Uncanny and shook,
She took the bait and then ate the hook!
They cut her open and took off every scale,
the breaths she took were short and stale,
Mustering up the energy to get out of this hell,
The death of my fishy came to prevail.
aint no such thing as halfway crooks
aint no such thing as halfway intellectuals
aint no such thing as half read books
all i see are loud mouth crooks
that base everything off the way people look
spookin me out and trying to show off
when there isn't anything but smoke blowing
there's no such thing as the things you speak
the way you talk, your emotions bleed
your words become more cheap
the longer you speak
i suggest you creep
and listen for a peep
no such thing as a smart person who doesn't listen
as we sit here and have this argument in the kitchen
and you keep dismissing
bait and hook like you're fishing
you need to split
and think before you speak
you're revealing your true intentions
understand that perspective
is not a collective
exchange thoughts and ideas
and you'll learn how to treat
the next time we meet
by calling out
and taking names
talking about race
like you have it all understood
and the other opinion is no good
your mind is closed
as it should
you're from another planet
and our world's will collide
but let it ride
take a look
at somoene else's life
you might be surprised
that it's the same on the inside
As I clench the tanned tip
between my teeth,
I finally understand why
a small, susceptible fish
would do anything for
the imperious bait.
I am reading you a bed-time story.
This isn’t a fairy tale,
or a fight for glory.
There are no demons,
no wizards or knights,
just bitter enemies and the remnants of
relationships that never went right.
Remember as I read, as the
words roll away
from the tip of my tongue,
forming every word I say
that this is your life story.
You were born in a wrap of gold,
so fine, so rich, you thought
you’d never grow old.
You slept in it, you wept in it,
danced in it, cradled it close
until somebody took it away.
They left you wounded, weakened
and torn, the rape of the senses in
which you were born;
taste of flesh,
smell of death,
sight of morning,
sound of breath,
feel of warm blood.
You once were
You adapted to the dark;
no longer a child,
you befriended the spider,
the snake, the shark.
Where others ran scalded
you branded your mark
and you stood, tall
before them all
and you roared.
Now you let down
your eternal hair,
see behind the curtain
a face once fair,
like old wood
though you show no care;
Beauty is the true form
of ignorant death,
and badness the twin sister
You read all you can
and write even more,
perpetually hungry for
your only escape,
the only open door,
your real imagination.
Inside you slow-dance
with the man, the myth,
whose face forever eluded
your desired romance.
He raises you with his smile
and you wait, wait,
the hook in your lip
tugging at its bait.
You walk those dark lanes
to allow yourself reprieve.
But the current is strong,
the trees start to quiver,
patience is courage’s new test.
There is no rest,
no receding of those
lines of grief.
You leave at will,
go over the hill,
to the graves of
they greet you
In sleep, you die a little
each morning as the
sky sends a misty breath.
You fall in and slip out
of each peaceful death,
and desperate deities
fade to black.
You wait for the day
to come back.
There was only ever
one love for you,
but it wasn’t meant to be.
The fairy tale you lived
and died for
drowned itself at sea.
You conceal your weaponry
inside your clothes,
you will be waiting.
Waiting for allowances.
Waiting for meaning.
The tranquil things
that once put you at peace
are now the instruments
of your battles.
Silence fell as I walked into the room
Judging eyes preyed on me
I could tell that they were make terrible and false judgements
Of what I wore
Of how I walked
Of what background I came from
Oh, but how wrong were they
They made me feel self-conscious and insecure
I just wanted to crawl back into my mother’s worn
And stay there
Basking in my mother’s love and motherly care
I prayed for the day to be over, for my life to be over
I looked up
They diverted their eyes to the board
I took my seat
They began their whispers
“Why is she here?”
“Who invited her here?”
“She’s not one of us. She’s not supposed to be here. She’s not wanted here.”
I took out my journal, and began writing down the things that were unnecessary
I just needed to forget that I was being judged for being alive
I just needed to get out of the world that I didn’t belong in
A sudden heavy burden laid on my shoulders
But it was light, like butterflies resting on a delicate flower
As if someone was watching me
As if someone was observing my every move
I turned my head slowly
Someone was watching me
And scanned the vast room, filled with judging eyes
Someone was observing my every move
Busy judging me because I was the odd one out
Then I saw a kind pair of eyes
Ones that sparkled even if the world was ending
Ones that shone even if the sun and moon died
Amongst all the hatred and lies
I knew they belonged to a good hearted boy
You smiled a crooked grin
And the world felt alive
You made me feel better for being there
With only a smile
You encouraged me to stay
Those judging eyes disappeared
Their false accusations died down
Who would have thought that you were the plan?
