Archive for questions

Still…

Posted in life story, Loss of Hope, Poetry, Ramblings with tags , , , , on 2011/05/25 by R L Burns

it’s wrong and it’s lame

cuz to you it was all just a game –

so how can I feel the same

way I did when I carved your name’s

first initial into my palm?

what is wrong in my brain,

in my heart – why does the pain

loiter and remain

drowning me – a hurricane

that possesses me, obsesses me?

i just keep telling myself those

christina perri lyrics…

I learned to live

half a life…

and who do you think you are,

runnin’ round leaving scars,

collecting your jar of hearts

and tearing love apart?

you’re gonna catch a  cold

from the ice inside your soul…

so don’t come back for me

don’t come back at all.

 

and yet the thought of that

terrifies me more than anything…

and i STILL don’t know what i did wrong…

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Sulphur

Posted in Poetry, Ramblings with tags , , on 2010/06/23 by R L Burns

Thunder rolls in

Lightning bolts fly

The screams echo endlessly

One glances close by

 

The acrid sulphur smell

Burns eyes and nose

Another bolt flashes,

Tears holes in my clothes

 

Skin burned and blackened

A dress all in shreds

I lost my last shoe

My stockings now threads

 

The flat land before me

Offers no cover

There’s nowhere to hide

No father, no lover

 

Shaking and weaving

No hope left in sight

I run and I run

In this false early night

 

In terror I flee

From what, God only knows

To what I run, though,

Is the question I pose.

Why Do I Cut?

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on 2010/02/20 by R L Burns

I was asked this question recently and I’ve been trying, all day, to formulate an answer.  I don’t really have one.  And I suppose I don’t really consider myself a “cutter’ – much as someone who drinks every day might not  consider themselves an  alcoholic?  I don’t know. I think I am much more of a psychological cutter wannabe than an actual mutilator.  I want to do it, but am so aware of the consequences that my cuts have not been overly dramatic…well, not too bad, anyway.

I’ve known cutters.  My sister used to cut.  Several of my female students used to cut a few years ago – one to the point of being committed to a psychiatric hospital for a bit.  I had a male student several years ago who mutilated himself with fish hooks…I’ve only known a couple of males who cut, though.   In my experience, cutting is the province of girls and women, much like poison.  Why is that, I wonder?

For many years I have understood, on an intellectual level, the need/desire to cut.  It tends to happen when people feel they have no control over events in their life – especially pain-evoking events – and cutting is a pain which can be totally controlled by them.  Additionally, the physical release of blood represents the release of pain; of letting the pain out. 

Despite an academic understanding coupled with a natural sympathy and empathy for the pain the cutter must be suffering, never could I understand actually cutting.  That just seemed like the most ridiculous thing one could do…And my first episode was almost, I don’t know, accidental, if you will.

I broke a picture frame.  The glass was everywhere.  The picture itself was still perfectly intact and it pissed me off so I picked up a large shard of glass and scraped our faces out of the picture…cutting my arm was only a second thought.  The next few times…I don’t know.  I never go very far with it, have been careful, even in the midst of the act itself, not to do too much damage. I mean, I do have to go to school and face my students – and my son.  How could I explain to them why it is okay for me to do it but not okay for them…

I don’t do it often.  Really I don’t.  The desire, however, is constant.  And I really don’t know why.  So, George, I don’t really have an answer.  I tried, though.