Death

CARRIED AWAY ON THE WATER

/ deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

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From the nightmare
we wake to the dream
before we open our eyes to reality

I fear I fret I freeze I forge I face I forget

I love you, he said
from the pages of the book
in her hand as she sat alone reading by the window

I am alone I am alive I am only I am everything I am enough

We yearn so much
be to adults as children
then perish ever after in the absence of youth

I want I wish I will I wasted I was I withered

We mourn so much
for what we’ve lost in death
because we ignored the chance to celebrate life

Too soon Too early Too busy Too far Too late

He kissed her lips
beneath the darkness
and remembered the light of another, long forgotten

I like I lust I love I lost I like I lust I love I linger in the longing

I walk out into the water             and the reflection
            that rises from the surface
is the face of a shadow                             now drowned
      a reflection               of what once was
a skin             long since shed
            a kiss                             long since settled
       a curiosity                 quieted
                        a loss                     let go of
    a fear                 long since faced
and folded                         and floated away
                   to wherever the water              runs to
           after it washes              towards me
                   through me                    and past me
          past

the past of me

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All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photographs taken in Stockholm on a foggy morning walk around the islands.

THE BLIND ASSASSIN

/ deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

 

A Short Horror Story.

       I don’t remember what happened before, no clue as to who I was, what I was, but afterwards, everything that happened afterwards is a completely different story, because when you open your eyes after death, you discover a whole other way of living.

Tick tock, tick tock.

        There is darkness mostly, she left me no eyes to escape the blindness but I can see when I want, when the need fills me. I see shape in sound and smell, these are my senses now, she left me those. Guilt, regret, remorse, those weaknesses have no part in what I’ve become. I’m no longer accountable to the standards Men hold as law. I am beyond law and now, as I’m technically dead, I’m beyond Man.
Tick tock, tick tock.
        “I remade you, better than before. You were a drunk, a drug addict with no direction. No one gave a shit for you. You would’ve died one day, I just gave that day a name. You should be grateful, I’ve given you something greater than life; indestructible, eternal death among the living,” she declared that day, the first day of my everlasting existence, as I realised the horror of what she‘d done. I wasn’t human anymore, this was true. I would be unbeatable, also true. But she hadn’t given me eternal death, it was eternal damnation.
        I recognised her voice from somewhere before death, a sound bite on TV, a ranting about experimentation, radiation, creation; bringing heaven to earth. “I’ll build a world that will never need creation again, all will be eternal,” she’d bragged. I remember that. I’ll always remember that. She won’t, not anymore.
Tick tock, tick tock.
        When I first awoke, to her recreation, I felt no pain at all, that came later, when I came to understand what she’d made of me. She was my Frankenstein, she’d remoulded me from her miscreant mind. “Without sight you’ll see much better,” she whispered to my naked form, strapped to a gurney, as forceps wrenched my eyes from their sockets. “The tongue just teases you with taste,” she insisted, “this’ll teach you to taste from within,” and she snipped the tongue from my mouth with a blade, severing it from service with a single slice. Afterwards, she stitched it to the back of my neck, to remind me of all that was now behind me.
        I was not a body of blood anymore, my veins had been drained, dried out like taunt twine that tore through my flesh from the inside out. My innards had been expunged, discarded, floor fodder for vermin to devour and they did, nightly, as I lay there, a monster metamorphosing. In my chest, empty of all organs except my heart, a machine of amorality maintained me, pumping a self-sustainable liquid through the little that remained of me; limbs that had been ravaged, a hand severed and replaced with a scythe, legs hacked at the knees, mounted on metal spikes while my manhood was slit, sliced and stuffed with the slivering tongue of a serpent, still hissing. I was a despicable demon, an envoy of evil, a punishment for a world that had dismissed her dreams of total autonomy as nothing more than an inhuman, unjustifiable, godless existence. I was her retribution. She believed I’d bring them all down for her but she misjudged who was master. A monster knows no master. A monster needs no master. Monster is master.
Tick tock, tick tock.
        Monster let her believe she had control while she trained me, taught me to walk, to hunt, to appreciate the divinity of my own damnation. Monster appeared grateful to his creator and her darkness, monster acted thankful to his creator and her inventiveness until one day when monster stabbed his spikes into his creator’s feet as she leaned against the wall, smiling at the completion of her own genius. Monster smiled as his scythe slit her from nipple to neck and his one remaining hand reached inside her and disgorged the heart from her blood bathed body before her face even had time to register fear. Monster left her there, in her darkness, in that heartless body, further fodder for the vermin who’d already begun to sniff her out.

        That was 4 years ago. I can finally admit I’m grateful to her. I’ve lived more in death than I ever could in life. I don’t need food or drink, don’t shit or sleep. I exist as if everyday were the first, do you understand? Can you understand me now, now that I’m standing behind you, so close that your skin prickles with fear as I sliver my scythe around your neck?
        You came looking for me, didn’t you? Foolishly searching the shadows for the monster you thought was myth. Well, now you’re truly the fool because this monster is no myth, nor a white knight. I am the Blind Assassin, devoid of compassion. She removed that from me when she raided my body of blood and being. Do you hear the ticking clock? Tick tock, tick tock. It’s inside me. It goes where I go. It counts down humanity while I continue on, slaying it. I feel nothing for you people anymore, nothing. And in a moment, you’ll feel nothing too.

