.

— I’m sorry, I don’t know how to get there. – He answered. – I’m kinda new around here. I just arrived from Sidney, long drive, you know… But, I can ask my brother about the bridge. He’s at work now, but I can call.

He didn’t know why all this emergency in helping that unknown girl. Maybe the sorrow hidden between her words and movements.

— Ah, it would be so nice of you. But I don’t want you to bother your brother, I can ask someone else.

— No, please, let me help you. – He said almost immediately, pulling the cell phone from inside his pocket, opening the flip and pressing the buttons.

She was nervous. And that was very clear because her hands didn’t stop shaking since she got there and asked for directions. And also, she seems to be sweating, and that was really odd, ‘cause the time was so damn cold that even the breath could freeze inside the lungs.

— Hey, Martin! It’s Nick! Listen to me, there’s a friend of mine here who wants to know how to get to the Saint Peter Bridge… Yeah, we’re in front of your house, I just got here and… Sure, sure, I’m all right, sorry I didn’t call earlier and… Yeah, I know, I’m gonna feed the damn fishes, now answer me, how can her get to that bridge?

And he listened carefully to the instructions, but his attention was so strong, that he didn’t realized that the woman was already walking away from him, looking for something in the air around her..

— Hey, lady, where are you goin’?? – He was runnin’ after her.

She stopped and thought that he was too nice to know what she was about to do. So, the girl only smiled at him, made a signal with her hands that no more directions was needed, and continued to walk along the street.

He was confuse, and kind of desperate to help her. He knew somethin’ was very wrong about everything that happened in the last minutes, but who was him? No one to her! He didn’t want to admit but he was obsessed by a woman he not even knew the name!

— Why do you wanna go there? To that bridge… It’s a bad day, with all those clouds in the sky… A storm is comin’… – He was walkin besides her, without lookin’ at her face.

— I’m tryin’ to find my own peace of mind.

— And what the bridge has to do with that? Can’t you just meditate alone inside a warm room at you house? Do you really need to find peace of mind in the middle of a comin’ storm?

She laughed, and at that exactly moment, he felt like she was the brightest girl he ever know. Shining just like a star. Somethin’ about all that mystery was caughtin’ him like a spell. She got him completely under her magical skills.

— On the bridge I can feel like I got wings… – She said while her eyes stared nowhere.

— And why that?

— I’m gonna fly away… To some new fantasy world where I can be myself, where no masks are needed, where no one needs to hide inside ‘em what they really think and feel… I’m gonna fly away to my own little piece of liberty…

And then he realized why all that sorrow hidden so well.

— But… You can’t… I mean… You can’t do that, you… You have so much to live! – The last sentence sounded empty, but he didn’t know what to talk, he never faced a suicide before. And he was walking her to the bridge without noticing it.

Only when the great pillars of concrete appeared on the horizon, revealing the beginning of that old bridge, he stopped himself and grabbed her hand with violence.

— I won’t let you do it.

— Why not? You don’t even know me! Let me go, now! Or I’ll scream you’re assaulting me!

— And so what? Call the cops? Come on, do it! I dare you!

She not even opened her mouth. They both knew that if the cops were noticed about an attempt of suicide, a whole circus would be born there, with journalists, firemans and a bunch of curious.

He let her hands smoothly, feeling a little guilty about it. But he needed to do something more invasive, that girl wanted to kill herself!

— Gimme just one good reason to live, and I’ll go to my home right now. – She said. – Now it’s my time to dare you.

He swallowed in dry. What can you say to make someone believe that was better living than dying?

— Look, the world is fucked up, okay? And I know that, but you can’t just end it all like that! Don’t give up, girl, there’s a lot of things to be discovered out there! You look so young, and you’re so beautiful!

— Oh, please, don’t come with that bullshit about beauty, poetry and how good the world could be if we learn how to look from another point of view. I’ve been hearin’ it for all my life, and I just think that all these little reasons are too fragile. Well, surprise! Now they’re all broken, and nothin’ can fix that! So just get the hell out of here, and let me jump from this bridged, because in the last moments of my freakin’ life I wanna feel like nothin’ else exists around me, not even you or this pointless conversation.

He never felt so weak. What else he could say? He just stepped back, showing agreement.

He didn’t stand there to watch anything. Not even to hear the sound of her body crashing down there, into the ocean, and all her bones and dreams breakin’ together…

But in his mind, she never got really drowned. She only made what she wanted. Got to the bridge, opened her angel wings, and flew away to another world… Somewhere better than this, somewhere brighter, like her smile on that cloudy day…