Devil's Chant

A drum beats an unknown tune;
starlight dances across the moon.
A witch cackles, a banshee screams;
living nightmares, dying dreams.

Spiders crawl across the floor;
demons scratch upon the door.
Blood flows from the walls;
nightmares walk down the halls.

Evil whispers in your ear;
devils prey upon your fear.
Silver blade glides against your skin;
it's time to let the nightmares in.

Darkness drips into your soul;
fires will consume you whole.
Embrace the anger, do not fight;
join the nightmares, stalk the night.

Everything is just a lie;
the only escape is to die.
But if you do, you join the fright;
come with me, surrender the night.

Deny your fate, surrender your life;
hang from the rope, slice with the knife.
Watch the blood drip from your vein;
join with me, embrace the pain.

Natalie Gibson (c) 2003

Wasted Angel

I see in my mind, standing before me,
the figure of a beautiful women,
tall like an angel with wings spread
to shelter me beneath.
A blanket of lost love and forgotten hope
slowly drowning out the pain
as she whispers to me,
soft nothings to fall upon deaf ears.
Is this where it gets better,
where life turns around for my dying soul?
Her whispered promises open a broken heart,
new bright pain to an old wound.
I'm not ready for her whispered consolations,
for the lies of new love yet to be found.
Her defensive wings begin to smother,
warm embraces grow bitter and cold.
Stone seeps its way throughout my veins,
frost glistens on the boundaries of my iris.
She fades..
Her unheeded embrace pushed aside,
a brief existence which merits naught,
another wasted angel for my shattered heart.

Natalie Gibson © May 25, 2005

Don't Break the Ice

Don't break it. Leave it be.
Leave me frozen, leave me cold.

Don't let it crack, don't let it creak.
Tread lightly, for that is me you step upon, walk upon, skate upon
with blades of steel so you might glide by untouched.

Let me freeze, my blood is cold.

Let me go.

See my scars

See my scars?
They're there, I swear.
Criss-crossing my body, over arms, under thighs
lacing like spiderwebs over my hands
layer upon layer over my cheeks and eyes
small ones, fine ones
longer, thicker
caressing my stomach, my hips
gentle kisses and harsh screams
small tears, angry voices
some broken hearts and a few lost hopes
small hurts carefully plotted and planned
one here, two there, maybe one more next to these
hurt me, hate me, leave your mark
I'll carry your scar upon my heart
she hurt you, let me take the pain
he hit you, I'll make it go away
lost friends, lost homes, lost lost lost lost lost
it hurts to see sometimes
to look in a mirror and see these scars
twisted flesh, burnt and burning
ripped skin, careful cuts
marred surface, rippled with pain
everywhere, face, neck, shoulders, back
over my ribs, down my arms
so many scars, too many scars
can you see them? how can you not?
I see them. every day I see them.
everywhere.
They're there, I swear.

I'm done..

I'm tired. I'm broke. I'm pissed. I'm sad. I'm excited. I'm lonely. I'm happy. I'm confused.

To him:
I realize that I SUCK at dealing with people. I don't bite my tongue when I should, I don't lie when I'm supposed to, and I have this nasty habit of getting pissed off at people who promise me things and then don't follow through. I'm not a master of subtlety. We discussed it. We figured shit out. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.

To You:
If I'm behaving in a way you don't like, you have to TELL ME, or I don't know I'm not doing something right. I have this incredibly irritating ability to completely misread any signals that I may possibly be perceiving. You act like you like me, then tell me to wait, then tell me you don't. Cool. I can deal with it. I'm a big girl. I've moved on.

To one of you:
I saw the shots, I know I did a fucking AMAZING job, but for some reason I'm still waiting on photos you've been promising me for months. You shot her less then a month ago, but she's obviously much higher on your list of priorities.

To another of you:
I love you. I really do. You're awesome and amazing and everything I can only hope to do what you do. You're infinitely better at talking to people then I can ever hope to be. You're a wonderful person, and I'll always adore you. I know I'm a headache to talk to. Thank you for putting up with me.