        And he was right. In an instant blood spewed from the gash in the human’s neck and splattered onto the glasses that covered Monster’s eyeless sockets and down onto his tongueless, grinning mouth as the clock continued counting…

Tick tock, tick tock.

        He’d killed his creator but he couldn’t extinguish the desire for revenge that she’d transplanted into his useless, still beating, eternally damned heart.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

HE TOOK THE LIGHT

/ deuxiemepeau / 10 Comments

 

He took the light
wrapped himself around it
as the rain fell outside
as the machine beeped
in the room next to him
the same monotonous sound
unchanging, unending, eternal

He took the light
held it to his body
as the darkness fell outside
as the machine beeped
in the room next to him
the same hypnotic motion
sounding, stopping, sounding, stopping

He took the light
down beneath the covers
as if light could conquer darkness
as if light could elevate illness
while all the world was sleeping
but the machine kept on beeping
calling, signalling, coming closer

He took the light
before the light took him…

 

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

147, ALL THAT YOU CANNOT KILL

/ deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

I am the voice of the innocent
Hear me,
I am the voice of the frightened
Fear me,
I am the voice of the dead
Remember me,
I am the voice in your head
Though you killed me.

I am the blood on the floor
See me,
I am the blood on your clothes
Feel me,
I am the blood on the books
Read me,
I am the blood on your hands
You’ll never clean me.

I was the light in this world
Honestly,
I was the youth of this world
Truly,
I was future, I was king
Rightly,
I was hope, I was joy
Till you denied me.

I am the shadow on the wall
See me,
I am the shadow on your soul
Feel me,
I am the shadow on your shadow
You’ll never lose me,
I am the shadow of all sorrows
Soothe me.

I wasn’t black, I wasn’t white
I was human,
I wasn’t gay, I wasn’t straight
I was human,
I wasn’t left, I wasn’t right
I was human,
But what you did, but what you took
Can you be human?

I was a child, not a judge
Yet you killed me,
I was a student learning life
But you killed me,
Not your husband, not your wife
Still you killed me,
I am gone, but I am greater
You’re gonna wish you never killed me.

QUESTIONS FOR THE NIGHT

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The trees have lost their branches,
Their leaves long since took flight,
Barren, bare and lifeless they stand
As the mist engulfs the night.

The playground hauntingly sits alone,
Where have your petals gone?
You are the seed upon which they can grow,
Oh, where have your petals gone?

Pools of water lying still on the ground
Reflecting a lonely moon,
Why must your day always be night?
Only the stars can hear your tune.

Through the darkness the nightingale flies,
The nocturnal bird of night,
Yet its song soothes only the lonely
Who search for a soulful light.

Upon a bench a man sits waiting
For the new dawns early light,
But only sounds can give him life
As old years have stolen his sight.

To the naked seat beside him, he asks
Where have my friends all gone?
The ones who laughed and cherished life,
Oh, where have my friends all gone?

The tombstones stand, names form the past,
Where have your spirits gone?
Your memories are safe in a pillar of stone
But where have your spirits gone?

Along dark beaches wise women walk
Their knowledge as great as their years,
But slowly the waves engulf their feet
As they shed half water tears.

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In Absence

/ deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

In your absence

It’s not that there’s less

Laughter to life,

There’s not less love

Or even less light,

Not all comfort is lost

Or all joking discarded,

Not all happiness hushed

Or all joy deserted.

 

It’s not that I’m saying

The sun won’t rise,

That darkness descends

And sorrow arrives,

I won’t pretend

That all color has faded-

That we have been robbed,

Ransacked and raided.

 

But your laughter’s now missing

And your goodness extinguished-

Your connection to me now

Has been truly relinquished,

I’ll remember you always

As the gentlest host,

Not the tallest of men

But of heart- you had most.

 

It’s so long since I’ve seen you

But I’ll never forget

The kindness you showed me

That will long outlive death,

You were funny and folly,

Caring and kind,

A gent of distinction,

And wickedly refined.

ED

Nothing, Beyond the Sea…

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‘Nothing can be done,’

She said

Almost smiling,

Her clothes and skin

A lighter shade

Of hospital white,

‘Nothing can be done-‘

She said, ‘Head up,

Eyes forward,

Grin and bare it.’

 

Nothing more to do,

Nothing else to see,

Not a single reason to cry-

No ocean flood will bring them back

For strong currents have stolen them,

No tide will ever return them-

Not now, not at all,

Not just for you

While forsaking the rest-

The ones who’ve gone before

Since time began

And life found its end.

