Fall into the nether

Neither here

Nor there

The mythical is most alluring,

When one has that from which to run.

They told me there is power

To be held within the truth.

Here begins your journey.

Your spiritual awakening.

A step into the unknown world

few receive an invitation to.

Don’t you feel grateful?

Don't you know how lucky you are?

A step through the two-way mirror,

Tentative and meek,

Foot falling into damp green grass,

Flower petals and blue skies,

The orchestra announcing your arrival.

There is meaning there, there is purpose.

No more questions, no more uncertainty

Eternity at your fingertips

Reach out and discover the meaning of all.

They don’t tell you of the river,

When you set upon a small canoe

And sail down the riverside,

Smiling far and wide.

The ending is a waterfall,

A thousand feet to go before

The water glistening below

And the water is so dark

So dark

It's almost black

And it gurgles

And it spits

And it calls to you invoices

Menacing and deep

And tells of the ways

Death will call upon your name.

Fall into the nether.

Neither here nor

There

A free fall for the ages

A scream trapped in your throat

You will never be able to release

All the green envy you’ve ever felt

Escaping through your pores

Fermented poison clogging up

Your nose and making your eyes water

Fall into the nether

Neither here

Nor there

Every darkest fear you've had

Every mistake you've made

Every bad decision

Prohibition

Inhibition

Atone! For your sins

In blood and gore

Tear apart your clothes until

You tear at skin

There is no place for tears

Here, oh sweet child

Don't you want to know

Who made us?

Agony unlike

Any which you've felt before

They call it ego death

Ego is the death of all

But it feels as if your soul

Your very essence bleeding dry

The catastrophe of one's destruction

There is no place for fear here and yet

You are terrified

You'll beg for it to stop

I don't want to know

I want to live

Please let me live

I don't want to know who

Created us

Or what my purpose is

I want to read good books

And watch tv

Please

Please

Please

Please I miss my mom

And this is how it ends:

please

mama

please

mama

please

mama

If failure had a face he would be a man. Perhaps short and fat, or tall and lanky. Perhaps his skin would be pearly white or mud brown. If failure had a face I would recognize him in a line up no matter how he looked that day.

I met failure on the second day of primary school, the day I brought back that English test. Changed a 3 into a 5 and hoped nobody would notice. They did of course. I didn't have the smarts back then to use the same color pen.

I met failure at the gasoline station when I was 16, carrying five boxes of cereal, four candy bars, three packets of milk, two packs of cigarettes, and one pregnancy test.

I met failure when he was a short man with black hair and puffy face, he wore the same green t-shirt every day with a self-made jackson pollock painting of ketchup and mustard on the front. When he lived in a run-down apartment clothes and papers and matches and lighters skittered around the floor. A mattress on the ground, no sheets, no pillows. I ate pizza with him and got high on what was supposed to be weed but barely made the effort. We sat on the sofa so long the outline of my back is still imprinted on it like the signature I never intended to leave. We drank cheap whiskey and smoked cigarettes and talked about living the high life and laughed at the sheep that went to school to chase careers. Couldn’t they see how happy we were rotting on that couch?

I met failure when he was beautifully alluring, his voice husky and soft, his eyes bright and glowing. All dilated pupils and runny nose. We spent years together in club bathrooms. White-hot power shot straight up the nose. Coursed through our veins and made us wonder. Is this what it felt like to be a god? He told me how easy it is to take, to lie, to steal. That if they left it in the open they deserved to be taught a lesson. We would be that lesson. And we were. Until we weren’t.

I saw failure everywhere I went since I was a little girl. I saw him in my promises, in my mother's tears, in my father's rage, in my desires and my ambitions. I saw him at that hospital.

When I broke up with failure he raged for hours, made me sob until the tears felt painful against my swollen cheeks, until the gasps I made were not for air but for release - release from him. He held me by the hair, tight grip in my golden locks pulling me up and slamming me into the wall again and again and again.

If failure had a face he would no doubt be a man. Golden curls and swollen face, brittle bones, and sunken eyes. His face would look like mine.