You were the bait, hunter and killer
I was the victim, the one that they wanted to get rid of
You said I should stay, and I did
Your eyes did not lie
They did shine when we snucked out to the lake
And you told me that I wass beautiful
Your heart was (is) good
You saved me but you lied to me
Your accusations about me spread around town like wild fire
And my world came tumbling down
What I'm about to say, is not a lie
I have no proof but I can't deny
The idea provoked and makes me cry
To me its true. Till the day I die
There was no beginning, there will be no end
The universe realized I need a friend
You sneaked in like a critter to fill a hole
An empty space in my heart, the same one you stole
And like my heart, you serve a similar purpose
Without it I would be lifeless, meaningless, an empty abyss
Running speechless and blind in a captivating hell
Drowning slowly but surely in a never ending well
Maybe there exists a phenomenon called fate
Somewhere there's a fisherman using you as bait
Depending on your smell and beauty he would wait
Till I get lured around to replenish steady state
EVERYTHING is what I would like to offer you
INFINITY is how long I would like to spend with you
If you would offer me a ticket to spend eternity with you
I would without hesitation tell you that I do
The connection that we have ignores the laws of science
The force that pulls you closer, betraying this defiance
Call it love, call it lust, call it desire, call it trust
I will feel this way about you till my body turns to dust
Never saw the fun in the game
But love the sound of Crickets
Use them often as fishing bait
Makes me somewhat of a hypocrite
She was my only friend
She is me.
There were times enough when I spoke to air
Consoling her; musing me.
A quiet room lets you think quite clearly
Stalking lust's avenues whimpering in debauchery
I'd search for a trait I like to see
Of arms that grasp to never let go,
Of presence enough to bait that inner glow
I hunger for dominance but submit easily,
Eyes transfixed in sheer ecstasy.
I dream at night the most perfect dreams,
starring him, and me.
A court so crooked it sickens me
I cannot get enough of that scene
I am only a 8336
If it were obscene I would find it so
But I think of love, and hurt no more.
I glare at her glass prison
I cower and bleed
I make a racket so he will notice me
Be with me, punish me
And it feels even better at its worst
To wish he would rape me?
The consoling air screams
I try to hold her turbulent heart
But, with my lust, I will not part
With every tear of desire lost,
The fire burns warmer through searing frost
So I question the reflection
Who only hates what she sees
Waiting up at night to see him come home,
I always hope he'd stop by to say hello
He doesn't anymore.
If he was always mine,
How wonderful would that be!
I fuck to be reminded of him
To imagine the finer details
And slake this wicked lechery
Until I'm close to screaming
"Fuck me 32339, fuck me!"
if you got problems reading this don't bite me.
its only my brain.
The chase is on.
Have been since you saw her.
Now you must reel her in.
She's the bait.
And you're the fisherman.
Once a woman sparks a man interest.
She be chased and hopefully hooked.
Words of her beauty will be tossed her way.
And she will blush.
And feel warmth from all the charm.
Of the man known , as the fisherman.
And like a flowing stream.
He will describe all the beautiful sceneries she reminds him of.
Because, a fisherman always brags about their catch.
“And as for you, River, there will be a day when you will flow with blood more than water. And dead bodies will be stacked higher than the dams. And he who is dead will not be mourned as much as he who is alive. Asclepius, why are you weeping? ”
The lake house was always a place of good memories. I couldn’t help but remember the countless summers just like this one, where I had spent days down by the lake, beside my father, catching rainbow trout with nothing but a line and a little bread or bait worm. The sound of crickets chirping in chorus at dusk, while just a slither of gold managed to peek over the mountain range that hung like curtains, draped across the horizon on every side. It was our paradise on earth, the Coulter families’ personal heaven. A humble log house nestled in the heavy shadow of the Rocky Mountains. Standing peacefully beside our private little lake, cradled within a thick pine forest. It was our pine forest.
We had arrived at the house two days ago, on a particularly overcast Friday afternoon. But the grey sky had parted, and left us with clear blue skies almost as soon as we arrived. Now nothing but the occasional broad, pearl-white, sky conquering clouds would dare to appear. This made the weather perfect for a swim in the lake, as well as an afternoon frying the day’s catch of trout in the fire pit just outside the cabin. I was inside the cabin, stuffing the weekend’s filthy clothes into my pack, in preparation for the long journey home tomorrow morning. Dad was gathering a load of firewood from our great proud pile of logs outside. I always liked adding to the pile the same way I found a mundane joy in saving money, I watched as we built it up into a neat pyramid, then imagined how long it would last us and how many cold nights they would ward off.
