Posted on by poeeternal

Crossing

Crossing paths of time
It’s not a railroad

Looking through broken glass
Under fractured halo

Understanding always last
An expensive payload

And if I ever dared to ask
I wouldn’t have to decode

© Delia Ross. 2021 / @poeeternal

I have a science degree in communication and can’t even fucking talk.

Furthermore, my brain is quickly failing me due to TBI, PTSD, chronic depression, acute anxiety, insomnia, paranoia, nightmares (war vet), and a billion other health problems not related to my mind. Like bone and muscle problems.

Not that you care. 👍

WOO HOO

I AIN’T DYING NAKED IN THE STREET

FYI.

I’m a broken fucking doll.

And just as soon as I come along and repair one tiny piece someone else will come along and break five more.

I’ve been physically abused, I am a survivor.

My doctor is begging me to take my fucking big pharma medication and I do good eating once a day, if at all.

I need to disassociate but everybody wants my time.

Wahhhh

Meanwhile, politics make me suicidal and on edge. My dad dying has taken me to new levels of darkness I’ve never known. I’m having to rip out my own heart, which is basically my muse, because he is I and I is he and all he does it make me bleed. So, I’ve lost my muse. I don’t even know if I have fucking air to breathe because half the time I’m hyperventilating from crying.

I live alone. During a pandemic. My pets are now getting on my nerves daily in this noisy apartment life. I want solitude and silence but apparently that too only belongs to the rich.

WordPress is getting on my nerves.

The air you breathe is getting on my nerves.

I am on edge and suicidal when I am not disassociating.

But there’s never any time to disassociate and I probably won’t even get to do that when I’m dead.

Justice would be coming back as an evil spirit and haunting your every move and breath.

Once again, I dare say Edgar Allan Poe suffered from depression. I am diagnosing Edgar Allan Poe as depressed.

Maybe I should start seeking a locket of his hair.

Since his hair is now a collector’s item.

I feel like having a Britney Spears moment and shaving off all of my hair.

Anything is possible when you are suicidal. 👍

Teddy is about the only thing that doesn’t trigger me. I found him outside one day by the trash bin. Not a speck of dirt on him. No odd smell. He came home with me. He got a second chance at life. He was simply DISPOSED and I know what that feels like. I do. Tossed out like fucking trash. It gave me a mood. But now he’s centerpiece in my studio and I’ve always wanted a large stuffed animal but no one’s ever given me one. I don’t get spoiled and I take shit home with me from the trash. Nobody sends me chocolate and nobody writes me poetry.

Like, you don’t know what struggle is until you’re finding nurturing in a trash bin.

You’d never catch me eating food from a bin though, I’d die first.

Pride. Ya know?

Teddy almost wound up in a landfill. And don’t even get me started on how much we waste resources.

Are you aware of that Stuxnet virus? I’m getting ready to buy some land and go underground. Good luck knowing my addy. Paranoid soldier? You betcha!!!

Seriously tho, I recommend you watching and learning everything about it now.

Also there are two things you need to know in the event of a nuclear attack (I.E. one of those power plants goes boom) :

1. Get out of the city and 2. Get out of the city.

Get out of the cities, get out of the cities….

If you want to watch a scary movie, watch that documentary on Stuxnet.

Enjoy me online while you can because I promise you I’ll be going underground. Unplugging.

Peace and solitude if I have to die for it.

Posted on by poeeternal · 1 Comment

The Downside (A song)

He’ll tell you about the downside
Like it’s paradise
He’ll kill you from the inside
Never thinking twice

Watch how he rolls the dice
His aim always precise
He never needs advice
Like his life is nice

Like he’s got it right…
Like he’s got it right…

He is cold as ice
Evil is his spice (x3) ((vocals on the low))

© Delia Ross. 2020

So, it is a song in my head. Therefore it is lyrics. I’m songwriting. Cuz this social distancing is even getting to my introversion. Now that the public beaches are closed to the public, I wanna go. What they gonna do? Arrest me? Pff go ahead. I need some kink in my life. Or excitement. I can just play stupid. It helps to be cute and innocent with a bit of devil. I’m like the perfect combo. They can’t resist my smile and silliness. 🙂 I’m seriously going to the beach tomorrow. Might be going to jail. I’m boreeeddddddd

If you dig my writing, you can support my blog by subscribing to my Patreon here (please & thank you): https://www.patreon.com/poeeternal

Keep up with me on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/poeeternal/

I follow back on Twitter and you can follow me here: https://www.twitter.com/poeeternal

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6 Feet

Shallow whether grave or shallow whether bone;
6 feet in a box is where you both belong.