 

Nothing could be done,

He knew

With an intake of breath,

Sweaty palms, blurred vision

And a bag of belongings in his hands

And then it’s empty-

The contents on the table top-

Motionless and mournful,

Detached and dislocated

From its owners,

The hands ticking ever onwards

On the watch-

Time still moves on,

Even now,

Even without them

Breathing through this world,

And yet the tides still return to the shore

After deserting it,

And then desert again

And then return

And all the while

Time stops for no one,

Takes no pause,

Bows not it’s head.

We are as the waves-

One chance to rise and crest

Before that single fall

Into eternity-

Once chance

To reach the highest height.

 

Nothing now to do

But sit and wait

For the calls and prayers,

For the nodding heads

And compassionate stares,

For the toasts

To the end of the road,

For the handshakes and hugs and tears,

For the long lost beggars

Wanting something from wills,

The placing you in the ground

Amid the shivers and chills.

 

Nothing left but nothing now-

A barren emptiness,

A sudden silence,

A sea without water or waves,

An aching that you can’t quite place,

A sinking sensation

That sucks on, seeps in

And seeks you to surrender

And suddenly all light is painful

All color is faded,

All laughter riles you

Like nails on a chalk board

And the nothingness settles in

And leaves you

Longing for nothing

But more meaningless

Days of nothing-

Naked,

Numb

And nostalgic

For the days gone by,

The lives now lived

And the faces now fading,

Already,

Overnight,

Losing their clarity

Their scent-

Surrendering to the passing seconds

And their touch

Never more to be felt-

Carried off those unreachable sunsets

That sink beyond the sea…

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Retouching the Canvas

/ deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

I am not sure what it was-

A calling, a desire, a need

To start afresh; reborn-

Washed down to white,

A bare canvas to be painted on,

Once more, without mark or tint

Of what had been or came before

And yet, in this new rendering,

Each selected stroke

And technique of life and love

That had gone before

Shone out as if I’d laid

One too few undercoats

To cover up the replication

Of the previous interpretation.

But they were merely tones-

Hints of what had led me here,

To this city as old as time,

That so reveled in its own past

That it proved impossible

For anyone or anything to look

Directly in front of them

Without being aware of all

That lay in its shadowed history;

The heartless father- no longer

As ice stone in the memory,

Melting slightly with every sunset

Witnessed by the Pont des Arts.

How you tortured us,

I once thought, and yet,

With distance to enlighten me,

I see it was you who was tortured

By your own fumbling hands,

Unable to hold on to what you had,

But fighting to make it bleed as it fell

From your frightened clutch.

I’d cast you in my child-thinking mind

As impenetrable rock, and yet,

You were no more than base-empty,

Fool-hearted, stubborn image

Of lost boy, plunking manly grunts

Onto foolish quarrels that festered

Within you, as we pulled away,

Long before your slow path

To fated finish line- the end.

A line that I no longer saw

From the sanctuary of my own

Tiny life, all carved out

In new directions, opposite

To all of yours until my feet rested

On that fine day, in summer,

On the ground under which

I hoped you lay at peace, at last.

And so I turned from you,

With a nod of final forgiveness

To our past and flew back

To my future where firm footing

Claimed my title as accepted dweller

Instead of foreigner within.

I became an inhabitant

In my own right and a witness

To this city that stretched out

Before me as each new dawn

Rose to tempt me

With further offerings before

Wrapping itself around me

Once more as the sun set

On those journeys home-

Always bank side and lamp lit-

When this once walled city

Leant in and shielded me

From the loneliness of that run

From home; the free-falling flight

Of the frenzied Irishman to France.

Was youth my only excuse

For the naivety and lack

Of processions I’d arrived with;

A wallet not so bulging, a tongue

That had barely tickled the language

And a boy without a home,

Or friend or job to do?

And yet that was the desire

That bought me that once-off,

One-way, discounted, newspaper

Cut-out, couponed ticket.

My greatest folly and yet,

So too, my greatest joy.

My canvas may not have been

As blank as I thought but,

By the end, it had been

Uncompromisingly retouched,

The edges softened, the frame

Selected and, in my own reflection,

I saw colors I had never before

Imagined to be a part of me.

pont des arts

To Dance with Time

/ deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Hit me as hard as you can, oh fine

Fleeting friend called Time. No more

And no less can I do with You

But run through You-

Tasting as much, laughing as hard

And loving as wildly and willfully as possible

Before your clock tolls

And You sound my final bell.

 

I am not your prisoner and You-

No more my guard than my companion,

My light and shadow all at once-

Giving me enough time to watch

How You take it from me,

Never do we stray from each other

For a single moment. But moments

Are what I shall build on as we tap out

This dance together-your tick-tock, tick-tocking,

Pulsing through my every heartbeat.

 

Oh sleepless, invisible One,

Is there no rest for You as night falls

And I slumber softly, at play in dreams

Of hopeful tomorrows and cherished yesterdays,

Your claim on my expiration fails to set any fear

Alight in me, though I know not the date nor time,

Nor the how or why,

For today I’ve existed, loved and laughed

And, if tomorrows be no more,

Then ring out the sound, evermore,

Of my joy for today.

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