Been under a great deal of stress of late; having learned that the pain in my leg is not just an increased level in pain, caused by a motorcycle accident I was involved in 1990, but rather a non-union fracture that I’ve been living with, unbeknownst to me, for the past nineteen years. The doctor who saw me in the ER and operated on my leg, twice, after putting the wrong size rod in the first time, told me I had a very low pain threshold and needed to suck it up.

I was twenty-three at the time and thankful to be alive…with my leg intact! So, I sucked it up. Until recently when the pain shot from a continuous ten on a one – ten scale, to an excruciating fifty-three. And so began the arduous process, which will reach fruition tomorrow, with a four to six week recovery period. And therein lies the cause of my stress.

I don’t like going to the doctor for any reason, and I especially do not like surgery; PERIOD! This one, I have been told, will take approximately three hours. My pulse just quickened as I typed those words. Seriously!

It’s not the actual surgery that frightens me, but the anesthesia; being in an unconscious state, put there voluntarily by unnatural means, signing the papers giving permission, releasing the anesthesiologist from any and all responsibility. That just doesn’t work for me. Not to mention the fact that I’m prone to all sorts of unusual activity while in a slow wave or deep REM sleep, and so who knows how far one travels under general anesthesia. I know, I know…but I’m just saying…

Jone, this is a good one for you; can involuntary astral projection occur while in an induced unconscious state?

So, my trepidation reached an all time high this morning and my son, sensing it, was especially loving and attentive. The first time he kissed me goodbye was at the bathroom sink while I was brushing my hair; he told me he loved me and would miss me today and then gave me a kiss. I stepped back and looked at him oddly, to which he cocked his head to the side and gave what I can only describe as a knowing smile. For the scent he emitted was that of my late grandmother.

I loved her better than best. I loved everything about her, especially the way she felt in my arms when I hugged her, and that distinguishing scent that belonged only to her. It was a combination of her face powder, her lipstick, her perfume, her breath, her hair and her very essence. There was never another smell in the world that even came close to that comforting scent I knew and loved so well. Two more times he kissed me before he left and each time he smelled exactly like her.

And so this evening I find myself in an extremely calm and relaxed state; having received her message from beyond; sent through the purest and truest form of love; my child. I know that she loves me still, was able to cross the veil that separates this life from the next to tell me so. She was with me this morning and will be right there by my side tomorrow.

Amazing isn’t it, that the power of love knows no boundaries.

The first letter
Of the first
Word

Put down and
Purged

The stroke of
Midnight

All Hallows Eve

He always
Believed
Her to be a
Witch

Leaving him damned
And cursed

One thousand and one
Her number on
The list

Nameless
Faceless
Meaningless
Conquests

The exact number
Final word count
At the end of first
Go-round

Everything flowing
Coming with ease
Alignments just right
For slaying the
Dead

“What then do you call your soul? What idea have you of it? You cannot of yourselves, without revelation, admit the existence within you of anything but a power unknown to you of feeling and thinking.”

~ Voltaire

If I hadn’t
Loved him
So
Much

My loathing
Wouldn’t run
So
Deep

Called to the carpet
To meet with
Prominent editor

Of finest antiquity
Gigantic Persian
Rug

The office loomed
Enormous
Intimidating

At the end of a
Brightly lit
Corridor

Heart pine floors
Substantial
Eloquent

Strong enough to
Support
Even the largest
Of egos

She held up my
Book
As I entered
The room

Smiling from her
Throne
This stuff is
Good

Closing the cover
Setting it aside
Take a seat
What else have
You got

I sat back
And grinned
Let my spiel
Rip

The sky’s the limit
When you dream
In living color

Too many used to be’s
Faded away with
Time

Not enough now’s
To sustain us
Into tomorrow

Image – Wings of dust

Today
I went walking
With the
Dead

That’s
What I like
About the
South

She doesn’t seek his memory, it just comes creeping; and when it does, that’s all there is.

Its nothing to do with fear or inspiration; building a fan base that was there long before he was; or anything at all for matter of fact. For who would dream of seeking such hurt.

Its simply a means of soul survival; an attempt to heal, her wounds on her own. Purging her being in the form of words; bloodletting her system of his poison, his disease. Being caught in the death trap, he sets and springs.

His desperation for reprieve, amounting to nothing; empty words of apology and pleas of forgiveness. He gobbles her words and his ego grows, waiting for Twitter to tell him there’s more.

There comes a certain “feel,” no matter where you happen to be, whenever his thoughts turn in your direction.

It starts at the basic level of the flesh; like the cool breeze on a crisp autumn night; tantalizing and chilling all at once.

Your blood pressure rises, heart rate increases, as he sends invisible waves of desire, cascading in your direction.

At the sound of his voice, a chemical reaction triggers, and suddenly you are seized; with a mix of exhilaration and excitement like none other you have ever known.

A connection is what he seeks; the ability to reach out and snatch you from reality; pulling you into his realm of illusion; with nothing more than his thoughts and voice.

Once he connects, the feeding begins; everything you want to hear, anyone you want him to be; larger than life, too good to be true; having searched for eternity and now loving only you.

Before you can blink, you are on a downward spiral; surrendered completely while careening out of control.

He drains you empty, while filling you up; taking every scrap offered, pillaging the rest while you dream.

Making his exit as quickly as he comes; a puddle of nothing, you remain on the floor. Left alone, to sift through the pain; cloaked in his filthy blanket of noir.