Hell Bound

If secrets are for sinners

Then send me straight to hell

They say the truth can hurt

So I guess I might as well

Join the alcoholics

And pour myself a drink

Life is always easier

When you don’t have to think

About tomorrow

Or the days within the past

Empty the bottles baby

So this innocence can last

Alternate Endings

In those mere moments she envisioned her immediate death. She could see the car speeding down the dead end street, she could hear the piercing sounds of sheet metal colliding with concrete, she could feel the chill overcoming her body, and then it went dark. Her eyes fluttered open and as she weighed her right foot down on the break pedal her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. As much as she wanted her pain to stop, she could not bare inflicting pain on the people in her life. It was as if her mind kept rewriting alternate endings to her novel, and the people surrounding her kept it from being published.

In order to move forward, we must remember where we began. Most of us can remember starting elementary school not knowing how to write a proper sentence. We remember our first time playing soccer and how difficult it was to run and kick the ball simultaneously. However, through years of practice, we not only learned how to write sentences and score goals, we learned that for every moment of dedication and determination there came a moment of achievement and success.

All bias aside, Green and Gold have accomplished more than most of us could have ever imagined.

What started as the downfall of one band, led to the beginning of another, and ended off with something even better. Although members have changed, instruments have been added, and songs have been rewritten, their energy and commitment has expanded way beyond expectation. Sharing the stage with bands such as Hey Rosetta!, Mayhemmingways, Wintersleep and more, Green and Gold have outdone what they set out to do.

Recently the band has acquired not 1, but 5 of The Overcast’s “Best of” awards, including “[The Band] Most Deserving of a Serious Record Deal.” After attracting serious attention after their first album, “The Body Knows” in October of last year, and witnessing their fans’ reactions over the performance of a new song, expectations are set high for what the band has planned for the future.

The members of Green and Gold have transformed dreams into reality. Music has been recorded, new instruments have been learned, relationships have strengthened and well, now members are about to embark on their third tour in less than a year.

As a critic, a fan, a friend, and part of the family, I wish all the best to Green and Gold on their tour, and throughout their future. They have taught me quite a lot in the past two years, but the most valuable lesson I learned was to accept things as they are, for real friends will support you through it all.

If you’re trying to find me at the show tomorrow night, I’ll be in the front row, singing my heart out for what may be the last time.

What is the point?

I work a minimum wage, retail job.
I work this job to pay for my car, so I can get to work.
I work at this job so I can pay for school, so that later in life I can get a higher paying job.
And I’ll work at that job so I can pay for not only my car to get to work, but also a roof to cover my head.

Work and school are a part of the life I was brought into.
A social norm set in the suburbs.

A place where everyone is raised to do the same thing.
To mow their lawns and dust their material objects and wash their cars every Saturday.
To spend Sunday mornings in church, and their afternoons sitting around a table of food with other people born into these social norms.
Working Monday to Friday so they can afford the things that they have been taught are necessary to have.
Filling spare time with hobbies, music, sports, sex… cheap entertainment with immediate satisfaction.

And they continue to strive for this lifestyle until they are old enough to retire from their job and basically spend all their final years enjoying themselves with the hobbies they tried to fit into their routine schedules.

They collect memories, feel the difference between joy and pain, learn lessons, make mistakes, and do what they are taught is the acceptable way of living.

But is it really living? Does anything they do really count as a well spent life? And who defines what is well spent and what is not. Is it their education? The amount of money they make? The people they create relationships with?

What is the whole point? What is their purpose?

Why put themselves through stress, worry, frustration, and pain only to receive little satisfaction or happiness in the end?

They give and give and give their strength and sweat and energy into living these stereotypical lives.

Sure maybe they found some form of inner contentment through having children, or touring their music, or having more money than their neighbor. But it doesn’t last. Soon their children are stressing them out, or their music becomes boring or they find themselves alone with their money.

And then what was the point of working towards it? If it can slip from your hands as fast as you reach to hold on to it, then why bother?