To someone else:
I adore working with you. You get all my weird ideas, my kooky thoughts, and my half-baked plans. Thank you for being a friend and an amazing photographer. You make long trips worth the drive. I hope we never run out of things to create.

To another person:
I'm sorry. Apparently I fucked up and I wasn't aware of it til recently. I tried to talk to you about it, but I got shrugged off. But I am sorry. I don't want to lose a friend.. please forgive me. I suck, I'm an oblivious person, and I had no idea I was bothering you. I'm sorry.

To someone I haven't met yet:
You're sexy. You make me laugh. I smile when I think about you, and I can't wait to hang out with you. You're smart and funny, and you get me. Please be real.

To someone(s) I'm going to meet:
I can't wait.

I suck. I'm stupid. I am sorry to people I've upset. I'm happy for people I've cheered up. I love all of you, even if I'm not good at showing it.

Love, Anna

Dear Engel,

Please wear your thigh high boots and smoke a cigarette with me. I will wear my thigh high boots and give you all the Djarum Blacks you want.

Love,

Anna
-------------------
Dear Anna,

I would love to knock boots with you in a hazy cloud of smoke on a bed in Nashville, or possibly Atlanta. Then you can pull off my boots and nibble my feet.

Love,
Engel
-------------------
Dear Engel,

Will you wear red lipstick and let me back comb your hair?
Also, how do you feel about the Cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees?

Love,

Anna
--------------------
Dear Anna,

You may paint my lips and comb my hair. I shall have my toenails painted in bright metallic colors while I play with your foot as someone else removes your boots. I love all those musics, and we can play those and watch Spanish horror films.

Love,
Engel
---------------------
Dear Engel,

Just one foot?
In that case, I'm requiring chocolate.

Love,

Anna
---------------------
Dear Anna,

I can only nibble one foot if the other is being slowly unfolded from it's thigh high encasement. I shall use profuse amounts of chocolate, and shall tenderly consume every drop while listening to the soundtracks from Italian spaghetti westerns.

Love,
Engel
---------------------
Dear Engel,

C'est vrai...but I'm glad there's still chocolate! While you're licking all the chocolate from between my toes and off the balls of my feet, make sure you're holding your own toes steady; they're exceptionally long and delicate, which is perfect for a cigarette holder.

Love,

Anna
---------------------
Dear Anna,

I will be sure to hold said cigarette very steady with my long graceful toes while caressing your heels with my tongue, and after all the chocolate and smoking is finished, we can fall asleep entwined with each other's feet with the original Dracula movie playing softly. We can lie there dreaming about mohawked and mullet hawked men. I love you, and goodnight my dearest.

Love,
Engel
---------------------
Dear Engel,

You do know how to push my buttons. I'll leave Louder Than Bombs on repeat all night.

Love,

Anna

Forget-me-not..

faces marching past me
long lines, walking faster
blurred eyes and silent lips
lifetimes of people
friends, non-friends, strangers
all trapped in my memory
a steel trap rusted closed
i remember you, i swear i do
i don't forget
every hello, every goodbye
certain smiles, sometimes tears
a laugh, smell
sighs, moans, soft hums
raincloud eyes, warm earth iris
soft lips and strong backs
a sound, a breathe
i do remember you
so many faces to remember
but each is not forgotten
names lost, hearts broken
faces that never leave
foot print on a paper
printed in my mind
forget me not
remember you always

Patience...

patience...

standing here...just standing...
always been here, always waiting
silence screaming at me..
patience... always utter patience...
"i'll call", "we'll hang out soon", ...
patience tearing me apart
tears falling... you're crying softly...
dont cry.. please.. i'm here
i'm here.. just look at me...
hate me.. love me...
do anything.. just please..
look at me...
anger... you scream..
frustration.. helpless desperation..
tell me.. i'll listen..
you're lost.. wandering in the dark...
open your eyes, my hand is here..
take it... it's here...
always here.. always waiting..
utter patience breaking my heart
your tears.. your loneliness..
not alone... never alone..
just look at me.. i'm here..
always here..
waiting..
patience....

Natalie Gibson (c) August 11, 2005

Play...

