On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales

They broach the subject of her lemon tree.

"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."

Silence. Then the punchline:

"Reminded me of your daughter."

They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused

Our story's beginnings are rather plain
Set in a town built on the mundane.
In this town, there lived a boy
Devoid of ambition, love, or joy.

He sleepwalked through his days
Aimless and alone.
Drowning in a melancholy haze
He longed for something lovely to call his own.

Now, I shan't tell you the young man's name
For fear he'd hang his head in shame
But his story you should know.
For it's not the name that marked this boy
But the places he would go.  

One day, an idea dawned
To take a day trip out of town.
The boy made a map
And a line was drawn
To the path he would walk down.

He followed the map with surprising ease
Over the hills and through the trees.
Though the boy was thrilled
He couldn't wrap his mind
Around the treasure
He would soon find.

The path came to an end
Without the map's warning
Causing the boy's plans to upend
Before it was even midmorning.
But the boy was in awe
Despite the offset.
He knew what he saw
He would not soon forget.
In the middle of the golden field
Stood a tall ivory castle.
His chronic disenchantment healed
The boy vowed to see inside
Whatever the hassle.

So he searched for a door
Until he could search no more.
He attempted to climb
With no regard for time.
He searched for a ****
Or a lock
Or a key.
Only when he was about to give up
Did the answer break free.

Against all reason
The castle began to glow.
When the transformation came to completion
A strange voice let him know.

"Come in," coaxed the disembodied voice
Honeyed and assured.
Feeling as if he had no choice
Inside, the boy was lured.

"My, you are a rude one," the voice began to chide.
"A lady invites you into her home, and without a word, you come inside?
I'm not expecting you to write me a sonnet, but at least have a bit of tact!
If we're being honest, boy, I believe your manners lack."

Sure this was some sort of stunt
The boy calmly shook his head.
"Forgive me, Miss, for being so blunt
But I believe the fault is yours instead.
You expect me to believe I was propositioned
By a castle that spoke?
I am certain one of my peers commissioned
Some sort of pricey joke.
I'm sorry, Castle Lady Dear
But I must be on my way.
I'm afraid I can't stay here
Perhaps we'll finish another day.
It's truly nothing personal
I simply have a hunch
That if I stick around for now
I'll miss my mother's lunch."

The boy turned on his heel
Not saying any more.
He soon let out a pitiful squeal
When he found there was no longer a door.

The Castle Lady countered his squeal
With a sinister cackle.
"Did you really believe you could leave me here
Without it becoming a debacle?
I'm sorry, dear
But for now
To this place, you are shackled."

Heart suddenly stricken with fear
The boy's eyes filled with tears
And he began to cry.
"Please let me go!" he cried out.
"I am far too young to die!"

Much to the boy's chagrin
The Castle Lady only laughed again.
"Goodness me, my dear!
You must be some sort of fool!
I do not plan to **** you here.
How could I ever be so cruel?"

Angered by the castle woman's taunts
The boy's eye began to twitch.
"If you won't **** me, what do you want?
Let me go, you witch!"

Unphased by his outburst
The Castle Lady simply tsked.
"Are you sure the witch is me
When you're the one being so mean?
I know what a statement this might be
But I believe you're the meanest boy I've seen.
But you can relax
For I've had my fun.
I simply have a favor to ask
Before you turn and run."

Against all logic
And stranger-danger talks
The notion of adventure
Overpowered his urge to balk.
"What is it?" he asked the Castle Lady
As curiosity struck.
When the Castle Lady responded
He could not believe his luck.

"Resting in one of my rooms
Is an awe-inspiring prize.
It holds power and beauty few men ever get to witness
With their own two eyes.
In fact, it holds too much power
So much that it's making me sick.
Only the brightest of young men can bear it
And you're the one I've picked."

The boy's heart raced.
For that prize, he yearned.
Still, he said:
"There must be some mistake.
Are you sure this is a prize I've earned?"

Overtaken by laughter
The Castle Lady began to roar.
"I am not that sick, dear boy!
Of course I am sure!
I can not make any mistake
No matter how small.
Didn't your mother teach you
That divine beings know all?
Now, you are an imaginative lad
With the charisma to match.
I'd dare say you are the best equipped child
Out of the local batch."

The boy couldn't help but crack a grin
Flattered by the Castle Lady's assessment.
"I suppose you must be right, then.
Now where do I get my present?"

"It is not a difficult journey at all," the Castle Lady replied.
"Just walk a bit down this here hall
And look to your left side."

Suddenly, the room filled with bright light
To help him find his way around.
In saying the journey was not difficult, the Castle Lady was right
As another glowing doorway
Was soon found.

"Very good, you clever boy!" the Castle Lady cried.
"Just give your fingers a quick snap
And take a step inside."

Proudly, the boy followed her advice.
The snap of his fingers reverberated
Sounding quite nice.
Secretly, the simple action
Gave him a small thrill
For he was the only child in his town
Who had such a skill.

Just as the lady promised
The door opened right away.
Thus, he took that fateful step inside
As she said he may.

Alas, it seemed the boy had been cheated by his wanderlust.
The only thing inside the room
Was a wooden box
Coated in dust.

All sense of wonder gone
The boy was certain it was a trick.
"You horrid con!
What in here is making you sick?"

Unamused, the Castle Lady sighed.
This was not the first time a child had thought she lied.
"You're jumping to conclusions, boy.
I'm not that sly a fox.
If you want to find the treasure
Look inside the box."

Begrudgingly, the boy obliged
Lifting up the top.
In the moment he saw what was inside
The whole world seemed to stop.