I don’t see the point.

Start and end

My lipstick stains your skin
Rib cage of steel won’t let you in
An ice cold heart a soul of sin
Just stop now this won’t begin

A dreaded disease in disguise
Hourglass model, doe eyes
I awake when the stars rise
My alarm clock mimics your cries

Sweet breath of berry wine
Please believe me I’m fine
Just balancing on a thin line
Between insanity and what’s really mine

I have nothing for me to defend
When your back breaks mine bends
Please don’t confuse the message I send
Where your body starts mine ends

Mind & Body.

She pulled over to the side of the road, her heart racing heavily. She tried to convince herself it was just the large amount of Redbull she had ingested, however she knew, realistically what she was about to encounter.

For a split second the darkness had control of her body. Her breathing was faint and fast paced, her hands began to tremble and the numbness took over. Whispers in her head told her to step on the gas and ram the silver baby into the guard rail.

Images of materials intertwining with each other and the sharp sound of metals scraping together clouded her vision.

But she could not let the darkness win. Somewhere in the depths of her soul she knew it would end. She took a deep breath, held it in and slowly let it out as if releasing the darkness into the night.

“Focus,” she said aloud.

Indicator, gas, drive.

As if the car had drove unattended, she found herself safely parked in her parent’s driveway. In a split second she made her way into the house, down the stairs and straight into her bedroom.

Water in one hand and the tiny maraca in the other, she swallowed it whole and took a seat.

Mere moments passed and her body returned to what others would consider normal. The darkness had retreated, consumed by the tiny pill.

She focused on moving her fingers and toes, counted to ten and felt her body return to her control.

She was not surprised by the thought of her own death, although incredibly dumbfounded that she almost had no control over it.

Her mind had been engulfed by darkness and the only way to escape it was the light that illuminated from the medication.

Control was her high, it kept her alive, and it frightened her that she no longer was in complete control.

Her mind and body were working against each other. One trying to kill off the other for it’s own survival.

Tears dripped onto her dress as she concluded that her mind, and the darkness that invaded it, would eventually win.

She missed the haze. The daily awakening to a jack hammer in her brain and the smell of vodka in her sweat. The entire day was a vision of fog, and then with one sip of the dog’s hair, she felt a live again. It was as if she had never awoken from the night before.

The alcohol soothed her. it allowed her to be the person she envied. It gave her the courage to speak her mind, strength to battle her demons and balance to settle her undeniable clumsiness.

It also allowed her to breathe.

Now, four months later, 120 days in passing, she gave in to the thirst. She could not handle the clarity any longer. Being sober made her feel trapped. It was like she was stuck in a reality where time passed faster yet the days dragged on. She went to work at a minimum wage prison, she ate food prepared in a well established kitchen and she wore clothing that embellished her body like the sleek paint on a sports car.

What she didn’t miss was the throbbing pain that she felt in the mornings. Not the thunder in her head, but the suffocation in her heart. Waking as the sunrise hit the blankets of the bed and vanishing from the sexual fantasy before his eyes fluttered open.

She would leave her mark on his bed side table every morning: a tall glass of water, her lipstick stain on a napkin and the scent of her perfume on his pillow. He’d awake to an empty bed, a hangover and the faint memory of how her body intertwined with his.

She’d steal his heart and he’d take her soul.

This bartering would always take place in the dark of night, when the moon would be in full bloom over the city of sin.

* * *

The movement of their bodies would entertain her troubles for mere minutes until the high began to sink into the depths of sleep and yearning for more. As the high lowered, so did her longing for him. She lived day to day, drink to drink, man to man. Never staying in one place long enough to settle. Never adjusting her lifestyle to suit someone else. Never falling into the safe routine of her parents.

Living life as she did caged her from a constant state of fear because in her mind she had control, although reality said otherwise.

She controlled her alcohol intake and the alcohol controlled her. While fear fueled the need for control.

As long as her mind was occupied and her troubles camouflaged she lived in a state of peace, near contentment.


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