After packing my last well-worn flannel shirt into my now plump olive duffle bag the sun had disappeared behind the mountain; leaving a quickly dying amber streaked across the western sky.
I could hear my father’s footsteps as he entered the house, dropping a collection of heavy wood at his feet in front of the fireplace. Then quickly transporting the two best-looking ones straight into the warm mess of crackling flames that kept our cabin warm. I climbed under the covers of my bed and sat with my back against the wall, with a clear view into the living room.
I am Curtis, and George Coulter was my father, a broad man with dark brown hair, a short cropped haircut, bright blue eyes and dark stubble with traces of silver sneaking through. He was a weathered man with a tough 37 years over my easy 16, and always seemed to dress like a cliché lumberjack. Apart from the weathered appearance, sprouting grey hair and working class fashion sense, we were practically a splitting image. My mother would always say that looking at me was like stepping back in time and that every day I looked more like him.
“That should keep it going for a while.” George said, obviously exhausted from the events of the weekend and He slowly moved just inside the doorway and leaned against the frame, rubbing his eyes with his right hand before bringing it down to form a soft v shape on his chin.
“I’ve already loaded the truck, so we’ll be able to leave bright and early tomorrow.” He turned his head quickly as if to listen carefully for something else in the room. I found this to be a perfect opportunity to shoot a question I’d been wondering recently.
“Do you think there really is life after death?” I asked him abruptly and he looked straight at me with a quizzical expression and replied “Why do you ask, did someone say something?” I sat up straight on my bed pulled my hands into my lap.
“No, no one said anything. It’s just that I rode my bike by the cemetery last week, and there was a statue of an angel in the middle of all the gravestones, it just made me wonder, you know. Does all that stuff really exist?” I had a lump in my throat and swallowed hard to keep in down. My father sat down beside me at the foot of the bed.
“I think…” He started, still searching for the right words to say. “I like to think that there’s a place somewhere up there for us.” He turned his gaze towards the window and observed the last light in the sky before turning quickly back to me.
“Do you think mom will be up there?” I asked, and his face dropped a little.
“Your mother is up there waiting for us and the first thing she’ll do is tell us to take our shoes off so as not to get the cloud dirty.” He said with a slight smile, I laughed at the idea as he continued. “But you don’t have to worry about that for a long time Curt.” He grinned, roughed up my hair, and then forced me into bed playfully. “I’ll do my best to make sure of that.” He rose from the bed and advanced towards the door. “Now get some sleep. I don’t want to have a conversation with myself on the ride back.” He disappeared into the main room and slumped into a lazy boy chair to gaze at the fireplace in the warmth of our now quiet cabin, as my room was filled with the soft lullaby of crackling fire. I turned towards the window and stared out towards the stars, my mind wandering as I closed my eyes. Tomorrow we would begin the long journey home.
Without any warning I was startled awake by a terrifying ripping sound. A great rip echoed throughout the house like a plastic bag violently flailing about in heavy wind. I immediately sat up on my bed, and blindly stared out into an ocean of black. A strange loud thumping sound rang from the living room in regular intervals. It had seemed like no time at all had passed since I had closed my eyes, my heart was thundering like the gears on a full-speed freight train and my eyes fed off the darkness in the room, starving for even the slightest idea of a source for the noise. But all I could see was darkness beyond my doorway. I struggled to pull myself back together from my state of screaming fear and cautiously got to my feet.
As far as I could tell the thumping was coming from outside, as I moved towards the doorway and peered into the living room. For some reason the fireplace that should still have been flickering with hungry flames was now dark and dead, as though it had gone cold days ago and the house completely vacated. The warmth that the fire had supplied moments ago had now been replaced with a cruel cold midnight breeze sailing in through the wide open swinging cabin door. The cabin door was clashing against the cabin wall outside in the wind I now knew was the source of the horrifying thumping that my imagination had played so helplessly with. My breath became shallow as I contemplated my situation, how long had I been asleep, and where was my father? I turned to the lazy boy in the living room and noticed it upturned and vacant. My heart started firing again like a machine gun and cold sweat now dawned on my brow. There was no sign of dad, not in the cabin at least. With my heartbeat slowing to the manageable speed of a cruising passenger train, I wondered where he could have gone while struggling to tame the rising feeling of dread as I hurried towards the front door and looked out over the hill and down towards the lake. There was no jagged black figure or human form in sight. A great deal of me was hoping to catch him investigating the same noise that startled me. But he was nowhere near, which made my blood run cold.