The boy's jaw dropped
As the box glowed
As if it contained all of heaven's rumored light.
It was true that he was unlikely
To ever again see such a wonderful sight.

"Well?" the Castle Lady inquired.
"Would you like to keep it?
You have all the qualities required
It's only fair that you reap it."

"Of course I'd like to keep it," said the boy.
"But what should I do?
What power do I have
To take care of this box
Any better than you?"

"The box can do anything," said the Castle Lady.
"Perhaps that's why I can not have it.
Still, you need not engage in special care and keeping
Or develop any new habits.

The box can do whatever you wish
Cure disease and famine
Or make your family rich.
I can not tell you what to do
Just use your own discretion.
Besides, it wouldn't truly be yours to use
If you did so under my direction.
So simply take it home
And do with it what you will
But before you choose to roam
I have one more message for you still."

Holding the box to him
The boy lifted an ear
Regarding her as a friend.
"What is it, Castle Lady?
Please say what needs to be said!"

When she spoke again
The boy could swear her voice contained a smile.
"When you leave me, the castle will come to an end
And this part of me will be dead.
Though I'd love for you to stay a while
So we could become better acquainted
I'm afraid that would be against the rules
And the prophecy would be tainted.
So, clever boy
For now, I'll bid you adieu.
You deserve to be given joy
And I hope that is what the box will do."

No sooner than she spoke
Did the castle vanish
In a puff of smoke.
Once again, the boy stood in the field.
In his hands rested the box
The closed lid keeping its powers concealed.
Somewhere between satisfied and sad.

He gave her a eulogy
However unorthodox.
"Goodbye, Castle Lady Dear, I enjoyed our little talks.
Maybe we'll meet in another world...
Oh, and thank you for the box!"
Having said all he needed to say
The boy knew he should be leaving soon.
He turned to walk the other way.
Walking home, his fingers snapped a tune.

It wasn't long before the whole town
Knew about his treasured box.
The boy made sure all his friend knew.
In school, he stopped all of the clocks.

He provided his class with great delight.
As a school day
Melted away
Into a Friday night.
The grown-ups none the wiser
He pulled off the perfect crime.
Forever the improvisor
He also did away with bedtime.

He gave his family money
As the Castle Lady said he could.
Though his old bullies looked at him funny
His clothes had never looked so good.

He gave himself popularity
A Labrador puppy
A brand new bike.
The ones who teased him
Spoke apologetically
And there wasn't a single girl
By whom he wasn't liked.

It wasn't long, however
Before the fun began to fade.
As much power as he had, he never intended
To share his gift with his whole grade.

"Can you tell me
If my pet goldfish is really watching from above?"
"Can you please help me
Make my parents fall back in love?"
"Can you make it so that
My grandpa isn't sick anymore?"
"Can you invent a robot
To help me do my chores?"
"Can you make sure
That my family keeps our home?"
"Oh-- and while you're at it
Help me write my girlfriend a nice poem?"

Alas, the boy paid no mind
To their wants and needs.
He had left his charitable days behind
In favor of his newfound greed.
Though his box could do anything
It really wasn't his job.
No matter what happiness to others it might bring
Of his power, he'd feel robbed.

He didn't know that at night
His friends went home to cry
Asking their nonexistent treasured boxes
"If he can have something special
Why can't I?"

Life went on like this
Until one day, he was greeted by a bird.
It landed on his shoulder
And hissed,
"You'll never guess what I heard."

The boy was quite frightened
Both by the bird's familiar voice
And what it said.
Still, his eyes brightened
When he shouted
"Castle Lady?
I thought that you were dead!"

"Too bad," the bird crowed.
"For I'm very much alive.
And I figure you should know
I won't allow you to continue to connive."

At her choice of words
The boy sputtered.
"What do you mean, bird?"
He nervously stuttered.

The Bird Lady stared at him
With beady black eyes.
"I mean, I saw what you've done with your gift
And I was unpleasantly surprised.
You didn't disrupt any tradition.
I told you to do what you would.
It was just that I had the premonition
That you'd use your power for good.
You're no better than any of your classmates
You silly sap!
Did it ever occur to you
That you were only picked
Because you can snap?
When my last life came to an end
You thanked me for the box
And ran home to your mother.
My spirit would have been able to rest
If you had used the box to help others.
I am older than most earthly things
And some sights I've seen are hellish.
This in mind
It's beyond me
Why you'd choose to be so selfish.
See, this box was once mine
Changing owners as it does
And when it fell into my hands I wished
To be anything but the girl I was.
From then on, I've been trapped
In the form of many objects
And, whenever I try to go from this world to the next
Fate always interjects.
I'm the keeper of this box
Until it falls into the hands of someone good enough
And I'm here to say, dear boy
I'm afraid you must give it up."

Without warning
The boy broke down
Dropping to his knees.
For the first time since that fateful day
His sense of superiority ceased
And truth began to reign.
Head in his hands, he grieved
For those he had caused pain.

The Bird Lady remained by his side
Trying her hardest to soothe.
"Now, clever boy, you need not cry
But the box does need to move.
Now, I need you to calm down and listen to me
And let me make myself clear.
I need you to go to the sea
And that's the last wish you will make here."

Suddenly, the boy understood.
When it was far too late, he used his powers for good.
So he wished for the ocean, heeding the Bird Lady's advice.
The two of them were at the beach
Before he could think twice.

"Very good," the Bird Lady praised.
"All you have to do now is let go.
Don't worry, my dear boy
When the box finds its forever home
I'll be sure to let you know."

The boy nodded.
With shaking hands, he looked down.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped the box
And all his wrongdoings drowned.

