txandi, prostituida por la vida | life, prostituted by txandi

your name, my pain

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 03:46:00 +0000

***

and if i said, would you believe me? so, why should I say? just believe me.

***

in pain i lay, calling your name. in pain i laid; you called not my name.

***

was it mordant anguish? uncaring prying? for anguished i was, praying and crying.

***

Dry

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:50:00 +0000

Arid desert sky.

In fear I see, I do not know why.

I wish on my own I could fly.

Deny the murmur. Screams die.

Paradise in disguise.

Sadly, I do not recognize.

Perception of you must suffice,

until in you and reality, I arise.

yours

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 03:32:00 +0000

Don't forget pain,
nor leave it behind.
Trust it again,
for it is kind.

Let comfort convey.
Has led you thus far.
Shows you the way.
Tells who you are.

IDGAS

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 13:19:00 +0000

The right attitude? IDGAS. I really do not GAS. I am tired of being constrained and restrained by S. Life is not work and work is not life. Strange how a week away from the S gives such a fresh perspective. You do not like me: IDGAS. I do not care for you so IDGAS. I will stop GAS as much as I can--reality: not GAS is a true punk attitude., which circumstances prevent me from adopting wholeheartedly; however, not GAS'ing a bit means breaking somewhat free, and somewhat is a start.

Am I hypomanic? Do not think so. Am I taking my meds? Yes I am--I even stopped the ones that would hide-side me. I consider this a new high, an old high, a long-overdue high.

Reflection

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 16:14:00 +0000

She lies in the dungeons of night,
where moon is light and light is night,
when colors infuse in chromalight.

Her life, quartz reflection of blight,
drug-melanged vision, she stares inside,
the exit unseen, the end in sight.

Linger

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 02:49:00 +0000

Linger the dream of a first kiss,
dreaming the touch of your raw lips,
touching the light of ripe bliss,
lighting the cell your will keeps.

Behold the submission love inflicts,
submitting to lies reason forbids,
belying the hunger for untimely peace,
hungering death at your finger tips.

Harrowed Life

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 00:58:00 +0000

Quivering thunder of your ending heart,
an echo of love soon to be hollow.
We, once hearth, like embers pulled, die apart.

Like moonrise anew, your growing pallor,
confessing whisper ends futile revolt.
Strength, droughting river and life now harrow.

act one: because i know, i see

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Mon, 11 May 2009 04:00:00 +0000

images, neutral at worst, my mind transform: bucolic setting, small family-owned farm, shiny white Holsteins, spotted childlike in tempera-black, ruminating graciously in the pasture, turn industrial feedlot, abattoir close enough for other soylent Herefords to hear the wails of the slaughter. brooks springing in their prairie, becomes retention pond, biological toxic waste stew, seasoned with antibiotics, simmering in the sun.

quicksilver

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 01:45:00 +0000

A quicksilver wall challenges her gaze,
lifeless, impassive, withholding judgment.
Inside grows life, outside burns blaze.
Hate smiles untoward, taunting resentment.

Green arms of life, charred black without trace,
maddening destruction, nurturing bereavement.
Quicksilver blind to inner good faith,
doesn't understand she can love mistreatment.

being

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 10:47:00 +0000

a life that leaves,
a sign of pain.
a life she berieves.
a sign to remain.

a love for one.
a future is struck.
a love is undone.
a future turns dusk.

a new beginning.
a shredding sorrow.
a new undoing.
a tearful morrow.

Memorial Day in memoriam

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Mon, 26 May 2008 04:00:00 +0000

whose guilt will call,
for justice to fall?

for brothers in arms,
embraced by war's harms;

slaves who have bled,
diamonds stained red.

for animals' skin,
now haute couture sin.

oceans' whispering breath,
screams of imminent death.

for those who resist
swastika'd communist.

Tibetan monk's chant,
red sickle has stamp't.

for The People's blind trust,
raped by dictator's lust.

Muslim pride shorn,
Jewish life torn....

for child's ray of smile,
perversion turned vile.

ideals who've fallen,
ill and forgotten.

for whom should bells toll,
if not for us all?

poison

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 10 May 2008 01:05:00 +0000

she flirts with the rain,
deciding her pain.
she fights it in vain.
her ordeal's just started.

she's lost and ungarded.
her fight is halfhearted.
has her spirit departed?
it's never the same...

her trusted refrain,
in truth and in name.
what poisons her brain?
it ends as it started.

love's death: a sonnet

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Thu, 08 May 2008 03:34:00 +0000

eternal eyes,

goddess hair,

longing stare,

sorrow belies.

wistful guise.

failing care.

resigned despair,

mortal lies.

arcane lips,

lost face.

blood drips,

love's trace.

life's eclipse,

finally chaste.

numbers that pass/the passing of numbers (incomplete)

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 03:54:00 +0000

atone for a day's deed?
not on three hours of sleep.

upon my wrist a new scar;
I laugh as I think I've made it this far.

I planned, I thought my death,
A troubled life, one last breath.

From May, through fall

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 23:33:00 +0000

ONE

from May, from May,
from one, may two.
from Spring of May,
may love spring through.