"We do not stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing." -G.B. Shaw-

For the sake of everything in this world.. play.

It's fun, I promise
You'll love it

Peek-a-boo with the baby ahead of you in line
Silly Faces with the kid in the car you're driving past
Tic-Tac-Toe on a window in a diner
Even if you're eating alone

Smile for once when you're having a crappy day
Turn around and ask a stranger how they're doing and try actually listening to the answer
By some flowers at the grocery store and pass them out to random people
Offer hugs to anyone you don't know on the street

Easier said then done, right?
Try it
It only hurts a little
It won't hurt for long

Laugh at the bad jokes
Smile at the grumpy strangers
Wave at random kids
Hug the grungy old guy on the corner

Pull the quarter out of the bottom of your pocket and buy a gumball
Leave a funny note for your waitress
Tell a couple how lovely their baby is
Even if it looks like a wrinkled prune

Life sucks. We all know this. Shit happens. No getting around it.
You can bitch, moan, groan, whine, complain, argue, fight, frustrate, annoy
Still gonna suck.
So when it's sucking.. pop in a lollipop and keep on.

Playing isn't just for kids. Grownups just don't remember how to do it.

Watch old cartoons. Sing the stupid theme songs that you never really forgot.

It's okay.

Just
Play

Who cares ...

*from a friend*

Who cares if a soldier dies...

Take a man and put him alone,
Put him twelve thousand miles from home.
Empty his heart of all but blood,
Make him live in sand, in mud.
This is the life I have to live,
This the soul to God I give.
You have your parties and drink your beer,
While young men are dying over here.
Plant your signs on the White House lawn;
"Lets get out of Iraq".
Use your signs and have your fun,
Then refuse to use a gun.
There's nothing else for you to do,
Then I'm supposed to die for you?
There is one thing that you should know;
And that's where I think you should go!
I'm already here and it's too late.
I've traded all my love for all this hate.
I'll hate you till the day I die.
You made me hear my buddy cry.
I saw his leg and his blood shed,
Then I heard them say, "This one's dead".
It was a large price for him to pay,
To let you live another day.
He had the guts to fight and die,
To keep the freedom you live by.
By his dying, your life he buys,
But who cares if a Soldier dies!

Resignation

-something I found online-

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old again.

I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four star restaurant.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.

I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple, when all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes; but that didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care. All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.

I want to think the world is fair; that everyone is honest and good. I want to believe that anything is possible.

I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.

I want to live simple again.

I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.

I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, kind words, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.

So, here's my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements.

I am officially resigning from adulthood. And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, cause. . .

"Tag! You're it."

Mountain

I've always been told I'm a bit odd, a little not right. I don't mind, I know I am. There has been much in my life that most would find strange. I've been places, seen things, and spoken to people around the world. One of those places changed my world, my life. I stood on the edge of a mountain and ran into one of life's magical moments, one of those once-in-a-lifetime memories that completely redefine who you are.

It was that moment just before dawn, when everything is silent, and you can still see the stars in the light of the sun. I must have been sitting there for only a few moments, but, oh, how slowly they passed by. I stood and stepped forward, and faced the greatest choice of my life. Should I...? Could I...? I inched forward slowly, until the very tips of my boots were on the edge. A few pebbles were pushed off the cliff, bouncing gaily to the rocks below. As my eyes followed the joyful little dance, my mind and heart raced. Could I...? Yes. But... Now. I took one last deep breath and raised my head to say farewell to the stars ... but there were no stars. As I had brought myself slowly to the edge, dawn had come. When my eyes reached the horizon, the dawn slowly bloomed in all her glory. The sky was painted in colors yet unknown, in swirls and splashes of beauty. I could see the mountains stretch before me endlessly, kissed at the edges by the sparking waves of the sea. Not now... No, not now. Not ever. I was filled with awe and found myself moving back, back from the edge, back to the world.

As I sat upon that mountain top, I found myself. This mountain, in all its unblemished innocence, had made me realize who I was, and where I belonged. I don't know if that mountain has changed much, though I doubt it. One day I will return to that mountain. See, I will say, I made it. I suspect in my own way, that mountain knew more then I did. I have never come closer to the edge then I was that one morning, when the world was so utterly still.