"Thank you very much," the Bird Lady chirped.
"Now, relax, and let your conscience be cleared.
You can go home
And I'll take it from here.
One last thing
I should tell you, my friend.
All this can be fixed
If you just have an ear to lend.
No matter how heartfelt
Apologies only take you so far.
What you should do now
Is fix your regrets with actions
To show them what a lovely boy you are."

With that
The Bird Lady dove
Picking up the box with her magnificent beak.
The boy returned home
With redemption to seek.

All these years later
Our nameless boy is now a man.
He's ordinary, yes
But ordinary is good enough.
He doesn't look down on others
Or even try to act tough.
Though he's no longer a heartthrob
One girl remained by his side.
When she is there
He never has to hide.
When a friend has a problem
He is there to listen.
And, though he holds no glowing box
His eyes still glisten.


Meanwhile, our Lady's soul
Now rests within a spaniel dog.
Though the box still has no permanant owner
She doesn't think it will be long.
Though that might seem unlikely
Divine beings do know all
Though everyone makes mistakes
Both big and small.
She may chastise others
For poor choices and self-control
But in the end, she knows the box only needs one thing:
To be cared for by a beautiful soul.

I think about it,
A lot more than I'd like to,
What it felt like,
To be beside you,
I wanted everything to stop,
So that the moment could last forever,
And I know that,
It doesn't sound very clever,
It's a common analogy,
That's been overused,
And I'm sure if you're reading this,
You're unamused.

I am the master of my own mind
I beset my tears, I conquer my sadness
I am devoted to this world
To this very world in which I dwell
and to which my soul is admitted
Sometimes I hear my words
Fly around and again
within t'ese violent shades
about my head: as I walk by curious moonlight,
sunbeams, in 'ose solitary moods and emblems
of t'is silent quiet of th' night.
How can I be so lonely-and bathed in distress-
in t'is lovely yet calamitous winter?
How can I be so destitute and untouchable-
unlovable-unaffectionate, indeed!-without my very own
admired thee?
My soul is dejected; condemned and cursed
by th' entirety of destiny-oh, how I am accustomed to
t'is pain, and its inflamed tongue, burning mercilessly
in t'ose succulent perambulations throughout
th' volatile streets-yes, upon and across th' bridge-
what a vile remembrance, where but t'is poem
is my only vivid 'muchness'-and consolation. If only a wren
could be deemed my messenger, let her but decoy t'is
dubious fate-and bring me to slip into her arms-
thin and steep but with a fond predilection for my desires-
with consideration for our feelings-and carry within her wings
a letter from these longings, beneath
the cradling hands of the moon-yes, t'at hectic,
vivacious moon-who is lurking behind me
like a moronic shadow. Its chaotic abode-aye,
chaotic as it once was, is now unamused-and plastered
into th' surly noon, it is despaired-utterly despaired,
and deprived of love-look at how t'at wealth of serene eyes
swim around thirst, in such unwonted lullabies, and its
famished shrine! What a dejected old
sanctuary it must be-infamous and credulous to oddity, but again
fuels my anger on, amidst th' moonbeam t'at is now gone.
But I still can't find thee, querida.

Tell me, then, how shalt I spend t'is azure night without thee?
Without thee, querida, my soul is but solemn and vain;
as though I've lost my brain-and my shell's 'bout to drain-
yes, 'tis t'at no delight, but worries-in me.
And no shield is to protect t'at,
as thou, my love, art in a dream, but far, far away.
I am only consoled by t'ese remnants, o, of my infatuation-
of t'is incarcerated, forbidden love-for thee!
My very thee, who should be curling up comfortably-
like a childish moist in my arms-
in my simpering abyss, and therefore sends it into
flickers, and doesth it die-hence, forces its dread, and stubbornness
to obey! O thee, th' fixated spirit to my wondrous imagination-
and th' anxious bits of my sublime inspiration-truthfully, indeed!
How in this quieted recluse
I long for but one piece of shine-yes, just
one piece of which-to be my guiding star,
and the torch of my robbed path.
My stolen state-and luminous gravity, as dim as the mocked
aspiration, is but never to shower again-
t'at earth with smiling rain-and th'  invigorating soil 'neath
my feet-upon which I trample in deadly haste.
But my hands are scanty-and my heart is dry; that is
but admiringly undeniable;
I am indulged by my own fear, abhorrence,
and dangerous imagination. I am but without my lover-
o, thee, o my solitary prince, doth thou heareth of my
wail? I scream and scream in t'is unforgiving agony,
but thou hath not been here, lost in th' middle of nowhere
like an unnamed being-but belonging to some other's
charms, I know! But still I crave for thee-just thy eyes,
yes-those dripping blackness whose temptation is like
a cave, an invitation to deep, deeper soliloquy down its
poisonous hole. How I am shrinking into this dream again-
a wild, wild dream of seclusion, which I look upon
in frustrated reproof; thou art the symbol of its daintiness-
and thorns of delicacy-but t'at someone else! Some other
dame whose heart dearly belongs to thee-and o, how enviable t'is
object of endurance might be. How deserving of my remorse-unwilling
as my being might be, to give it. Still , out of even the shallowest comprehension-
when the sun glows over me, I will long for but thee-over the morning dews
of the river, far from insanity, will I stand there anew,
and in freshness glint at thy stateliness
in unpardonable profusion.

