THE MASK...

If we take away the mask, is this what we will find?



Picture copyright:  Keith Schengili-Roberts



YOUR SHADOW'S SECRETS

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

Swallow the bloody secrets

seeping from the corners of your mouth.

Keep them down.

Do not utter a sound.

Body trembling something awful,

It is getting impossible to bear,

Sitting all alone with your shadow

Clinging to the only thing you know.

How long have you been there?

Crying every time you turn around?

You cannot even pick your head up off the ground.

You utter not a sound.

No one speaks your language,

And fire has burned the bridge

from where you live, in the bottom of a well.

You think if you forget you will never have to tell.

You cannot bear to walk outside the door,

Or look into the mirror any more.

Memories crawl all around inside your clothes.

How long will you remain in your darkness—who the hell knows?

To 'A.  ie'

DEV

6-17-1996

THE WALKING DEAD...BEYOND THE POINT OF NO RETURN

My mind was pushed into a bizarre grotesque world until it became shattered past the point of no return.  There is nothing to define reality or if there is a reality it cannot be alive in my mind.  It has to die.  It has to stay dead.  I am the walking dead.  Is that a movie or something?  The only way to live is to be dead.  I breathe dead air.  I listen to and hear dead voices speaking, dead words coming from dead brains.  Like you for instance...your words are dead.  They are nothing but dead air being verbalized, falling upon the dead ears of the world.  There is no meaning or conviction or emotion.  And that is okay.  I do not need any of that from you.  I do not care if  you are detached and aloof and superficial.  I do not care what you think or what you believe about me.  It does not matter.  Nothing matters when you are dead.  Nothing can hurt you when you are dead.  You are right; I saw things no one should have to see.  I was forced to do things no one should have to do.  Can you see the blood on my hands, my face, my body?  Because...I can.  Crimson Red...always dead, dead, dead.  We bled...Crimson Red.  Now here is where I lay my head.  Here is my bed.

POINT OF NO RETURN

TOO MUCH PAIN WHEN I TRY NOT TO BE ANGRY

I am not made for this.  I was made to be DEV.  That is who I am.  THERE IS NOTHING MORE.  I do not believe you 'N/SW' when you say I have so many things to do as a 15 year old.  That is pure bullshit, since I 'know' that this body is NOT 15...even though I still have trouble comprehending this concept.  I tried to be un-angry DEV and it does not work.  Everything falls apart...Me and everyone in front of me.  LEAVE ME ALONE.  Yes, I know I was the one that went to see you.  So, I happened to be the 'strongest one' that day.  SO FUCKING WHAT!   IT MEANS NOTHING.  YOU MEAN NOTHING.  I MEAN NOTHING.  THE WORLD MEANS NOTHING.  SIMF.  This 'code' and what it represents you will eventually learn.  And you will regret the day when you understand its meaning.  You will realize that I am a vile, ugly reptile.   I am a poisonous amphibian.  I strike.  I am poisonous to the touch.  Do not let looks deceive you.  You may think it looks harmless and the colors attract you...BUT BEWARE.





Purple spotted dart frog...picture from into-the-wild.org





Mumford and Sons - Little Lion Man

OOps...CUSS WORD!!  SORRY!

THE BOX

Today we are decorating a box.  It is a difficult task for us to do.  We all have something we want to put on the box as a decoration.  Probably, it will be cluttered on the outside with our stuff...little souvenirs of things we like.  But, hello...it is our box so who cares?  I hope it is large enough.  We are going to fill this box with our written memories.  We have to write them because we cannot utter the words aloud.  There is a block between our thoughts and our voice.  There are a LOT of memories.   So the inside of the box will be cluttered also.   Eventually, when we are ready, if that day ever comes...we will take the memories and burn or bury them.  I choose burn.  I feel partial to burning.  And since the idea was given to ME, well hell, it wil be "burn baby burn".  Yes, 'N'/'SW' (still cannot decide which to use) suggested this to ME!  Yes me, little piss ant DEV.  The one who believes all she wants to do is play 'head games'.   I don't know.  Am I letting her suck me into her vacuum, only to find out later she had always planned to throw away the bag of dirt that she sucked up in her vacuum?  Is she going to hurt me just like the previous one and the one before that and everyone else in my life.  When she finds out who I am and what I am like, will she hate me?   Will she be frightened by me?  So many questions, they drive me crazy.  But, really, WHAT DO I HAVE TO LOSE?  Nothing.  Life is so painful and so bad and filled with confusion.  How can it be worse?  I don't think it could be worse. 


So, the next time I see her I am going to ask if she will keep the box in her office.  There is no place safe here for us to keep it.  I want to make a small shrine in her office.  From the Latin etymology shrine is scrinium (case, chest).  That is what this will be...a chest of relics (NOT SAINTLY), but it will be a remembrance of days gone by.  But, they really have not gone by...because they are re-lived in our mind
just as if they are happening again.  It is called PTSD.  It is called D.I.D.  It is called ab reaction.  It is called HELL.   And I think she might really believe us.  I think she might really know how to help us help ourselves.  Or at least, I think she is willing to try. 


I cannot think any more.  I am weary.  I wish I could call her.

Human Angels

Okay maybe I was wrong about you 'N' or 'SW', I need to decide which 'initial' you will be.  If you really do not play 'head games', then I might have a chance with you.  I think I can take a risk with you.  At least, I will try.  U R kewel.
DEV

FLOWERS

Reality comes.  Dreams go.
I lie inside myself for days and hours
swallowed up in the sounds of screaming flowers.

