Tag: Denial

Gospel 236 ~Zen Ends Butt Kicking Deserved~

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I don’t want peace, and the quiet is killing me. Let me have my exhaustion and with what my eyes have been doing lately, tuning out, tearing up, taking down every bit of pain as if it would stop my own. “Zen Ends Butt Kicking Deserved”

Monday, February 22, 2021

Gospel 236 ~Zen Ends Butt Kicking Deserved~

Hundred And Seventy-Six Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and I’m still not angry about Braxton. Well, how do I know I started talking to you Friday. Say it with me, Madam Justice AHEM “Time-Travel.” What I know for sure is this? I’m not Zen. I don’t know what’s what anymore. I’m still reading anything and everything, well, after crying that Braxton isn’t curled up against me. It’s my fault. I’m the one to blame. Talk about a butt kicking deserved. I have those pamphlets on grief the vet gave me. To this day, I believe I’m in Denial, but Anger?

I don’t know how to describe it. Every morning when I wake up, the living routine. You know when I sleep, I’m gone though I’ve begun to dream again. Nothing about B III, only pain, and don’t tell me you can’t feel it in dreams. I’m usually shocked then, waterworks. Most of the time, I’m on autopilot. My mom asked me do I watch a lot of Dish; anything to break up the silence. Only what I mean is, it’s like that movie Warm Bodies, and I’m “R.” What do zombies do? Who was R before Julie and then without her? B’s not coming back. But what peace I knew…again routine, Denial. Braxton is only outside or under the bed. I joined a club about dogs, but I’m finding people much like myself. Madam J, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. So then I look for more pain and for what, my catharsis?

“It’s easier not to feel. Then I wouldn’t have to feel like this.” R – from the movie Warm Bodies

Disgusting, but how about wishing it was me? I’ll be damned if an animal is in pain. My Braxton suffered. People though… You know the song, “the dreams in which I’m dying…” My side was hurting; I thought I got bitten by something, wishing sicknesses. I’ve been eating more. Now I’ve starved myself for at least a week, but now food is the punishment. I said before I’ve been craving things like onion rings, chocolate, Burger King. Anything Braxton can’t have or that breaks my routine and increases my shame. Some time ago, I saw the police, and while they can pick anything at all… My killing Braxton. I’m Eddie Murphy in The Golden Child; I should be punished, purged, never purified. Hell’s not scary.

Living like this… peace, any thought of Zen’s the crime. Laugh, Smile, Funny Face, Braxton. Zen Ends Butt Kicking Deserved.

I Am Afraid Without Braxton

Gospel 229 ~Beds Are Not Substitute Graves~

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Braxton would let me stay in bed, but he also knew how to get me out of it and then at the end… Hell, I would have joined him if I could’ve. Only for now, at least I’m up wanting to remember, to hold him, but Beds Are Not Substitute Graves.

Monday, February 15, 2021

Gospel 229 ~Beds Are Not Substitute Graves~

Hundred And Seventy-Five Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but does Braxton want to be with me forever? Always and forever in my heart, of course. Even now, a piece of him is around my neck. What about everything that is on my nightstand? I’m sure even today (Time-Travel, it’s still Saturday, his birthday). He wouldn’t want me to spend all day in bed mourning. No, that’s what we did on my Emergence Day. A bed has plenty of purposes, but it’s not as a grave. Being in a warm bed is pretty heavenly, which explains why I’m out of mine.

I’m also sure a bed isn’t made to be a shrine; again, we return to my nightstand. It’s been two weeks now or will be, and I keep Braxton’s last collar in his bed. His favorite plaything sits on his pillow in his room. Despite losing him, as I said on “that day,” they’re staying. Braxton’s bed is not exercise equipment, no matter how heavy it is to carry. With everything I have to heave at the Day Job, nothing compares. I keep thinking the whole world could tumble down, crushing me, only B III, bedding, daddy’s breaking heart. They’re not time machines either. As I told you before, I move my son’s bed to the right spot when I leave. Hell, just now, where do you think his pillow is with his toy? Right under the table as I talk to you. I’m still waiting for Braxton to go out, standing by the door.

That’s his territory, the backyard. Indiana Gone asked me where I would scatter his remains… I’ve only cried twice today, and it’s not yet 8:30 in the morning. Madam Justice, honestly, I only opened “the box” once. Inside’s a blue cloth, farther… didn’t wish any disturbance. Well, again, other than the pendant, I’m still wearing. Do I want to keep what’s left of my son sitting there dark? A bag of his hair, a clay paw print, even the certificate of his cremation? 5.5 x 8.5, how dreadful is that wanting to keep it representing Braxton. February 4, by the way, where was I when that was happening? In bed saying that it should have been me than him, honest. Today of all days, though, I’m out of bed, not living really. Existing, Remembering, and Thinking for now at least. Beds Are Not Substitute Graves

I Am Afraid Without Braxton

Gospel 222 ~Reasonable That Victoria Keeps Secrets~

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I don’t know what’s worst than saying Braxton’s gone, my son is dead. Everything that has been said and not, nothing will trump that. Yet in life, we keep some things to ourselves, right? “Reasonable That Victoria Keeps Secrets,” right

Monday, February 8, 2021

Gospel 222 ~Reasonable That Victoria Keeps Secrets~

Hundred And Seventy-Forth Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I should have plenty of secrets. You know I do, but for the first time in forever, I don’t care. I’ve told you the worst thing I’ve ever done. Madam Justice, I’ll keep saying it. I killed my son, Braxton is dead because of me. For my failure at being his father, he paid with his life. I’m scared, of course. At the same time, I’ve got nothing left to lose. Why should I care about anything else? What makes me a man has nothing to do with, as the song goes, Underneath Your Clothes.

Take away a man’s son, you’ve truly given him nothing left to lose. – Zombieland

I also don’t have to sing “I Wish It Would Rain,” for I am not ashamed of crying. Hell, it might help to feel anger. It’s been one week; well, it’s Saturday now. Who am I to talk about the stages of grief? I haven’t cried like this since… I don’t know; I’m in Denial. It’s one of the reasons I won’t share this more publicly. I’m not my father. Didn’t I tell you before? I could still feel Braxton’s warmth, and he’s all like, “get a new dog.” He’s lost two, and I don’t recall batting an eye, but I didn’t say, “oh well.” Then his mother died um. Nothing ever hid his hatred towards me. I’ve heard the Christians talk about putting on the whole “Armor of God.” It would do nothing to shield me from my anxiety. Give me dog hair any day of the week. Still, I walked in with Braxton, and I walked out alone.

I bore my soul to the world, and what of Braxton’s? Haven’t I said I would have saved or sold mine to keep his? I haven’t cared about my body since. Only I keep dressing, going to the Day Job, I took a shower somehow. Um, does any of this have to do with the rule? Honestly, I haven’t looked; I mean, really seen a woman since the vets had mercy on Braxton. I still have Twitter, of course, and artistic endeavors. To be honest, I haven’t been checking the bank except to shop online for food. How will I ever go into Walmart Sunday? Women hide things, and I’m a man hell with nothing more. Fatherhood, heart, balls, Braxton

No one knows what it’s like… ha, plenty know. But, Reasonable That Victoria Keeps Secrets.

I Will Have No Fear