Even now, I visit that mountain everyday in my heart. I tell it my joys, my sorrows, my achievements, and my failures. And it listens. It may sound foolish to some, but others, they understand. That place, that mountain, gave em the world when all I sought was solitude. That mountain gave me the dawn, when I sought the night. But it's just a mountian, just a pile of rocks. No, not just a mountain, that mountain; I believe, I know, that mountain is not just a mountain. How? I just do. That mountain saved my life. I showed me the hope that is born in the dawn. It showed me that hope, though it may fade or die, can be reborn. It never truly dies, for while there is life, there is hope. So yes, maybe I am a little strange, a little off kilter. But hey, life spoke, and I listened.

Stop, it said, and LIVE.

To whom it may concern..

"From the cowardice that shrinks from new truth; from the laziness that is content with half-truths; from the arrogance that thinks it knows all truth – oh God of Truth deliver us!"—Unknown

"When a well-packaged web of lies has been sold gradually to the masses over generations, the truth will seem utterly preposterous and its speaker a raving lunatic."-- Dresden James

City Memories

Sometimes I look towards the sky,
forgetting that it is blocked by towers of steel and glass.
I step out onto a vast plain of concrete,
imagining a field snow and ice.
I still yearn for the trees and streams of my childhood.
I dream of snow-filled winter nights,
of family gathered around a piano,
singing of times long lost.
But instead I am given slush-covered streets;
screeching tires and harsh angry voices filling the air.
I dream of blazing fires in the fireplace and cold stars above.
But all I have are trashcan embers and smog-filled air.
The sky above is gray with forgetfullness,
instead of the blue of laughter and memory.
But I said goodbye to that child's life for this wonderful city.

Prehisteria

I stared at the creature before me,

a living relic of prehistoric times.

Leathery, wrinkled skin stretched tight

over brittle bones that creak with movement.

Yellowed teeth worn down with time and hunger

fill a gaping maw that continuously opens and shuts,

emitting strange noise, a constant droning,

somewhere between a grumble and a growl.

Staring at this aged being, I wonder

at the centuries it has survived,

how history oozes from every pore,

and ancient secrets swarm above with a silent hum.

How vast the knowledge stored inside must be,

if only one could communicate and master the mournful drone.

Surrounded by similar creatures, younger and impatient,

each attempting to escape that seemingly omnipotent gaze.

The creature is quick to spot the lazy or restless,

those sleeping or rustling few who dare to defy the rules

of etiquette long established and set into motion.

Creeping slowly back and forth before others,

pacing with the steady movements of one who innately understands

the value of time, and knows that there is more than enough

in which it may bestow its wisdom, wanted or not.

Eventually, all begin to rustle, to peel away from the group,

one by one, two by two, till again it sits alone before me.

It turns its worn, haggard face towards me,

opening its large orifice in a final attempt to relay

an ever-important bit of wisdom hurriedly, barely coherent,

before I, too, depart. “Remember to read chapters 7, 12, 14, and 21 in Social Fabrics and chapters 8 through 15 in your History text.”

“Will do sir.”

Window

I sit and stare out the window of my room,

watching showers of gold dance

towards inevitable death upon the angry shadows

of man-made concrete malevolence.

Torrents of life fly through the air,

soil torn from peaceful slumber by destruction.

Dead and dying fingers of trees more aged than time

litter the restless path walked by troubled youth.

Trees moan in agony as they tilt and topple,

shattering.

Broken illusions lie side by side

with torn hearts and twisted dreams

upon the pavement, given no more thought

than the discarded cans and bottles

from foolish attempts at forced merriness.

Sorrow and solitude are masked by false gaiety;

the rush of long sought independence

clouds reason and forethought.

Among the forest carcass, callously raped and demolished,

walls of change are built.

Dreams and hopes will dwell in these halls,

some to grow, some to die, some to fade away and be forgotten.

Youth comes to learn of life, yet still oblivious to the death

surrounding that they call home.

