I'm Still Here. Please Come Find Me.

It's just a barn owl.

It's just a barn owl.

It's just a barn owl.

I whisper soft through gritted teeth. Its horrid screech invades my sleep —

Sleep that I could never keep, a doomed feat from the start.

My one true love was stripped from me. Its warm embrace was ripped from me;

To keep what’s left of it in me, I grip my veins and heart.

My body, it wants nothing more, than quell the festering sores that seep,

And wait into the dusty floor for life’s eternal sleep.

But mind wants to do everything, see everything, be everything,

Transform these ravenous arms to wings, proclaim myself a king,

Slay every dragon, chase another. But no more can I procure,

For I was taken by my brother, in attempt to cure

This sack of bones that trembles sprawled, from soaking, freezing, and withdrawal.

While scarce amid the demon's call, I hear the lightning's crack,

In piss- and rain-soaked bed of sod, I curse this body, flayed and flawed.

In dreams, I punch the face of God. But God, he punches back.

His vicious blows have made concave my blackened, bluened, bloodshot eyes.

I focus on the night to stave away the monstrous cries.

A miserable, and stormy night, complete with rain, thunder and hail,

Which quench the brightest inner light, so desolate thoughts prevail.

Absolutely miserable, even for one who had a home

in which to remain miserable. Such luxury, I have none.

Instead what I have is this barn, this crumbling, slowly crumbling barn,

With its walls dripping, swelling, warping, right before my eyes.

In spite of this, it's monolithic frame seems to possess a mythic

Majesty, like Monstro with his gullet open wide.

Each slat, an ugly greyish brown that grieves its shimmering scarlet past.

Nothing left to muffle sound but fossilized shit and grass.

Decrepit warehouse, rife with holes, its only friend the frigid air,

Empty of the animals and machines that once stood there,

Except for that insidious bird, who's built itself a humble home

With rocks that lay around the dirt like ruins of ancient Rome.

I hear wind whistling through the cracks that scar the rotting wooden slats;

I hear the whispering of bats, hanging from the piend;

Oh! God! My skin cells feel like lye—

ScreEEEEEeeEEECH!

Die!

DIE!

Oh die, you ashen fiend!

Where was I? Oh yes, I hear… rusted hinges creak and moan;

Thunder crackles, crisp and clear—

SCREEEEEEECH!

WRETCH! LEAVE ME ALONE!

Ghastly is this creature’s cry, not like a raven, fox, or goat,

But rather like a Banshee trying to crawl out of its throat!

That sullen Banshee, with her claws, springs from the corner of its beak,

And leaps out of the barn owl’s jaws with one triumphant shriek!

It's funny - this place once was home; now the chasm fills my dome

With memories of luxuries that I had left to mold.

Yet 'neath the terrors up above, lies but a tweaking copy of

That ornery delinquent who can't stomach what he's told.

Those luxuries were merely Band-aids, couldn't heal my family torn

Asunder by God’s sleight of hand the day Bernard was born.

An endless list of complications, caused by injuries and stress

would prompt an endless list of questions asked by CPS.

And like all things - our mother's shame, our father's drunken cruelty,

Cause and effect of brother's pain - it all was blamed on me.

Yes, I was blamed for everything - my bedroom vacant, never clean,

The winter’s chill, the mounting bills, poor brother’s sad affliction,

The void that I could never fill, which I masked with mom’s missing pills

‘Til one more tragedy befell us due to dad’s addiction.

Shortly after Father died, our mother had to sell the farm

And I was sent away so I could do no further harm.

The city bought it, unaware, and now it waits to be torn down

To grow the cemetery where my body will be found—

This outstretched burlap mannequin, epitome of wasted years…

At first it did not panic when the barn owl did appear.

Harmless, even friendly it seemed, when it perched upon my foot,

And I waited to be greeted with a soft hoot-hoot;

That's when it let out a scream — a vicious, vile, malicious scream —

A sound to make the devil’s nightmares feel like Cupid’s dreams.

And now it cracks the skies with laughter, while the pain pours ever louder,

‘Til with a cathartic wail, it starts to multiply!

Its brothers join him just to laugh at how his voices burn like acid,

Underworldly colours splashing down my weeping eyes.

Just when I can’t take another second, my eyes swivel upward–

Next to come and watch me suffer: a mangled silhouette - Bernard!

My brother! Please! This punishment’s too cruel for me! Release me! Please!

He creeps towards me - wait a min’t - it’s not Bernard – the shadow’s me!

I'm paralyzed by my demented double glaring from the clouds,

Whose sleepless eyes glow in the center of their blackened shrouds.

As he leads, so do I follow, start to itch and scratch and then—

Insects enter, digging hollow craters in my skin!

Broken cysts ooze down my back — Oh see, sir owl, I bleed, I bleed!

There’s life inside this burlap sack, from which these insects feed!

I vanish, leaving me to quake, with eyes aflame and blisters purple;

Wish I’d quit this dream and wake up in Dante’s ninth circle!

Every second seems an hour; hours seem to stretch into days;

Through the never-ending showers, not one light a visit pays.

Each new hour restarts another cycle of madness proceedings -

Cries for brother, cries for mother, itching, twitching, scratching, bleeding,

Agitation, infestation, conversations with the owl,

Vicious bouts of vomiting and emptying of bowels.

A flash of lightning —

then it’s day.

I sit up, opposite the shit-filled buckets, reach across the hay,

Open up a backpack and devour the rations packed inside.

I piece the night together, and that's when my eyes turn wide.

Was it not I who came here seeking shelter from the storm?

And did I not come with my own twelve-foot-chain and padlock to lock it?

Did I wrap the chain around my ankles with no key,

After already taking the Suboxone hidden in my pocket?

Then I remembered…

I am an only child. Bernard was gone the hour he left the womb;

His headstone stands behind the barn, but empty is his tomb.

I try to yell and scream for help, but my flame is extinguished quickly —

Not a sound escapes my mouth; I'm much too sore and sickly.

The owl’s my voice now, so I wait until it can resume its squealing.

It sleeps with no air of hate, beneath the broken ceiling.

With no key, I fear the shackles ‘round my feet will ever bind me.

Down below, the Devil cackles.

I’m still here.

Please come find me.