TWO

through Fall, through Fall,
through love, be true.
through eve of Fall,
falls love for you.

as i read Jane Eyre again

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 04:54:00 +0000

i reach the part where mental illness is referenced as ¡lunacy! ¡depravity ¡madness! Brontë's writing consumes me, but in doing so soothes, for no longer is mental illness defined as lunacy, depravity, madness.

amor ilumina, amor conjura

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 04:42:00 +0000

amor, cara ilumina.
ojos sedientos, fascina.

piel, sol, desnuda.
roce, beso da.

voz gentil, caricia.
corazón, travesura inicia.

fluyendo, sangre, locura.
amor, recuerdo, conjura.

virtually on the verge of vomiting

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 15:46:00 +0000

virtually on the verge of vomiting, i push myself yet again, DJ's Sisma and Vekta driving me hard atop the range of the sliding decibel control, spinning their seduction, averting hallucination, inducing hallucination--for how else can i still be on this endlessly-moving carpet of vulcanized rubber passing under my beaten you-know-whats, at an indicated 8 miles-per-hour.

this, after having subjected myself to implements of torture painted an airy, aseptic white, corners coronated by stainless steel to prevent the corrosion-inducing sweat and tears shed during these BDSM sessions, while tied to ligatures of 1/4 inch 7 x 19 MIL-DTL-83420M cables terminated by 10-pound chunks of recycled slag, shaped ingot-like, potential energy tortuously converted to kinetic--energy is neither destroyed nor created (or is it mass?--although i feel as if my mass has been destroyed, mutilated...)

stop i do not. i keep control, avert nausea, meet and greet Limit, my old camarada, who like i has changed, become more inscrutable, prone to abrupt shifts in presence, mind, disposition.

"adios, tia. me voy, dejo tu abu-grhahib, tu house of pain, tu facility of torture, tu medieval dungeon, el discretely-mail-ordered-from-back-page-advert-in-almanac-format-photo-journal-of-alternative-sexually-arousing-practices-implement-of-pleasure-equipped suburban basement you habitate; i am in desperate need of a carbohydrate bolus."

as i make my way up the stairs, i turn, look down, weakly smile. i know, Limit knows, i will return. and i so wish she has her friend Enlightenment over for an as-as-always-too-brief visit.

virtva llyin the verg aknabac firnate ogiti hiyrbak if akterbauve

death do us part

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Wed, 26 Dec 2007 23:40:00 +0000

cast thine shadows away,
in dutiful sorrow I mourn.
night of darkness pray,
fateful morrow be born.

sordid jealousy shimmer,
simmering hate burn marrow.
predator eyes, hunt aglimmer,
my scorn'd countenance sallow.

despondent, satisfy hunger.
enraged, i find contentment.
tearful blood flows in anger,
dawn alighting lamentment.

this deathly horror i've lived,
shorn all hope to redeem.
once with your love bestowed,
now death, certain and keen.

sound words

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 22 Dec 2007 02:00:00 +0000

word without sound,
my happiness fills.
sound without words,
silence that kills.

askance mood, depart.
release this sorrow.
depart, mood askance.
exile by morrow.

blessing my tears.
purpureus blood, bleed.
tears, my blessing.
spirit be freed.

anguished serenity

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Sat, 22 Dec 2007 01:55:00 +0000

and if i said, would you believe me?

so, why should I say? just believe me.

in pain i lay, calling your name.

in pain i laid. you called my name.

was it mordant anguish? uncaring prying?

for anguished i was, trying and crying.

hurting to want, wanting to hurt

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Tue, 18 Dec 2007 03:39:00 +0000

beholden, these eyes blinded by sugar,
descubren al fin, siniestro pasar.
bitter-filled sound, lover's laughter afar,
olas que rompen las sombras del mar.

porcelain body, in sodden touch mar,
sentencias mi ser, eterno pesar.
immaculate fire, cauterize scar,
mi virtud, verdugo, voy a vengar.

scars

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 05:14:00 +0000

scars.
i like.
for they have meaning.
markers of past, reminders that last.

scars of birth; marks of light; mother's milk. progeny pride.
pristine slice, precious brand, stained skin, shrinking gangrene.

scars.
i loathe.
for they mean nothing.
signs of vileness, symbols of evilness.

shreds of mind, eyes of dread; tyrannous truth, damaging dread.
burning shrapnel, bullet tumbling, tearing tissue, ripping reason.

it's about life, and the push to death...

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 05:01:00 +0000

it's about reverence to the clawing of high priestess energy, as she demands tribute for her life-imbuing presence.

it's about acceptance of the loving chokehold of sorceress pain, search for respite from her merciless abandon.

it's about total devotion to reverend sister exhaustion, complete submission to the lashings of her breathless whip.

it's about humility, begging at the feet of reverend mother hunger, as she teasingly toys with my famished consciousness.

it's about discipline, enduring enchantress delirium's gentle wrath as she withdraws my fix of H, O, Na, K with a series of strokes to the delete key of life.

it's about my search for the elusive light that guides and inflames, frustrates, and dismays…for she toys with me, knows i will never reach her--i am no Buddha, Bodhisattva, or otherwise…i am not worthy despite the hopeless righteousness of my quest.

releasing the genie

noreply@blogger.com (txandi prost) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 15:49:00 +0000

back from the dead.
back from the land of the dead.
back from a land of death.
Back from death...

if not to life.

suns and moons took me away.
suns and moons imprisoned me.
suns and moons brought me back in the end.
if not by you given, i welcome myself...

or do i?