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Trvial723 - love pickles



June 8th, 2007

Nazi Ghosts

lone orange
This is based off of something an Auschwitz survivor said in “Never Forget”, “Every night they come and stand at the foot of my bed, but I don’t open my eyes.” She was genuinely terrified.

Nazi Ghosts

Every night when I
fall asleep
I know they’re waiting.

They move through
my house in silky blackness
waiting to take me away again.

And people say that time is Past
They’re all dead

But they still wait for me
Driven by their hatred.

They want to make me a
victim again
Take away all life’s pleasure
deprive me of necessities
and watch me suffer
and waste away.

They’re so angry that I
survived the first time.
So angry they are driven
back from Hell…

to wait for me,
hoping I’ll open my eyes
so they can take me away again.

They have their gun
and those smiles
beneath the soldier’s masks

that make them somehow
less human
and infinitely more terrifying

They move through
my house in
horrible silky blackness

With the fires of
Hell and Hate in their eyes
and they wait

Hoping I’ll open my eyes
so they can take me
back with them.

And I keep very still
I can’t let them know!

But they must,
Because they take my dreams, too.

They show me my
mother and brothers dying
And they let me hear them laugh.

They vanish with the light of day
but they’ll be back

to wait for me.

9:32 p.m. May 7, 2007

May 31st, 2007

It Doesn't Hurt
Every step I take,
I try to remember...
The feeling of the metal diamond,
hot, then cold,
cutting into my bare feet.
The metal rod grating against
my calloused hands
as I climb higher and higher.
The wind pushes against me
blowing bits of sand
into my squinted eyes.
My knees ache and
every time I take a
step I can feel the
joints creaking, protesting.
My jeans don't fit right;
I hold them up with a
bit of wiry rope.
I don't remember where I
got my shirt; it's been far
too long....
The people on the streets
keep walking
The don't notice me.
They never do.
My hair is tangled.
I don't own a brush.
Maybe I did...once...
My hand touches the metal door handle,
cold to the touch.
My whole body moves
with the effort of opening it.
I haven't eaten in six days.
As it swings open,
it hit s my toes.
Sharp pain shoots up my leg
The surprise of it brings
tears to my eyes.
My foot burns as the
toes leak my blood.
It falls through the diamond-holes
onto the dirty cement below.
Stepping inside, the stone floor
is smooth and cold.
More stairs reveal themselves
and I start to climb once more.
I find another door and pull it open.
Breathing hard, I wipe my eyes.
I'm on the rood of a building.
Paint cans and dead birds are
nestled in the corners.
I feel the sand blowing into
my eyes and wounded toes as I walk
toward the edge.
I sit, my legs over the edge.
and take a deep breath.
The wind seems to urge me
forward. I swing my legs
and drop.
I close my eyes to protect
them, though I'm not sure why.
I don't feel fear, no regrets.
No one will cry for me...
I feel suddenly free
and I grin even as I hit
the cement. I hear
a car driving past,
and I feel warm as
though someone has laid
a quilt over me to help me sleep.
I can't breathe anymore.
I know my eyes are open,
but I can't see.
The sound of that last
car echoes, growing
fainter and fainter.
Suddenly, I feel the
metal diamond of the fire
escape, first hot, then
cold, cutting into my bare
feet....but...it doesn't
hurt anymore.

March 12, 10:28 am


lone orange
The rain falling into my life is washing away so many things I want to hold on to.
Rain, rain. Just go away...

All the things you never told me
Now I'll never get to know.

All the times I hid things from you...
Now I'll never be punished.

And that funny laugh you sometimes had,
I will never hear again.

You'll never see me graduate from high school
and go to KU like you wanted.

I'll never hear you speak again
and tease me about what I've done.

I can't go tell you I got a '1' at state
as much as I wish I could.

I can't make you cornbread
and wrap it in jagged foil.

You'll never hear me tell you
I love you even though I do.

You'll never again play in Golf Tournaments
and win first prize with your grandson.

You'll never again hunt a turkey
or recount the history of a show gun.

You'll never again watch me rearrange the magnets
on your filing cabinet and laugh.

You'll never again care for my pet
and complain about how noisy he is.

You'll never again see your daughter
your wife, your grandchildren.

I can't help your sister bake you a birthday cake -
Your birthdays are all finished.

I can't breathe at 1:23 in the afternoon
Because that's another day you've been gone.

And we can't make new memories


(no subject)

Not everyone can
Be perfect--
It’s logically impossible

Because everyone has
Clashing ideas on what
Is perfect
For the Man that is Gone from my life Forever

The Stone That Bears Your Name
-May 20, 2007-
The stone is cold
that bears your name.
Cold and unrelenting.

It knows nothing
of the man you were…
Why does it have your name?

Two small dates adorn the letters
but that is all passerby
may know of you.

~A cemetery is just a place.
Stones and trees and bodies.
…And memories.~

And the sky cannot hold you captive
The stone is below it
but you’re above.

Higher than I’ve ever been
So high I cannot see you…
cannot find you…

And the stone is cold
that bears your name.
Cold and ugly and nothing like you.
This is a poem FUZZYSLIPPERS92 posted in their journal; I'm just posting it here for them, too.

