The moon shone bright orange-red across the rooftops of the suburban neighborhood.

All seemed at peace.  Inside homes, everyone was peacefully sleeping.

Inside his perfectly painted home sleep was but a dream.

A little boy curled up in a closet gathered the hanging clothes around his bone-thin body. He tried to hide from nightmares.  He tried to pretend he was not there.

In a spaceship, he soared. The stars were his for the taking.  Captain Kirk was at his side. He came to rescue him from the monster lurking just outside his bedroom walls.  The little boy smiled at the vast universe but suddenly a crack appeared in the horizon bringing a dark shadowed light.   The shadow crept across his stoic face.  He felt his insides die. His eyes could no longer conceal his fate.

The creek of a door, hands pulling him forth, he slumped at what he knew would be his chore. Disrobed and thrown upon the white sheets of his own long-suffering throne.  His tiny butt cheeks pulled apart. A sharp jabbing searing pain as the screwdriver pointy end made its claim on his soul. The pain so intense he soon disappeared like vapor from a boiling pot of water as mean eager hands began to make him not matter.

Awake.  It is over.  Sun shines upon the blood stained sheets. He looks at it with disbelief. Pulling himself from the grisly scene, he reluctantly gets up and dresses.  He gently walks to the bathroom, part of the chore. As he sits upon his porcelain throne, trickles of blood turn the toilet water red-pink. He flushes the toilet in a blink, watching the swirling water take away his incomprehensibility. When done, he is numb.  No memory of the night, no memory of himself.  Erased forever cast out to the sea to swim among bacteria and debris.

He steps out the bathroom, “Was their blood in your stool,” his mother asks a common question.  Not today he thinks.

Smiling, grinning, laughing with its shiny bright edges of promises.

It beckons me.  Come taste the pain and joy that I bring.

Let me devour your sins.

You know what to do you it smirks.

Pick me up and cut yourself up.

Like a dog in heat, I willingly do as it demands.

I pick up the blade and slide it hard against my dead porcelain skin.

I can’t wait for the warmth of the blood sliding down my leg

I let out a deep sigh as my skin turns pink around the edges and blood oozes forth then becomes a red river cascading down my leg.

I have never known such happiness.

The blade is my lover and I am its slave.

I open up to its glory like a red rose blossoming.

I am in love.

My breath increases and I feel a burning in my groin. I cut some more

So much pain and happiness

I don’t want this beautiful ecstasy to ever end.

I feel I am going to explode.

I cut even deeper leaving long red bloody trails.

My heaven has come forth.

I drop the blade and let the sins be washed away.

Who are you?

I see you. I know who you are.

Alabaster skin, porcelain pure white, glistening, sparkling, moving slowly in the time/space continuum.

I can see you.

From the beginning of the beginning something bubbling in the green primordial life force, I see clearly who you are.  Like limbs growing, reaching for the bluest of blue skies, I see the brightest of white light leading down to lush green pastures. A place to finally slumber softly as molecule-by-molecule new skin saunters forth.

I feel who you are.

I came to you on bended knees.

My red crimson blood flowing, moving, dancing.

Hot waves of passion raced up and down my iridescence body.

I knew you could see the man was I meant to be.

I laid my heart wide-open, my dim-lit soul released memories of a cold, dark past.  I took a deep breath and relaxed.  You took me in your celestial arms and cradled me like a baby sweetly whispering I will always have your back.

Like a new sun radiating solar flares on the golden wheat field, you enveloped me, no you caressed my soul with loving entwining genetic imprints as my soul split opened and gave birth to a shiny happy, imperfect man.

I felt love. I saw love.  I tasted the love. I became love.  We had become one. I became you and you became I. I took your outreached arms and surrendered my life to your loving embrace. My heart grew wings and blissfully took flight. I silently cried swollen grateful tears of happiness.  I had been denying who I am for a very long time, a loving man for all time.

I am here.  I am now.  I am present.  I am a magnificent being of the stars and skies.  I have arrived.  I am the luckiest man alive.

You showed up at my friend’s door, ruggedly handsome, rather direct.  I had to make you mine.

We smoked some meth and the heat began to rise. I stole you away from my friend.  You would be all mine. Together we left hot sex was the plan.  We stopped at a drug store.  You met a man, eight ball was now in your greedy hand. We drove back to your place. You told me you are a nurse as you sexily removed your shirt.  A muscled body glistening with sweat blinds my eyes with lust. You continue to undress. I hotly watch afraid to do the same.  You come over and pull off my shirt.  You rub your torso against mine.  My member begins to gorge. Unbuckling my belt you thrust your tongue down my throat. We become hedonistic.  I like it. I want to be your bitch.