On t'is very still do I sit, with t'at grumpy book in my lap-
words carved nearly are as picturesque as th' beautiful heaven.
I hope but thou could heareth me-thou whose voice is like a
hint of lavender-painted in th' ballads of my heart forever.
My song, my song! Undergone a faithful revision-
towards a masculine spring of reason,
and demands a sudden but mature completion.
How I still sing for thee!
Like a bee who chases a loveless but unbending sunflower,
sipping all its empowering delight-that is but how I shall wait for thee-
in t'is passion and strong conviction for truth-
that thou wilt embrace me, as thy own queen of ardour
beneath t'is forthcoming spring, o, my knight-
and all t'is love, and love indeed-as th' very endlessness
of thy splendor.

Dear Daddy,
you found out mommy was pregnant. you told her how happy you was and how you would always be there. you said that you was excited and loved us both, you said you couldn’t wait until you finally got to meet me.
i can’t wait to meet you either Daddy!

Dear Daddy,
i heard mommy crying and really upset.
she said something about another women.
she said she hated you.
but don’t worry I’m still here
i can’t wait to meet you Daddy!

Dear Daddy,
i was just born, you gave my soul a look that said you would always be there
you helped mommy give me a name!
Mollee Ann Langemkamp
wow today was great.
I finally got to meet you Daddy!

Dear daddy,
im a day old and you already are mad at mommy infront of me.
i can’t see you but i can hear your anger.. i can feel your anger
Mommy gave me a have a new name
Mollee Ann Nelson
I guess we will have to meet again Daddy!

Dear Daddy,
i can remember you and mommy fighting over me.
you dragged her down the driveway while she was in the car.
my brother drove after us.
he wanted to **** you
your lucky i looked over my shoulder to stop him.
Because if i didn't.. then Bubby said you would have met god...

Dear Daddy,
its christmas and boy am i excited.
I’m five and begged Mommy for this new dress.
i hope you come this time.
this time i have a good feeling.
maybe ill get to see you and meet your new girlfriend!

Dear Daddy,
its christmas again.
I’m six.
you called.
but you didn’t show.

Dear Dad,
you have been missing a lot of visits
i don’t know why
i cry a lot over you
why aren’t you here..
Did i do something dad..

dear dad,
im 10.
you called mommy asking why she was trying to put you in jail.
you got mad so you ended the call
you called back
i think it was the first time i heard your voice in almost a year.
the first words you said to me were “hey brat how old are you now?”
brat.. rung in my ears..

Dear Chris,
i haven’t heard from in you in two years.
im 12
you fought to get custody of me
the judge didn’t allow it but he let you visit
five hours max
i cancelled a lot
so did you

Dear Chris,
its been four years
i can barely remember what you sound like

dear ***** donor,
you contacted me the morning of my 18th birthday
i went off
you tried to make me feel bad
i didn’t give a ****

I was given someone who decided they would no longer care. They would bail out before i could correctly form words into sentences. I was given a father who as barely even a stranger in my life.
But i was also given a brother who made my life much different..

dear Bubby,
You found out mom was pregnant.
Boy was that a shocker huh, 20 years apart from you will be fun!!!!
I can't wait to meet you!

Dear Bubby,
You was there to help mom when she was crying about Daddy and a woman.
Wow i can tell your going to be a great brother!
I can't wait to meet you!

Dear Bubby,
You was there when i was born.
you were so excited to meet me.
You told mom she was making a mistake by letting me take my fathers last name.
You and him meet with a lady to fix the problem.

Dear Bubby,
Mollee Ann Nelson
Our last name
Wow Bubby i think its so cool you helped mom
Its like meeting a whole new me

Dear Bubby,
Mom fell out of the car when Daddy was backing out of the drive way.
You were really mad.
You told Daddy he was going to meet god.

Dear Bubby,
I know you want me to spend christmas with our family but Its Daddys turn to have me.
Boy am i excited
Im five and i begged mommy for that new velvet dress you like so much.
I have a good feeling Daddy will come this time.
Im supposed to meet his girlfriend but you seem unamused.

Dear Bubby,
Its christmas again.
Im six and you cuddle me while i sob because daddy didn't show...again
You called saying i would have a new sister to meet.. Thats a good gift i guess..

Dear Bubby,
Every visit he missed you were there..
You held me close and told me it wasn't my fault..
You knew he was braking my heart
You knew you would meet a different person.

Dear Bubby,
Do you remember how angry i was when he hung up.
When i questioned why he didn't want to talk to me?
But don't worry he called me back.
He didn't even remember how old i was..
Its like we were meeting at a reunion..

Dear Bubby,
We were both confused when he tried to get custody of me back.
We laughed and the judge must have too.
He was allowed five hours max
I cancelled on you because i was in power to do so.
Your meets will have to wait

Dear Bubby,
I don't remember what he even sounds like..
Do you?

Dear Bubby,
I remember how happy you were for me when i was finally able to tell my ***** donor how i felt about him.
To bad it had to wait until i was 18 huh!

Let me ask the question that I've wondered for what seems like centuries.
Let me know.
What exactly is the ******* point?
What drives you to turn emotional "love"
Into physical "love"?
I have been constantly dissatisfied.
Endlessly unamused.
Forever jaded.
To the point that I can't imagine the notion of this ******* being even minutely beautiful.
Or even worthy of being the median of which love is concocted.
**** it.
I don't want to understand.

The clouds are boring now
as I exist in a realm outside reason and romance.
These clouds are aimlessly
splattered on a dull blue sky
by a tried Artist
feeling uninspired…unrealized.

Is there any hope
for the Artist
and our world he tries to paint?
Why must the artwork continue
to destroy itself!
I destroy me
by staying stagnant and unamused.

Perhaps sometimes art
must be boring to soothe the soul

It’s sad to say, that you were with me today,
And now I sit here, in trials and dismay,
How you left, was painful and I was confused,
Why you had to die now and leave me unamused.  