A droning day
Of a everlasting week
With nothing to look for
Nothing to seek

Running from family
Hiding from humanity
Enjoying lonliness
And insanity

A grandparent
That never stops
An abondoned family
Hiding from cops

I'm the lone ranger
The one never found
Never to be heard from
For I make no sound

Hidden in shadow
Shrouded in night
Wasting away
Without a single fight

May 6th, 2007

Aron Part I

lone orange
"Aron? It's Becky. Mom. Call me back as soon as you get this message. You have my number."

Aron flipped to the next message.

"Aron, call me right now. We need to talk!"


"You have got to stop ignoring me, young man. You call me back right now!"


"Aron!! Just answer the phone!"

A few moments later, Aron heard a long tone signifying that the messages were deleted. He tossed the phone into the passenger seat of his battered 1990 Lumina and focused his attention on the road ahead. He had no intention of calling the woman back, not after what she had done to him. She had no explanation that could quiet his rage and ultimately protect herself from his anger.

Aron pulled into the parking lot of the Casa de la paz, the House of Peace.

The wide glass door opened automatically before him and as he entered the cool building, he felt his anger wash out of him, going to lurk in the car.

"Ehron!" Roger Koma, the manager greeted him.

"Roger." Aron inclined his head.

"Yo find Rosh or Daun furst?"


Roger grinned for no apparent reason and waved his arm in a grand gesture to let Aron pass. Aron walked past with a forced smile that fell as he continued down the hall to his sister's room.

He was the middle child of seven, Rojsh being the only female. His brother Dahnyil also resided in Casa de la paz and his brother Brasht worked there. His oldest brother Jak had been dead for six years; he had been a policeman and was killed while on duty. The brother closest to him in age, Terrance, had been killed in a freak accident involving a train. His brother Cozmin, younger by sixteen years, had recently been taken from his mother, Becky, to enter the foster care system. Aron had once worked out plans to care for the boy, but they had all been dashed when Becky had withdrawn all the money from Aron's bank accounts and used it to pay various persons to attempt to kidnap Cozmin and bring him home to her. All this circulated, as it always did, through his mind back to front, back to front. When its freakish cycle reached the back of his mind, he made a conscious effort to keep it there, knocking gently on Rojsh's door.

"'Ello Guv-nuh." came a bright voice. Aron pushed open the pseudo-wood door to reveal a light-skinned, slightly overweight woman of about thirty sitting cross-legged in a patterned hospital issue robe on a cot fashioned to look like a standard bed. She had a deck of cards with stark-white backs and appeared to be playing some kind of game, although Aron knew she really wasn't.

"It's Aron."

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, never turning her head. "Aye, that it is."

"Just thought I'd come visit."

"Didja now." she sounded amused.

"Yeah, I did. How are you?"

"How'm I what?"

"Doing. How are you doing?"

"How'm I doin' what?"

"How are you feeling?"

"With m'fingers, I'll bet. They've got these funny nerve things under m'skin."

Aron always went through this routine with Rojsh; she needed routine and humor; no matter how many times she heard the same joke, she would never cease to smile or acknowledge it in some way. For this reason, and this reason alone, Aron laughed. "Would you like to see Dahn?"

"Dahnyil? But the dear boy was in here a mere eighteen minutes and seventeen seconds ago!" Rojsh had some kind of internal stopwatch; she was always keeping track of things. She could not, however, read the time of day from the face of a clock or from a digital watch, as number meant nothing to her. Still, Aron knew Rojsh was lying to him, whether intentionally or not, because Dahnyil didn't leave his room.

"Really." he knew she wouldn't comprehend his sarcasm. "Do you have anything you would like to do?"

"Watch them leaves fah jus outside that window over yonder." She was constantly changing her accent and phrasing as though she were taking a virtual tour of the world. Sometimes she seemed to spend a very long time in one place, and sometimes she spoke only a few words with the timbre of choice.

"Okay." Aron knew that it was not the season for falling leaves, and he reasoned Rojsh did, too, but because the thought of falling leaves had occurred to her and she had no real responsibilities, she was free to watch the trees in hope of seeing one. Occasionally, Aron envied her. Becky never did to her any of the numerous unforgivable things she did to him. She suddenly swept up off her bed and came over to him, bending low as if to tell him a secret. Her breath tickled his ear uncomfortably, but he knew better than to shy away.

"I'm missing Jak something terrible." Her words threw his thoughts from the back of his mind to the front, as if they were rebelling for being kept from their usual schedule of causing him worry and anguish.

"Yeah, I miss Jak, too."

"2191 days and nineteen minutes since they called here about him."

"Hunh." He knew she was right and wondered how many things she was counting in her head.

"What's that laddie? You're makin' no kinds of sense."

"Nevermind." It was indeed, the anniversary of Jak's death. He had never been very close to that particular brother, but the loss stung him nonetheless.

"Going to work later?"

"Work? Oh, yeah. I got a new job. I work for the county, repairing roads, stuff like that."

"That's not the job you wanted."



"I had to take the job when it came up." he was still trying to convince himself.

