I can imagine the chest-spreaders inserted as they hooked into the ribs. Cold corpse remains of what a few hours ago was a birthday boy. I imagine the cartilage cracking and bending as they separate the membranes to fish out the organs for weight and testing, though the cause of death was pretty clear. She had told me when she went to identify the body that the top of his head was smashed into a cone shape, it had been embedded into the tree. One eye dangling down his cheek, looking in a different direction than the other. I'm not too scared to face these demons, I want to know. I want to know what she saw. I would have lived this for him if I could go back and do that. She said his legs were jammed up and into his chest. I didn't see the wreckage but there was a lot of glass. She found his cell phone in a branch. There was glass in the tree, as if it had grown there the whole time. Glass from his window which his head went through and then into the bark. They say there was a faint pulse, that the first to arrive had seen momentarily he was alive, albeit in some most likely brain-dead manner. That's not really living. His liver was lacerated. Even if his skull hadn't been caved in I feel like he wouldn't have survived due to that. But perhaps it's possible. So at the morgue, what do they do? Did they open the shattered casing of his skull and remove the remnants of his obliterated brain matter? Throw it in a scale, weigh it out...Remove the organs, weigh them out...Slice off a piece of lacerated liver for toxicity tests, tests show he was not intoxicated. Happy birthday, birthday boy. It was your night, the one you'd dreamt about for so long. When black and white dreams turn to color dreams of your death on your birthday, it has to mean something. You shouldn't have gone, shouldn't have gone. Should never have trusted. So they sewed you back up, a hollow shell of a human, innards removed. At the wake you looked nothing like you. Body rigid and thin, they didn't do the best job making you look normal but what the fuck could you really do with a train wreck like that? There's no fixing that, no making that look pretty. Eyelids sunken in. Could've stuffed them with more cotton, at least make it seem like there's something there. Makeup covering abrasions on your cheek. I could still see them. I tried so hard, tried to reach over your body to place an item in the casket with you. My god, that was the most horrifying thing. Just being there next to your lifeless form, reaching. Over. Terrified. Arm stretching, hand shaking. I got on my tip-toes. To reach. I almost couldn't make it without...I just...it was so hard...You're not there anymore. You're nowhere. You don't exist anymore. There is no god, there is no heaven, there is simply the lack of existence after death. A bright flame snuffed out, a life stolen, extinguished without mercy. The days that followed, I hallucinated out of grief. And at night I saw you in my head, I saw your corpse stiffly walking through the room, turning your head and looking at me with eyes that were closed. Thin-chested and straight-armed, stiff-legged and dead. A walking shell. Looking at me with eyes that were closed.

Expendable like bridges burnt
you told me what I was, wish you'd told me what I weren't.

He dies slowly in his chair
when he looks to the left there's no one there
and when there's no one home he'll die alone

You don't want me, I'm dead inside
get away before I drag you down.

A different shade of red

Has my body betrayed my mind yet again? My form is nothing more than a prison. I may be trapped inside this vessel though I will not be parasite-stricken. What a shitty ride, this transportation sucks.

Cold wind churns over me
dying heart burns rapidly

It's a silly notion but one that makes me happy, can't I be happy?
It's a stupid idea though I can't stop myself, I wish I knew how

I still don't see how I exist in this puzzle of reality
bruised my back just from trying to fit
cut and bleeding

He feeds one aspect of me but gives nothing to the rest
Stiffened and deformed I burn in the sun
Hiding in the shadows enveloped in abnormality
Crawling through dead leaves grasping for reality


He starves what's left of me, I dwell on the past
Bloated ego disten

Psychiatry and chemical lobotomies: Lives lost before they had a chance to live

Generation RX, as I watch this documentary on the industry of drugging children for profit without care or understanding to how the drugs effect their minds I consider myself lucky to have turned out the way I have. I was one of those children. Over the course of 6 years I was prescribed a plethora of psychotropic and sleep medications only to serve as a mere peon to a money-making scheme for Big Pharma. More and more in recent years children who are deemed defective by uncaring psychiatrists are thrown under foot as stepping stones for the pharmacological industry when little is understood as to what was going wrong in the children's brains. In many instances these drugs are like sweeping a pile of dirt under a carpet to not fix, but hide the disarray, as opposed to facing the issue and finding the root and cause of the problem.
What many don't understand is that these drugs are often the cause of more problems themselves.

Research shows that in the cases of the Columbine shootings and other recent school shootings the perpetrators of the homicides had been on or had taken some sort of psychotropic medications, names such as Prozac and Trazodone suddenly become familiar. Were these children with their drug-altered still-developing minds born horrendous murderers? Or were they victims of chemical lobotomies?

One of the most common terms thrown around lately "ADHD" seems to become so popular amongst psychiatrists that the diagnosis has grown like the manic fervor of a frothing dog.
"Does your child have difficulty concentrating in school? Does he or she tend to disobey your orders? Do they seem hyperactive and unfocused? You child may have ADHD and we have a prescription that can help."
What child doesn't do those things? It is rare when they don't, but does that mean that those children are defective and in need of a quick fix to mend their "broken" mental capabilities? In truth the drug is often over-prescribed and used as a band-aid sold to lazy parents that feel they don't have the time or energy to properly raise their children or confront the issues their children may have. Psychotropics are often used as pharmacological babysitters.

Tightrope-walking on barbed wire
I keep thinking there's something I forgot to do
I feel compressed on the inside
Something's wrong in my head

That one day

I wished I had cancer

I screamed at the doctor:

"Get this thing outta me

take from me anything

I don't want this disease

cut this thing out of me!"

I miss you, Dad.

Silently falling apart, my world is crushed. Rocking back and forth on my heels shaking my head with strangled gasps. It doesn't get easier with the years. Why did you do this to me? If things could be different I'd take your place. One fatal measurement and I'm here alone. Set flame to the drug to bring life to the needle, take life from the man who gave life to me. With you I could have been everything, without you I wait for the end. The calm comfort of the darkness to swallow my vision.
Some of us make bad choices, some of us get lucky. Some of us turn our lives around. Some of us are sick and some of us die. Some of us are ruined and some of us cry. Back then you were the only friend I had, I was too young to have to lose my dad. How many times can I beat my fists into the ground? I'm enveloped by pain and hate. Bleed like I bleed I want to make everyone feel my pain. I want them to hurt. In the end we're all the same, in the end we're all nothing. I'll never see you again. I try hard to envision your face, and when I close my eyes the harder I try all I see are black shapes in the darkness of my mind's eye. It's like being mentally blind. I reach out with my thoughts and feel your face but I can't see it myself. What is wrong with me? I want to go back to sleep. My existence is a waste of time. Why are we capable of suffering such pain? It puts me in a seething rage. Now I just want to kill and maim, Daddy, was I born this way?

January 13th 1959-August 13th 1997

Ethereal and as ephemeral as the mists she flooded my thoughts and filled my mind with fog.