At such an early age, you left this world, To a place unknown, one of no words,
Gone too soon you had to leave,
And all your loved ones, you’ve left bereaved.  

I can’t say, I knew you well,
But from the time we spent, everyone could tell,
That I was meant to meet you,
To know you better,
And now I’m thankful, and I hope you’ll be greater!  

I wish you the best, and say hello to the rest,
Give my Papa a high five, and I pray that you’ll be alive,
That you’ll enjoy every moment, with the Father above,
For eternal life, you shall feel the love.
SEE YOU LATER JOHN…

I had to give up my sexcapes
I started to form an addiction
and realized the control I thought
I had, had me.

No more did it become my great
escapes but left me feeling
confused and unamused...
**** it was getting hard for
me to breathe.

It was hard for me to believe
that I had sunken to that level
treating my body as a worthless
vessel, digging holes in my
soul and I was holding the
shovel.

****, that's deep...
had to look there for
the parts of me I
had lost.

Guess you can say I
got caught up in the sauce.

The satisfaction became a
fraction. Divided myself
in half and was left
with nothing.

Half a mind, half a soul, half
a body I was walking
around incomplete.

You see I forgot I was a
sun Ray and was my beacon
of hope... promise.

I  promised myself to never
travel back down that path
I picked a dandelion and
made a wish.

With help from God I'm
walking on rainbows to
my own *** of gold.

Gotta give Him praise because
sometimes the road got a lil' rough
but I remained strong.
My journey taught me
to be tough.
Taught me to endure
and have faith.

Now today I'm
celebrating because
my life is a parade.

Unamused, abused, inflicted by I
Distractions, that keep my heavy eyes alive
***, drugs, deep conversations keep me fed
This feels as real as pretend, driven by others for fuel I don't have
This must be the end
Nah, I'll never die,
I'll continue to tell myself so I don't amend my habits

Embrace these teenage customs that feel so unique
They aren't, but that keeps me in synch
Willingly letting denial be a trait, a style of it's own
That will take me out one day, I already have condoned

“Sanity is not statistical.”- George Orwell

The tour guide elucidates black and white scenery.
Unamused clients grow weary of following blindly…

Beyond the barren trees lies a horizon of dirt.
The patrons’ eyes assume a bedraggled trail
Ostentatiously drawing them into its depths.
Unable to sense the malignity; compliance is inevitable.

The seemingly infinite nave reveals a peculiar door,
Hexagonal in shape, displaying no visible ****.
“This heavily armored door hath been open since
the dawn of pandemonium. Enter if you dare,

my humble insanitorium.”

Their dreams have intruders,
Infiltrated by an obscure entrance
Remote in the fact that even they
Are ignorant to its location.

The intruder takes hold of,
their brains, hearts and blood.
Drives them to brink of insanity
Then leads them back home.

Metamorphosis: their messiahs
Were once smiles and gold
Now they are maggots, cole
And decayed linen for skin.

They are the peaceful violence
That occurs among the leaves
Existing for a short time in beauty.
Than drying up and withering away.

Obscurity is a terrifyingly beautiful renaissance
A peculiarity that rock them to the core.
The ghosts that occupy their souls,
And the cavern that’s missing from them
Experience is theirs to have or to lack. For they
haven’t much time before the dirt takes them back.

An elegant yet dismantled courtyard comes into view.

They.
Know not of the geometrics that seem
To have replaced the techni-colour trees.
Once overgrown in the tainted court-yard
Roots overharvested and interconnected,
A corn stock maze burnt to the ground.

She.
Used the finest twine, sharp and strong.
To tie her soul to the cage that houses her heart.
“Two mad rabbits were dancing by a tree.
Before one vanished down the hole,
I swear he looked right into me.”

They.
Watch in dismay as her chest is scalped.
The unsound artist tugs (she does not protest)
Bones shatter and he eats the remains.
Soft fingers caress the pulsating red ball.
All the women cry as he claws at her soul.

An aghast audience enters the house in
Hopes of a less unsettling spectacle.
A tiny jar sits on a wooden table, curiosity
Causes a member to remove the lid.

“To exist in the subconscious is more terrifying.
The flame’s lick the nimbus and I am calm.
An angry cockroach lodged in my trachea.
The soil is more sinister than it was yesterday.

An abstract design, the lines infinitely overlap.
The drawing continues and I try to unravel,
the circles and squares but I simply cannot.
They are now in my blood, a pentagonal paradise.

It would be lovely to hold my heart in my fist.
Squeeze it until the blood becomes a fourth
Of July spectacular. The circles and squares would
Be emancipated from the charred remains of the jar.”

Prying is never rewarded. The jar goes up in flames.
The great herd is lead to a theatre-like abode.

The tourists snap pictures as they assume their seats,
The Insanitorium’s owner makes a gut-wrenching speech.

“I’m wandering aimlessly through the in-between.
The face-painted crowd watches with open mouths.
As I search for and seek out self-fulfillment.
On the edge of their seats, waiting impatiently,
For my humble home to self destruct.

They gnaw on my self-worth, ripping and tearing
My well-though out decisions into tiny,
Unmanageable quadrants that I cannot repair.
The herd is well aware of what lies along the line.
But I strayed long ago and am of a different time.”

The applause drowns out the sound of the speaker’s screams.

The patrons are lead through a dimly lit hallway,
Another peculiar door materializes, triangular in shape.
The room is a vessel for conscious and unconscious ramblings
Of minds left to rot and decay like rabid corpses.

“Enter respected patrons and feast your eyes upon the truth.”