The unforgiving night’s ice cold wind stung my ears and pinched my face, my breath trailing off in vapour. “Dad!” I called out, towards the southern wharf down by the water, nothing. Again I called, towards the vegetable patch on the eastern side of the house, nothing. I tapped my fingers anxiously on the door frame before proceeding down the few steps leading into the cabin, closing the cabin door behind me to stop the jarring thump. With that I was engulfed in the darkness and violent wind. Disoriented I called out once more towards the pine forests to the west, “Dad!” my voice cracked from desperation and bounced through the gale, ringing in the distance as if it had been carried by the wind and exploded skyward, amplified by the mountains surrounding the lake.
A light! A light darted between the tree line and danced in the darkness before disappearing just as quickly as it came. I stared in awe as the wind found its way through my clothes and now chilled me completely. My bare feet screamed from the cold grass that I tortured them with and I could hear the abhorrent ripping sound bellowing back at me from the distant forest. I stood still, confused and staring hopefully. I heard him, faint at first, but I was certain that I heard my father’s voice on the wind.
I followed the voice out into the darkness, past the fire pit and towards the western tree line. I waved my arms in front of me pathetically probing the air for something to guide me. My eyes squinted hard to try and make out detail from nothing. “Curt.” Again it whispered from the distance. I stumbled across the field until I reached the outskirts of the woods and I could feel the first cluster great pine looming overhead. The wind and chill was slowly cut off by the wall of trees, as I followed the origin of my father’s voice.
The forest bed was thick with undergrowth and as familiar as this place was during the day, at night it was like another world, a world in which sight had to be thrown to the wind and I was forced to rely on my other senses for navigation. I could smell the heavy musk of the leaf litter, and hear the wind from the field. But I could see nothing more than the glare of the full moon hanging behind the thick clouds and the faint outline of the countless pine trees that shot skyward.
It was strange, I could smell him now. I could smell my father laced upon the air, boot-polish and old sweat. The same smell hanging among the trees as the red plaid shirt that he'd use to polish his boots and labour all weekend around the lake house. It was as if he was right beside me, this idea urged me to quickly turn side to side hoping that this was in fact, true. But all I found was more vague lines in darkness, freezing fingers and whipping wind songs from the distant clearing. The smell slowly disappeared, replaced with an eerily familiar, metallic, pooling scent…
My heart thundered at the realization, Blood. I could smell blood swimming in the air, as if someone painted the trees with buckets of human blood. I could taste it on the tip of my tongue the air was so filthy with the scent.
My eyes opened wide, panicking at the lack of visual aid as I stopped dead in my tracks. Something felt awkward, space felt strange, warped and twisted. It was like the world was turned on its side. It felt as though someone somewhere had invaded the space I now stood in. And I could feel its presence, I felt its eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, and the hair on my neck stood upright. My heart began racing faster and faster, thumping now like the cabin door, slamming against the wall in the wind. I could feel something out there, watching and waiting. I could feel it getting nearer, getting ever closer and growing. It was as if it was feeding on the shadows and becoming larger, filling the darkness with its horrid presence. I couldn't bare it anymore; I felt it creeping up on me and my skin was crawling. My head screaming for me to turn around but I couldn't move. I felt an impossible grip encompass my entire body and swallow me in darkness. Cold sweat like ice running down my cheeks and my clothes were now saturated.
My breath was pounding rapidly in short, sharp bursts as I watched it fog and pillar upwards through the cutting wind. I couldn't hear anything past the roaring noise in my head, raw panic like nails on a chalkboard. My thoughts were like a game of Ping-Pong, bouncing back and forth and I couldn't focus on anything. I felt it slithering at my heels now, like a python slowly constricting its prey, playing with it before a sudden death. A twisted cold breath falling onto my shoulders as every muscle in my body tensed to point where it felt I could explode at any time. I it leaned in closely beside me, with its face hanging inches away from my ear. I could hear its lungs gathering the icewind for speech, and its tongue slithering in between razor teeth, preparing for the first terrifying bite.
“It’s so close.” Hisses from its jaws in several thunderous voices spawning from the darkness in every direction, the trees dissolve, the sky falls apart and my entire world collapsed away into pitch black.