© Delia Ross. 2020

I don’t like them, if that wasn’t obvious in the poem…

If you dig my writing, you can support my blog by subscribing to my Patreon here (please & thank you): https://www.patreon.com/poeeternal

Keep up with me on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/poeeternal/

I follow back on Twitter and you can follow me here: https://www.twitter.com/poeeternal

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Crater

I make decisions I know I’ll regret later
And I don’t know why I pop around, the truth is that I hate her
In disgust, I watch how her little minions all think that she’s greater
But she’s the equivalent of an asteroid making a crater
And what he sees in her requires a calculator
And a wallet, then add sex, she’s just around for labor
But then she removes her panties and she just isn’t my flavor
Maybe she thinks exposing herself is doing us a favor
Well, for him, I’m sorry, but it’s the only motivator…

© Delia Ross. 2020

SORRY NOT SORRY 👇👇👇

Warning, the following is a rant you best avoid but I needed to do it for my own fucking sanity… I only speak the truth. 👇

It’s not that I have anything against sex workers in particular, it’s just, I don’t like her, in particular. She’s gross, she lies, I can’t get the image of her vagina burned out of my mind, I know he sticks his dick in her (she’s cheap, AKA free), she emotionally blackmails him, and while he may put her in ropes, she’s the one that’s got him chained, she’s a pyramid scheme to her own fanbase which was built on lies, she pretends she’s a publishing company and acts like a cheap whore. It’s not hard to make your blog private if there is nudity, it’s kinda the fooking rules. But I guess she wants to help contribute to ruining our children in America with free porn yah!! (I’m sorry but close up shots of just your vagina is fucking porn). I hate her because she came to my blog spreading her fucking jealousy which led me to go check out her blogs and then I had to see her exposed vagina which I didn’t want to fucking see… And if I had paid to see that shit, I would have asked for a refund for real. But now she needs to pay for my fucking therapy to get her out of my head. I mean, why she assumes everyone wants to just come to her blog and see her fucking vagina up close!?! It wasn’t even like, neat. Like, I complain at people for posting pictures of their hands up close if they don’t even fucking have the decency to get a manicure beforehand or put lotion on… It was hard enough coming to terms with the fact that them two are in a thing together. I’m not jealous of her body trust me, I don’t think she’s worked out a day in her life. You could go fishing with how coarse her hair is and judging by the looks of it she probably does. I’m not jealous of her fake fanbase that she’s created by pulling her panties off and lying to them. It’ll be a long day in hell before she releases her hold on him, I wouldn’t put it past her that she blackmails him. I’d bet my soul right now that he’s trapped, it’s no wonder their time together is always turbulent. I don’t like her for many many reasons there are for not liking a person. She’s bad all around. There’s good people like me and then there’s deceitful people like her who try to make you believe that I’m the bad person… I don’t like her because she’s a hugely bad influence for the love of my life. I don’t like her because she pretends to be a nice person, but if she was really a nice person she would have followed my blog when she came to it originally leaving all the comments that she did, but she is as fake as they come, she did it out of spite and jealousy only, and hoping that I would go check out her blogs like I did and find out the stuff that I did and now I have to watch her be all friendly to all the other bloggers we follow… In the beginning I was even stupid enough to follow her blog but I didn’t understand why she came and left me all those comments but never followed my blog but later it all made sense and I figured it out… (obvious facts they both deny). She never had any intentions of following my blog because she was jealous of him writing poetry about me while he was fucking her. Sad truths. But we all run in the same circle, so I have to see all of them support each other but leave me out… cuz I’m the problem LOL LOL and more poetic rants likely to come because I need more therapy for how much I can’t fucking stand her…

I feel slightly better after the rant.

And even after all the horrible shit I have learned, I still love him… Why? Why does the why even matter anymore? Him and I are the modern Romeo and Juliet. I swear we are. He’s beautifully dark and I love him. I just can’t stand her… And I’ve already gone through my period of slashing him through my poetry, I completely crucified him for real. But he still carried my cross. And loved me. And I still love him. And I still have the hope of one day and she can’t fucking take that from us… or our poetry. 👍👍👍

(even if he convinces y’all that none of it is about me)… mirror please) 😇😇😇😇

Listen, I’m not the smartest girl on the block, but I’m also not the dumbest and I know what’s real and I know what’s not. I love him and he must really love me too because he’s never actually blocked me anywhere despite the fact that I have crucified him more than once but he must have known how much I was hurting because deep down I have a reason to be hurting because this shit is actually real it’s actually fucking real and happening in real time right fucking now and it’s NOT just imaginary in my head. And even if his words aren’t always for me they heal me the same. I love him and I know that I’m his favorite love. He has many girls who love him but none who love him as much as I do. My love was made for him. The thing is, I can need him and set him free because it is real love and it keeps coming back to me. And I wish I didn’t dislike her the way I do because then maybe it would make it easier for him and I to be friends and follow each other again, but that’s exactly what she doesn’t want. She needs control. She’s also very co-dependent on him. I’m not because it is true love. I probably could have liked her had she not been a deceitful jealous spiteful conniving bitch. So, I’m sorry my love, but I think you can do better still. xoxo