We don’t have a pipe so we improvise using tinfoil.  You place the meth on the tinfoil and place a lighter under it. Smoke begins to saunter forth.  We take turns inhaling the devil’s smoke.  Our bodies begin to float and sear with unbearable desire. Lost in electric sexual waves we begin to grope and engulf each other’s souls.

I pick you up and slam you against the wall, my tongue devouring every inch of your soul.  The fire inside has ignited my sex drive.  I pick you up again and throw you down to the bed.  I jump on top of you and make you my bitch.

You turn the tide. I will be your bitch. Now you’re the one barking commands. I do whatever you demand.  I want to make you a happy man.  You attach a dog leash to my prince Albert and the beast inside grows an inch longer. You lead me around the house like a dog waiting for a bone. You drop the leash and turn to find a rope.  I want to fuck you. I want to make you my man slave. I look in the mirror and see my reflection, the attached dog leash limp swaying back and forth across my legs. I want to see you again but I am consumed with too much shame for who I am. So with you looking away, I give a yank on my lover’s charade.  A gushing red river flows as my shaft tears open. The prince Albert jewelry falls to the floor.

You panic. Blood makes you uneasy.  You place my bleeding body in your white porcelain bathtub.  I watch with disbelief as the blood, filling the tub begins to coat my legs with my own blood.  The bottom of the tub is no longer white. My blood is the new coat of paint. I take a deep breath when I think this could be the end.

You want to call emergency.  I tell you no.  I tell you it will stop. You fall for my deceit and I convince you to get the tinfoil so we can shotgun our way out of this scene. Let’s get high until the sun rises above the skyline.    We inhale until there is no more, my blood keeping score.  I serenely smile as I think my life will soon be over in a blink.   I relax. I take it easy.  I enjoy this warm bloodbath.

I stare into your eyes. Don’t you see I am the happiest man alive? I just want to die.  Can’t you see this is what I selfishly need?

The blood finally stops.  The tub now crusted red. Our heads are coming out of the sky. The reality of what has been soon appeared like a whisper never heard down a long corridor.  I could have died you say through tears. You insist on taking me to the emergency.

The doctor tells me skin tissue has died.  He tells me in surgery he will need to need to cut off the dead part of me.   I scream. I cry.  I realize my penis will be mutilated. I become terrified. In sobbing tears, I tell you my story of crimson red at the hands of a family man that drove me from man to man. You hold my hand and tell me I will be fine.  I would rather have died.

The dark night calls – a voice, a laugh, “Here’s Johnny,” a television flickers.

Footsteps on the tiled floor – a cupboard is opened – a glass is poured

Footsteps fading away, Johnny Carson is saying his monologue.

An empty glass.

Anger

A flick of a switch – silence

Darkness

I hear my father’s footsteps coming near.

Shadows slithering down a wall.

I clutch my bed sheets tight

I will not be safe.

The devil comes tonight.

I close my eyes tight.

I try to run and hide within my own psyche. There is nowhere to go. There is nowhere to hide. There is no tree to climb.

My little body can’t fight, can’t hide.

My mind turns off the lights. I stare at the ceiling from where hangs a Pepsi-Cola light.

He has come. He needs to show his love. A familiar knowing hand on my sheets and in a whoosh they seem to go up to thin air.

I am evil. I am corrupted. I am bad. I hear the deep whispers.

I feel his loving touch. I smell his vodka-tinged breath.

An insertion, a jab, a white-hot stab as the screwdriver goes in.

DADDY LOVES ME. I AM SO PRECIOUS I try to make myself hear. I want to draw him near.

Pain numbness deadness void

White bright blindness in my head

I pray for forgiveness. I pray for release. I pray for awareness.

I pray for death. I pray for white light. I pray for my dad’s touch.

I am alone with his raging love.

It frightens me. It makes me happy.

I am alone in my schizophrenic fright.

Silent dry tears never appear.

Daddy tell me you love me.

I float. I soar.

I am stone. I am the Earth. I am the sky.

I am flesh. I am blood. I am a lie.

I am a disappointment. I am deformed. I am imperfect. I am a nuisance.

I am a waste of time.