The first trembling hand finds its way to the door.
A striking man is seated, muttering cloud-cuckoos.
His hands and feet bound to the ancient wooden chair.
The blade hovers above his hard skull threatening to fall.

His brain is dissected; life-long deception is evident
The black cats in his mind are visible to probing eyes.
Sinister felines stretch their brittle bones; it is not
Long before they’re biting and scratching his insides.

Like all apparitions, the vision returns to the dust from which
It was created. It’s true home among the asteroids and
The planets that contain the same star dust that once
Composed flesh and bone. Not Reduced, but reused and recycled.

Before the disappearance is final, he chokes on his last words…

“A pearl that is flung,
From the stars overhung
Will dislocate like a plastic doll.

Alas…

One pearl turns to millions
And a million turns to dust.
The doll’s expression ,
remains stagnant.”

The tourists are angry and appalled at what they have witnessed.

They have not come to the harsh realization,
That in order for a man to see, his eyes
Must be pried open. Stunned into epiphany.
Become aware of the demon residing behind them.

“You are not sane devil woman,
For your tour reveals horrors of many kinds.”

The woman’s mouth contorts and her eyes darken.

“All entities, dear guests, hath been drawn
from your own mad minds.”

BREAKING LIMERICKS BREAKING LIMERICKS BREAK

STOP the PRESSES while we pop the strésses !
EXtry, EXtry, read all about it:
Fake news pays dues to sing rural blues in red-state hues.
Nanny-state networks choose to accuse & civil fury ensues!
See special edition on CIA sedition :

          The rural red states stand accused
           By the quingdom whose queen they refused
            it's so hillbilly-larious
             all of them various
              voters now left unamused.

FAKE NEWS: it's the virus du jour
of the affluent liberals. The poor
are more prone to believe
it's a plot to deceive
and no government offers a cure.

My Father's mother wrote me a check
And though she has a checkbook
with her name on it
From four years ago,
She sent me the decadent sum
of twenty-five dollars
On a slip of paper with a name
that was of her husband,
My Father's Father,
And still is.

When I look at this check pinned to my wall
I am reminded of the man,
The eighteen-wheeling man,
And how a few years ago I was afraid
and unamused
So I did not peek into his open casket.

It was a year since I had seen him,
And 'goodbye' escaped my lips (which were sealed
incredibly) until he was lowered.

I hope he went to heaven; if he did not
I am sure I will say 'hello'
After I cash this check,
But not yet.

It's 2:30 A.M.
And my coming of "age" memories begin to
Float within oblivion.
Although I'm sure there's light somewhere...
one. like everyone else, i'm warmly welcomed, i think?
two. being ill didn't stop me from gaining enjoyment,
but i surely can't remember.
three. blank.
four. blank.
five. blank.
six. pinning the tail was worth the laugh.
seven. blank.
eight. blank.
nine. blank.
ten. blank.
eleven. blank but i'm sure that i was happy to leave the zeros on the scale.
twelve. blank.
thirteen. blank.
fourteen. exactly what a celebration for growth should feel like.
fifteen. seasick and unamused.
sixteen. blank.
seventeen. blank. maybe i ate or something.
eighteen. an unforgettable adventure.
nineteen. absolutely nothing.
twenty. hopped late onto a magical train.
thank you, my friend.
twenty-one. i wish it never happened
And it hasn't been long since then.

set up,
pairs of three.
watcha
gonna do
when the
world stops
revolving
around you?
I'm still
into you-r
band, but
that's 'cause
you're a good
pre
form
er.
who am
I?
I already
know.
But since
you think
you do
too,
watcha still
gonna do?
my guess
is only
as good
as yours.
but don't
sweat it,
if that
doctor carrer
doesn't work
out, try
pho
togra
phy.

I sat at a table with Death.
I ate from his plate while he
Pinched from my snus.
We were drinking, and not unamused.
He was quite a good listener; took in
Every word.
He laughed at my jokes, and my
Stories he heard
With a keeness about him,
Charisma and charm,
So far from a force of such terror
And harm?
Not once did he hint at my life or my
Soul.
He paid for my drinks and for
Every bowl of
Nachos they served as we sat
Through the night.
Laughing and sharing until
The first light.
The best of my times. As if on
My request.
Then Death sat his cup down, put
Thumb to his chest.
Belched and stood up, took his scythe
And said: "Boy,
You went as you wanted; with
Beverage and joy.
Now leave every worry, forget
Each regret.
Come home and lay down, you have
Earned right to rest.
No second of Life that you lived,
You'll forget.
I sat at a table with Death.

there are times where i remember everything you have given me. you taught me the best things and the worst. you taught me how to love with all my heart, and how to hate with every inch of my soul. there are times where i remember the way you use to look at me. when you use to pay attention, nod your head in awe of what i had to think, of what i had to feel. you use to look so golden, even underneath the moons pale gaze and the cigarette smoke against your breeze-chilled skin. i use to look like a ghost. only visible to your eyes. there are times where i remember everything you told me. remembering that i have the power to leave the cold bath water if i pleased. that i had the power. you use to always be there for me. you always use to protect me when i needed it the most. i could call you and you'd be waiting for me on the other end. i always did the same for you. i still would. i remember the times you use to love me. when i was your favourite, and we'd dance around in the darkness, unafraid and young. before our cigarettes turned stale, our lipstick running out, you use to love me. it seems now the track has stopped, the feelings gone; unamused and full of malice, you used to love me. you used to. and now you've used me entirely.