And to the bitch this is about, get in the sea already…

SORRY NOT SORRY

If you dig my writing, you can support my blog by subscribing to my Patreon here (please & thank you): https://www.patreon.com/poeeternal

Keep up with me on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/poeeternal/

I follow back on Twitter and you can follow me here: https://www.twitter.com/poeeternal

Posted on by poeeternal · 42 Comments

Skin

These sharks go into frenzy
With my patience running thin
Predators come to surface
From places made of sin

These waters are infested
And there’s more that’s creeping in
These lessons make me nervous
I have a right to shed my skin

© Delia Ross. 2020

I wish I could express my sexuality how I wanted, without the flood of sexual harassment that swarms in.

I wish I could dress how I wanted, without the flood of sexual harassment that comes in.

I wish I could go to the beach or the club, without the fear of being raped or having unwanted hands grab my body.

I wish I could dress sexy and go out and not be catcalled.

I wish dudes wouldn’t send me a play-by-play of how they’re masturbating.

I wish dudes wouldn’t ask me for nudes.

I wish I could express my sexuality without being reduced to simply a sex object.

Eh, but I guess I “asked for it”…

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My Sunday, how’s yours going?

I woke up to my Sunday morning with my ride having been damaged by a heinous, criminal act. I do not have the money to repair it. IF ANYONE CAN HELP, PLEASE HELP. DEPRESSION AWARENESS! SUICIDE AWARENESS. I CAN’T TAKE MUCH MORE. If anyone is capable or caring enough to help, please, I’m at the end of my rope.

Broken window, shattered soul, this is hell, don’t you know
Sunday blues *sigh*
Nothing stolen, strictly spite
$275 in repair costs I do not have and cannot drive until it is fixed.

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My Dawn Is Gone (A real story)

It was a 357 Magnum that took her life
She wrote me a note then died that night
She said she loved me the last time we spoke
And then she never again awoke

Meika Dawn Capps was her name
I never did again feel the same
I’d spend all day with her at the cemetery
When she died I was also buried

April 7th, 1993
An asteroid called suicide got the best of me
The gun even had a scope
Years later her mother died at the end of a rope

Two funerals and a broken girl
I am definitely the saddest in the world
News it broke that Wednesday ‘mourning’
And I have never stopped hurting

© Delia Ross. 2019

She taught me everything, from how to shave to how to insert a tampon. Bestie foreverrrr. She died by suicide and years later her mother too. Meika’s first boyfriend also died by suicide two months before she died and he’s buried right near her. “Suicides always happen in 3” – something I learned in college which stuck with me.

I love you. Your death was apocalyptic to my soul. A day does not pass without you on my mind. You were my muse then, and my muse now. I miss getting into trouble with you. Skipping down the halls of school singing Pink Floyd. Writing songs together. Jumping off the balcony onto the trampoline. Moon bathing at night. Laughing together. Crying together. Meeting bands together. Late night cheese stick eatings. Watching headbangers ball. Staying on the phone with each other until we fell asleep and then waking up with the phone still connected and saying ‘see you at school’. I’m not the same without you. I miss your makeup tutorials. Your blue eyes. You speaking like Elmo. You never judging me. Wearing each others clothes and shoes. You hating that I was a few months older than you, and then briefly each year us being the same age- and how happy that made you- until my birthday came. Sharing our dreams and aspirations. Playing guitar together even though we didn’t know any chords yet. Those plans of starting a band. That moment you wanted to be a bass player and how excited we were to start a band. You calling me “creampuff” and I you “juicyfruit”. You were my best friend and soul mate. I was too young to understand depression so your suicide was both sudden and shocking. It changed my entire existence. It left a deep impact in my soul. I still cry out for you. I still need you. I still love you. Your last words to me were “I love you”. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. And I wish I had known you were thinking of ending your life. But how could I have known when I suffered from the same illness. I should have stayed in better contact with your mommy because years later she took her life too. And when I saw bits of your coffin peeking out from the dirt, as your mom was being laid to rest next to you, memories of that day you left me rushed back into my mind. There’s no way of knowing if you exist in some other realm than me. But I hope when I cross that plain you will be there waiting. There’s so much I need to tell you. You taught me a very hard lesson in life. I cherish our memories, the good and bad. I NEVER want to forget you. I miss you. Always. Forever. Eternally Yours. xx (RIP Meika Dawn Capps May 1, 1979 – April 7, 1993))