I watch out my window, wallowing in the scent of leaves

changing from green to gold, seeing knowledge ripen

to foolishness, then to fade again to realization

of how little knowledge there is.

Much can be learned

from a window, safe behind the glass, without having to risk

the terrors of life.

Safe in my walls of knowledge, secure

in my invulnerability, I sit and watch.

I turn and stand,

stepping out the door.

Offensive..?

My opinion? I'm half German, part Jewish, part French, part Welsh, part Scandinavian, etc. European mutt for a bloodline. I spent half my life living in Germany. A good-sized portion of my family is German, and live in Germany. I see Nazi flags, uniforms, weapons, helmets, vehicles, etc. used in a vast spectrum of ways. I've been to the death camps, the work camps, the hide-outs, the burial sites. I've painstakingly read my way through the Auschwitz chronicles, which is a HUGE book of ALL the records kept at the camp. People arriving, dying, gold teeth collected, clothes taken, medical experiments made... I cried my way through the book. I've seen the memorials, the movies, the scraps of humanity that were the leftovers of this blight on humanity. I've heard the arguments that the Holocaust never happened. I've laid my hand on the barbed wire that still bears the rusted blood color from the people who were tortured and beaten at the camp.

My Point? (I know, about time right?) I somehow manage to make it through my day without feeling the need to preach to everyone around me about these things. I've seen countless images of models in latex nazi uniforms, gas masks, simulated gas chambers.. I've seen the Nazi flag paraded around naked bodies like a red carpet evening gown. I made it through years of school being called a Nazi simply because I had lived in Germany, and was part German. Yet, somehow, I managed to swallow all of this with a grain of salt and continue to live my life.

My father is a retired, disabled American Army Veteran. He was enlisted for 25 years, and retired as a Sergeant First Class. I spent my entire childhood until I was 18 living on various military bases. I still worry and cry over friends that are in the middle east right now. You cut me, I bleed red blood that was born on a military base. I'm very proud to be an Army brat, the eldest child of a soldier who did what he could to make this world better for me and my siblings.

I put up with military bashing, anti-military protests. I put up with tacky girls wearing camouflage bikinis and fake army boots for porn ads and Playboy. I keep my mouth shut when the "thugsters" and "homies" walk around in baggy uniform pants. I kept myself from throwing heavy things at the tv when dog tags traditionally used so that if a soldier died in combat, his body could be sent home to his family started becoming a new source of "bling".

If I can make it through a day without killing someone for wearing or doing something I find personally offensive, so can you. Get over yourselves people. If you're really offended by something that has happened in the past, get off your ass and do something to make sure it doesn't happen again in the future.

Bottom of the Bottle

I'm sitting here,
just staring at the last drops in the bottle.
There's only a few left,
barely enough to cover the bottom of the glass.
Just enough to coat my throat,
a burning that slowly drips its way down.
The heat finally loosens the knot,
the dark, hard lump of pain I've been drinking away.
I reach across the table, pouring myself another from a fresh bottle.
Each sip burns a scar,
branding my heart with the same pain I drown in.
One sip for each heartache,
a salute to every tear I've cried.
One more for that smile,
charming, childish, and captivating every single time.
Another for that laugh,
that warm, enticing sound that haunts me.
Hell, here's one for those eyes,
stormy skies, and grey clouds with silver linings.
Add another for that skin,
tasting of summer dew and smelling like rain.
A thousand thoughts of love,
burned into my heart and drowning me in hurt.
A few more sips,
just a few more, and it won't hurt anymore, right?
I just want it to go away,
one more should do it,
chase that ghost away, and dull the laughter.
It's not really making it go away,
it'll be waiting for me when I sober up.
Another glass, just one more,
back to the bottom of the bottle again.
One drop left for each tear,
falling down my cheeks and mixing in the glass.
Now I'm just sitting here,
staring at the bottom of the bottle.
A few drops swirling, dancing;
I stand up and walk a way.
There's a few drops, just a few left in the bottle,
a few tears left to cry.

Natalie Gibson (c) 2005

*Dedicated to someone .. to a broken heart that was dead, then beat, then died again*