"Oh, you were so smart, Aron." Brasht's quiet voice from the hallway startled him, but he managed to cover himself.

"Don't." he said miserably.

"You were so smart." Brasht was pleading quietly with him.

"It doesn't matter how smart you are, if you can't pay for college, you're sunk." he didn't sound at all bitter, ashamed maybe, as though the blame for that particular flaw in the American system rested solely on his shoulders.

"You had scholarships. You could've done great things."

"I like working outside." he avoided Brasht's eyes with skill, as he had done many times before.

"Why'd you blow it, Aron?" Brasht wasn't accusing or intimidating, and his question seemed almost to be rhetorical.

"I don't want to talk about it." Aron sounded cool and impassive, but not cold or angry.

"I know. You never do."

"No point in living in the past."

"I know." he paused and repeated the two words with more conviction. "I know." Brasht pulled the sheets off the bed Rojsh had vacated and stuffed them unceremoniously into a canister on his cart. "Later."

"He's a strange lad." Rojsh said, not allowing a moment's silence.

Aron considered this. "Not really." He stood up. "I'm going to see Dahn, are you coming or not?"

"Dahnyil? But the dear boy was in here a mere twenty-three minutes and fifty-two seconds ago!" She was still counting her lie.

"Goodbye, Rojsh." He kissed her forehead and left the room, leaving the door open just a crack behind him. A sigh escaped his lips and he made his way further down the hallway. He was an actor, always an actor. His whole life was acting, really. Put on this face for this person, that one for that person, use this language around her but not around him. He wasn't sure when he was wearing a mask and when he was being himself; it all felt so unnatural. Lost in his thoughts, he almost walked past Dahn's room. Upon entering, he found Brasht sitting on the radiator, talking quietly to Dahn. Dahn's eyes sparkled as they rarely did and he looked excited but peaceful. That was Brasht's way. Even when Aron was furious with him, Brasht's calm, quiet, peace made him feel as though his fury, too, was all an act, and as such, he could never hold a grudge against his brother.


"Look, it's Aron." Dahn didn't look, but Aron smiled slightly anyway.

"I've gotta...be somewhere. Just thought'd I say hello. So...hello." To Dahn, the fact that Aron was his biological sibling meant nothing.

"Do you want to talk to Aron? Please, Dahn?" Dahn studiously ignored Aron, just as he usually ignored everyone, with the exception of Brasht. He would always want to see Brasht, even try to talk to him. Brasht was the only person who had ever persuaded Dahn to leave his room. Aron was not jealous of Brasht, just grateful that Dahn had someone.

"Well, I'll see you two later." Brasht used to be embarrassed that Dahn would pay him alone any attention, but that was all in the past. Now, he just waved and smiled with his eyes, sending out gentle waves of serenity that could never make anyone seasick.

Brasht's peace managed to hold off the anger waiting in his car for only a short while. He missed Jak and Terrance. He missed the Dahn and the Rojsh he used to know. He missed seeing Cozmin. Most of all, he missed Ru, his father. His internal fight with his anger toward Becky (he always called her Becky, never Mom or Mother) coupled with his lasting grief was tearing him apart. The tears that leaked from his eyes and stained his tattered blue jeans were the remainder of Brasht's waves of calm leaking out.

He was losing control, not for the first time. He wanted to drive and never stop, he wanted to run until his heart burst, but at the same time, he wanted to lie perfectly still and never move, he wanted the peace and serenity of his brother. All these things he wanted, he swallowed as one might swallow a boulder. The boulder itself was out of sight, but the bulge in the body was visible. The pain was evident on his face, in his eyes, in his trembling hands. All these things he wanted, he tried to hide as he pulled into the parking lot.

He dressed quickly in baggy work clothes and checked in for his next assignment at the county office. In his orange eyes, an unexplainable cold grey fury sparked and twisted and gave him the look of a cruel and desperate man.

April 22nd, 2007

(no subject)

scary happy face
Sorry I haven't been writing...
I probably won't be for a while. There's been a few deaths within my family and friends and I'm really pretty down.

March 4th, 2007

(no subject)

lone orange
I'm actually just posting this here so it takes this page up to twenty entries and knocks that really long one called "my biography" onto the next page. Having that one here makes the scroll bar annoyingly tiny.
In other words, I don't have anything to say.

March 2nd, 2007

Torn Apart

lone orange
The things that tear my life apart
I can't believe they're real
I guess they've hurt me just so badly
I can't cry one single tear

And when everyone around me
Turns so white I think they must be dead
I've got to ask the question:
Is it really worth it to live?

All these things that change me
I don't think they're really there
They've smacked one time too many
But I can't say I really care...

I watch my hands at the sink
Turn on the faucets, pump the soap
But I can't help thinking how true it is:
They're moving without me now

A year ago things weren't like this
We had picnics and played cards and smiled
Now I don't believe it's possible
To have fun, to force a smile...

Everyone I know is getting sick
Soon they'll leave this earth
And it's horrible to know
That their lives won't end with mirth

See, the things that tear my life apart
I can't believe they're real
I guess they've hurt me just so bad
I can't cry a single tear
I can't cry one single tear.....

March 1, 2007 6:12 pm
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