Meika With Billy Ray Cyrus (I was there too)
Meika with Peter from Trixter (I was there too)
Billy Ray Cirus and self, age 13, 1993 (this was the year I thought it a good idea to cut my hair short and have a feather bang and wear shoulder pads)
Sister, Billy Ray Cirus, self 1993
That’s my dad’s tour bus on the left and that was Billy Ray Cyrus’s tour bus on the right… I’ve had an interesting life. Lots of unshared stories. There aren’t many pictures that exist from the 90s.
I miss you so much baby girl… Not a day goes by, not a day goes by, without you in my mind. I need you so much. I once asked “why did you leave me” but now I know depression took you. I’m sorry I lost the last letter you wrote me, I regret it everyday. All these years later, you were still the only thing I ever had.

13, the age I died. I just want to share my real story. Part of my journey. I wish I had one photo of us together, and so that’s why I’m obsessed with photographing everything now. The 90s. The best and worst decade ever with little photographic evidence.

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Viking

Growing taller as I grow with fear
Shouting louder, before I disappear
He’s like lightning striking where I stand
He’s a viking with an iron hand

Defending hollow ground with all his might
Filled with lust and left without sight
Love is his sword, he’ll insert the blade
Deep is the longing but there can be no aid

He’ll tell you a story while he watches you bleed
He’ll lick your wound like it is a seed
But give him more to ease his shake
He’s growing strong while more of them break

Needs they are a plenty
Goes for girls that cost a penny
Ghosts roam his oasis
Masks are his only faces

© Delia Ross. 2019

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Eastbound

Silence on the battleground
Blood on my sword
Sorrow now eastbound
Forgiveness I’m not marching toward

The sky is red
My heart is black
The love is dead
I’m not coming back

Tie my boots tighter
Brush off the pain
I am a fighter
Death is my reign

Casualties on the field
Integrity is my alibi
Your end is where I healed
So this is where you die

© Delia Ross. 2019 

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Tower of Sorrow

I am stranded in a tower of sorrow and I think I might need saving –

from the curse of a broken heart –
and how he left me alone in the dark –
but even worse drove a metaphorical spear into my side –
ensuring that my spirit died –
ensuring heaven was denied

Put a moat around my tears and get this blackness out of here

I am at the tower of sadness
Every hour in this madness

© Delia Ross. 2019

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Clot

There it was I thought
But then again maybe not
It is tangled in a knot
A wound without a clot

And yet bigger that it got
It smelled of death and rot
He said he knew but he forgot
And neither cared to clean the spot

And while the witch did stir the pot
Along she came a wretched trot
And with her pen she took a shot
And I seek naught the thing she brought

© Delia Ross. 2019

HE WANTS TO KNOW WHERE MY LOVE WENT *LAUGHS INSANELY*

There’s a hurricane headed to Florida and there’s a good chance I’ll lose Communications for a bit.
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Lived and Learned

I’ve lived through many things
I’ve taken dips in cold springs
I’ve visited lands without any kings
I’ve kissed lips without feeling things

I survived a war which broke my wing
I waited for love they could never bring
I clung to sorrow even though it did sting
I only heard silence from a man who did sing

I have done this and I have done that
I’ve worn kevlar when they wore a hat
I’ve lived in a foxhole, I’ve lived in a flat
I have been skinny and I have been fat

I’ve learned to love in world of hate
My timing is off and I’m always late
I’ve felt a man hold me down with his weight
I spit in the eye of the devils worst trait

There’s not many things that keep me satisfied
I have been honest where others have lied
I have never known love, or been someone’s bride
I’ve been so mad I had to laugh when I cried

I’ve never been worshipped or even adored
I’ve watched other games be unevenly scored
I’d like to release all the fears that I hoard
There are some things that I can never afford

All of these things do not matter that much
I’ve never wanted more than to feel his touch
I want to be his stone and never his crutch
You could call it fate, I’ll never name it such
One thing is certain though I love him a bunch
Anytime he speaks or writes my heart takes a punch

© Delia Ross. 2019

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The Best Things In Life Aren’t Free

The best things in life aren’t free
But please don’t bother me
I changed the lock and key
It’s best if you now flee

He bled her clean
Filled images in her head
The young ones he will preen
And bleed them til they’re dead

The best things in life aren’t free, he said
With not even a look of dread
She knows it’s nothing she misread
His love trap is a deathbed
Miles and decades of lies widespread
But not an ounce of bloodshed

The worst things in life are free
And you’ll never remember me
I sat there clawing blindly
In the forest at the wrong tree
Because the worst things in life
Always seem to follow me

© Delia Ross. 2019