-the first layer

conceptcollection

I stagger cold through the halls of my indoctrination.
I do not wish to be seen.
A thousand ******* eye's gawk silent from there checker pattern perches
and my chains and prizes jingle
and attract stares
with each bounding step.
I can no longer stand my hours in this house of heresy.
Loose lipped **** lovers
spill secrets over bile chowder
chuckling about a days delicacies
and social secrets.
Second rate at best,
they all know there lover boy on the Hollister bag
probably takes it in the *** more than the average ***
and still they swoon blind batty eyed at the queens that prance the halls.
I am unamused
Feel abused
giving out my finest hobby to any takers.
I'm being used.
How am i supposed to ******* death sweet and smokey at this rate.
Like some fluff tailed hair
I hustle off with my ticking life in toe
the numbers at my waste spell ruin.
I'm late.
I'm late.
If only I had some red haired queen of hearts
to behead me.
A better fate.

You know that old saying
"Actions speak louder than words"?
Well, I've learned to observe
the behavioral patterns
of when our conversations
become a burden.

I am a professional at
reading the signs
of unamused eyes
and you just stare
right through me.

I guess that is fair play.

After all, I used to say
too much
and you cared
when you could.

Foolish of me to think there would
ever be a middle.

We left on words
misunderstood
and nothing more
would follow.

You had a boundary
that I overlooked.

I guess
"hello"
was all
it
took.

CW/TW** Mental abuse, physical abuse, domestic violence


I.
You were sitting at the bar, neon lights danced down your face
With your friends you laughed about some stupid movie you all loved
I saw when you looked down at your hands, your smile disappeared
The loneliness began to creep up behind your eyelids
I approached you, asked if you'd have a beer and smoke with me
You walked me home after, laughing about ridiculous childhood memories
Sharing our frustrations over how much had changed since the simple days
"I didn't know you back then, but I wish that I had"

II.
He was coming over tonight, I was making us dinner
"I know your birthday isn't for another week, but I have a surprise for you"
He opened the box, full of his favorite games, CDs, and books from his childhood
The ones he had relied on through his mom's various relationships, the abuse, the picking up and moving, the lost friendships
Everything he lost, piece by piece, move after move
He tried his best to not cry in front of me
"I figured you weren't listening. Nobody remembers stuff like this."
He told me he loved me, I said it back.

III.
We moved into a Tudor style house with a big garden, just as I dreamed
Settling in the same town where I went to high school
We painted the walls shades of blue, had a candlelit dinner with a table made of boxes, we slept on our mattress on the floor
"All I ever wanted was for you to have a place to call home,
to want to stay, to feel safe"

IV.
The next morning he received a call, his mother was back in the hospital
He had no contact for years, she said she needed him this time
He was quiet most of the day as we shopped for furniture
A familiar face spotted me from down the aisle, a high school boyfriend
"Long time no see, did you move back?"
"Just yesterday", I introduced them
"We should catch up sometime, see you around"
He looked at me, unamused. "You gonna hang out with him? I think you should"
I shook my head "No thanks"
Laughing, he said, " Well, sure feels like you want to"
"I'm not even going to entertain this conversation"
He didn't come home from the bars until 3am, he slept on the couch
I woke him up, his plane was leaving in a couple of hours
I asked again if he wanted me to go with him to see her
"Don't act like you care. Have fun hanging out with him."
He grabbed his suitcase and slammed the door.

V.
He was returning today, we had hardly spoken for two weeks
He came through the door with a dozen white roses
He hugged me and wouldn't let go. "Please forgive me
Please? I am so sorry. I couldn't live if I ever lost you"
I awoke in the middle of the night, our bedroom glowing
I caught a glimpse of him, my phone in his hands, I pretended to sleep
I didn't want to fight.

VI.
The garden had become overrun by weeds
The vases in the house had emptied
The blue walls turned to shades of gray
It was pouring rain, at home, after the funeral
I walked outside, laid in the street
The drops of water reflecting the landscape across my face
It washed over the blotches on my skin, old and new
Blue, black, brown, green, yellow
He saw me and ran outside, carried me off the road
"I'm so sorry, it won't happen again, I promise
If you leave me, I would die
If you leave me, I would die
I don't think you understand
Without you, I won't survive"
It felt
like drowning

Irked
Annoyed and frustrated
The world and all its encompassing parts
Hurt

It's all too much

184 gone and in great despair
one hundred eighty four trials and institutions. 184 new reasons to forgive
to use, to be confused, to lose, and to get loose all gone
they are all gone. gone for good, forever, for evers and everys, somewhere on Everest, or likely just high up in the sky. Somewhere in the chasm of iCloud or hidden on the hard-drive of one of my Macs.

Tired and Hurt, Anxious, Alert, all of me is frustrated my skin is doing different things, all of it is baffling and I don't even know how I'm going to try to keep mildly sane, all of them are gone and I'm a total wreck, I am.

One-hundred Eighty-Four Notes on my iPhone gone. They're all alone, all of them on their own. Me I'm just by myself and squarely overwrought. Confused and upset, I wonder if the Mac God's have tried to take their pain and loss of the Jobbs out on me. All these note's are gone and I don't know what to do. Do I swear? Do I sweat? Do I call Apple instead of setting myself to burn? What have I done? What have I done to come down to a blank screen lost of all its myriad characters.

The pages don't care, I'm sitting perturbed in my underwear, baffled, unamused, furious, and feeling used. My trust combusted, my one hundred eighty four are gone. And no one cares. All my notes are gone and no one knows. My poems are gone, I sing this song, but all my words are gone don't you know? They're all gone....don't you know! I want my 184. I need my 184- don't you know! I just can't ignore, my 184.