"Where did all the flowers go?"---
Flowers of beauty, innocence and love.

Were they drowned in your vat of Crimson Red?
Or smothered in the darkness of your suffocating coffin?
Or hung upside down to be preserved, withering and dying?

Whatever.  Now they are fucking dead,

eternally crumbling into shreds.

Reality comes.  Dreams go.

I lie inside myself for days and hours,

covered with memories of dead flowers;

In touch with only my rampant chaos.

Trapped in the seclusion of the self

with no exit from this violent hell,

no shedding of this vile serpent shell.

Microsoft Clip art

Reality comes.  Dreams go.

I lie inside myself for days and hours,

knowing I am one of your dead flowers.

What sleeps beyond this lonely refuge?

Merely the inescapable nightmare of chaotic strife

and the resulting prison, people call life.

Dare I wake---

So dreams may come and reality may go?

DEV

9/21/2004



PLAYGROUND

The playground is open.

Won't you come and play?

You can be my playmate each and every day.

Will you be like the seesaw?
Up and down.  Up and down.

Or possibly, like the merry - go - round,

Making my mind spin round and round?

Will you be like the monkey bars

And hang me upside down?

Or maybe like the swing

pushing in from high to low?

Take my hand and let us go

to the 'playground', the 'playground'...
filled with my life and all your 'fun'.

The 'place' where I became undone.

DEV

8/26/2004

MEMORIES

Like ghosts don't need a key

                                                         




                                                                                                   You come slithering into me
                                                                                                   My fucking best friend to be.


You arrived when I was very weak
And turned me into a fucking freak,

Afraid to move...Afraid to speak.

Down deep inside you made your nest,                               

And never again will you let me rest.

You just keep pushing my mind to the test.

Here I am.  I'm yours to rent.

Inhabit me until I become totally spent.

There is no fucking need to repent.

You really should stay for more than a day.

You know I will miss you if you go away.

I won't have a fucking chance to play.



Close the blinds and



Bolt the door. 

No need for others anymore.          

We have your pain to make us soar.

Because of you my skin is Crimson Red

And millions of tears are being shed.

But, soon the time will come for me to be dead.

You give me wings to fly up high,

So I can watch from the endless sky

My fucking body preparing to die.     

So, when I am cold and free from harm

Will you cover me to keep me warm

And give me shelter from the fucking storms?

Or will you haunt me while I burn in hell?

Because there you go with that fucking smell,

Burning flesh--don't forget to tell.    

My body spewing Crimson Red.

I can't pick up my fucking head.

Fucking dead.

Fucking dead.

Fucking dead.

                            

DEV
9/1/2004

MY MIND SPEAKS



@Laritha Lee Art on Face Book

MY MIND SPEAKS

Hello.  It's me, your mind.
I am here for you to talk to.

I am here to talk to you.

Breathe.  The air is cool and clean.

You can no longer feel.

This is not real.

I said Breathe.

Fuck you.  I can't talk to you.

I don't want to breathe.

I can't breathe.  There is no air.

Have you forgotten all I know?

You reap what you sow.

Prickly thorns puncturing my brain.

Fuck you.  I am going under again.

Hello.  It's me, your mind.

Purple syrup flowing from the spotted fawn,

filling a pool for you to play in.

It's a sweet smell that fills the air.

It's a perfect night for purple hair.

Fuck you.  Crimson Red flowing down.

Little Sweetie, rub a dub dubs

with three men in a tub.

The smell of their shit is what fills the air.

Crimson Red is the color of her hair.

Have you forgotten all I know?

You reap what you sow.

Prickly thorns puncturing my brain.

Fuck you.  I'm going under again.

Hello.  It's me, your mind.

You are laying in a sunlit field of lovely flowers.

A beautiful place to watch the clouds float by.

You are wearing a purple flowing gown,

Surrounded by soft, pure, white, fluffy down.

Fuck you.  Hard, cold table underneath me.

Darkness surrounds, I can hardly see.

Crimson Red is covering my skin.

And this is when hell begins with Rin Tin Tin.

Have you forgotten all that I know?

You reap what you sow.

Prickly thorns puncturing my brain.

Fuck you.  I am going under again.

Under again.

And you'll ask me where I've been,

And I'll have to tell you over and over again.

I've been to hell and back.

I've been hung from the rack.

I've been contained in a sack.

I've been covered and smothered,

And over me they have hovered.

I have not forgotten.

And I feel fucking rotten.

Blood flows from the prickly thorns in my brain,

Flooding my life with Crimson Rain.

Fuck you.  I am going under again.

Under again, under again.

My eyes are pouring Crimson Red.

And now I lay down my head.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

8/24/2004

DEV





RIN TIN TIN

HEAD GAMES

PEOPLE CAN REALLY BE PISS ANTS.  YOU KNOW, THOSE ITTY BITTY TINY LITTLE BLACK ANTS THAT CRAWL IN THROUGH THE CRACKS AND DRIVE YOU CRAZY.  THAT IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT 'N', THE THERAPIST.  SHE IS A PISS ANT.  AND ALONG WITH HER, THAT SO CALLED 'GROUP' SHE LEADS IS THE SAME...A BUNCH OF PISS ANTS.  THIS IS NOTHING BUT CRAP.   THERAPY IS NOTHING BUT CRAP.  IT IS NOTHING MORE THAN A HEAD GAME.

ANGRY DEV

THAT IS MY NEW NAME.  ANGRY DEV.