She noted, grimly cognizant of though unamused by the irony,
That her likeness, or something akin to that,
Appeared on the poster—a gray-clad strong and vibrant woman
Reaching, in concert with her comrades
(One woman in a white coat, a man in overalls and requisite cap,
Still another androgynous figure in a futuristic ensemble
Resembling some cross of a Western science fiction movie
And some cheap Petrograd-made tin foil)
Toward a hammer-and-sickle adorned moon
Soon to be conquered by a similarly festooned rocket ship.
She is no scientific apparatchik, no technically gifted party functionary;
It is her job to feed the canine occupant of this mission to the cosmos
(Two mutts from the Moscow streets, she confides to Ilysa,
One of the few co-workers who can be trusted with such a statement.)
The dog, she notes without any trace of rancor, eats quite well,
Better than she does in truth,
But it is a series of last meals for the condemned,
For there is no secret as to the dog’s eventual fate
(Poor cur, he has no idea he is doomed,
One of the scientists clucks sadly,
Though she simply shrugs in reply,
Knowing a test or a trap when she sees it,
Though she thinks to herself He is far from alone)
And, after she has cleaned up the remnants of the dog’s dinner,
She heads back to her one-room flat on the Yaseneavaya Boulevard,
Noting ruefully, as she ascends the crumbling, unsteady steps
Leading to her blocky, faceless building,
That the omnipresent klieg lighting of the street lamps
Serves to obscure any trace of the heavens in the night sky.

When you think of her
There was a twinkling sadness in your dulled eyes
How your eyes would light up
And like a mosquito lamp amidst a fog,
Its light was hindered beneath layers of gloom

Your exhausted smile would crunch gently to a side
And you'd let out an unamused chuckle
Probably at what a fool you've been
(A fool for her)

And every time that stupid Maroon 5 song plays
There would be a consuming emptiness in your stare
A hollowness, even.
A hole in your heart
That was hers to fill

Not mine
Not mine
Not mine
And never could be mine

To this old, defeated apple
Skin blazoned in rosy tunic
Slippery as fate discarded, fate in a bubble
How you've crossed my sight like a cynic

You rest cold and unamused
In my warm, subversive hands
It's as if your insides have set themselves loose
Unarmed in their pure dwindling strands

Fat worms whiffed spotless fields of honey-gold
Floundering shallow water fishes in unconscious fathoms
Seared the sweet flesh with spawns in manifold
You stand still in spite of downtrodden autumns

I took you in my mouth, your rot conspicuous
As if you whimper upon my numb tongue
That you won't last an age longer in this limping malice
Where your seed grows only to get wrung

The voyage to explore
The avenues of forgiveness
Was thwarted by the
Perpetuation of the patterns
Of my nature
Bearer of rancour
Marinating in stagnation
Birthed by unremitting negativity

Unamused by life’s cruel
Sense of humour
I grudgingly gobbled up
The repulsive remains
Of a dish of revenge
I once served
The one who arouses fury.

I can't let you see me
Avert your eyes
You'd despise
You'd go blind

I can't let you hear me
Don't listen
Ignore what I say
Forget I exist

Not worthy of your love
Not worthy to be in your presence
Worthless to the core
Worthless from the start

I can't let you touch me
Refrain to feel
I'd taint your skin
It would be a sin

I can't let you love me
You'd be repulsed
You'd be unamused
Cursed with a loveless heart

Not worthy of your love
Not worthy to be in your presence
Graced with an insignificance
Adorned with a crown of failure

Worthless to the core
Worthless from the beginning
Worthless in the heart
Worthless till the end

Cody Shull, 2016

Gazing out the window, it’s beautiful outside, letting my mind wandering into the distance daydreaming about the endless possibilities. Then someone slams a ruler on my desk that caught me by surprised I nearly jump out of my chair startled. It was the teacher glaring down at me spitefully.
“Eyes up here, Grace! You need to pay attention!” said the teacher. “Didn’t you hear me? Open your text book to page 300 and keep up!” My classmates started to giggle then the teacher walked back to the front of the classroom, chalk in hand and began to write on the chalkboard, letters that I couldn’t quite make out. The teachers words start to muffle as I try and locate my binder and pencil for notes but then I hear the teacher call my name “Grace” and I look up with fear in my eye hoping she did not just call on me to answer her question.
“Grace could you please come to the front and spell the word ‘BECAUSE’ on the board?” I knew this word but I don’t remember how to spell it. I really hate going to the front of the class because I always make a mistake. I slowly get up from my desk, my hands start to sweat, and the room goes silent as I walked, with my shoes squeaking on the tile floor louder than usual, up to the teacher. I take the chalk from the teacher’s hand. As I begin to write I freeze.
Paralyzed with fear I ask the teacher “I’m sorry, can you repeat the word that you wants me to spell?”
The teacher scoffed at me and even louder said, “The word is, ‘BECAUSE’!” I nodded my head trying to remember but my mind was blank, I remember using my markers to trace out the letters of each word but this one was particularly hard to remember. I started to write B…E…K…then I’m stuck, I start to panic and I write the remaining letters that sounded right A…Z. then I immediately place the chalk down on the teacher’s desk and walk as fast as I could back to my desk. The students all start to roar in laughter, as they know I made a mistake. I look on the board and it reads ‘BEKAZ’ I know its wrong but I don’t have the answer to change it.
The teacher, unamused by the students stares at the chalk board then turns and looks straight at me as says “Grace, you will not go outside for recess instead, you will sit in the beanbag and read, if I see you slacking off, you will be tracing out your letters for the spelling test that is this Friday.” After her remark the bell rang and it was time for lunch.