The first thing I smelled was scorched iron,
Then I felt a thickness without eyes,
sickness from nowhere,
a curse waiting all these years.
I was ****** not to find the source.
Lost like kings,
and vicious warriors
of long ago.
I could hear the world,
suddenly a bright symphony,
but I could not move.
My legs failed me,
they just wouldn’t work.
The sun low in the winter sky.
Morning passed,
and I thought so this is how it ends,
this is what becomes of me,
my ruin finally almost complete.
no one to mourn,
no one to care,
some to rejoice,
and I can’t blame them,
this is the end I deserve,
the end I earned.
My ruin crafted long ago,
decision by decision,
act by act,
a prophesy at last fulfilled.
I wish things would hurry now,
every second now eternal,
thousands of years.
Hurry now, hurry now,
hurry.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
There are pieces of torn tissue scattered around the bedroom.
A head board; the head to a nonexistent bed frame
askew in the corner.
The afternoon sun is brilliant for December,
unusually warm for these parts.
I am standing in the suns reflected haze,
such strange bedfellows these past few days.
My ragged soul speaks to me:
"There is nothing here for you anymore."
A death, silent and shocking, mocks me.
I am doing my leaving Las Vegas thing,
to try and turn it all off.
My body speaks in a foreign tongue:
"There is nothing here for you anymore."
I am not well.
It’s a long way off,
breaking the cycle, of this despondent spell.
My bitter anguish screams:
"There is nothing here for you anymore."
So it seems,
your lies, intricate, exacting, told well,
are truly a perfect product.
Every fiber of my broken being screams:
"There is nothing here for you anymore."
Why can't I bring myself to leave?
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
Well this is what I know,
I have things appear,
I don’t remember conjuring.
You would think after all these years,
these ghost would weary of
tearing scraps off my old bones.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
"You really are, I mean there is no other rational explanation.”
Of course I wasn't having any of this.
“Your crazy” I snapped annoyed.
“Everybody knows
when you are totally ******* insane, you don’t realize your insane.
You don’t sit around contemplating, your insanity, dissecting it like a minuscule insect,
trying to find the heart of the matter.”
Just the fact your considering your slow-bus status
makes you sane right?”
She just shook her head.
I sat silent... ******
These days, I am starting to rethink my whole position.
Maybe if you wonder if you are insane, there is a chance you may be.
I don’t mean a little crazy... manic... I mean batshit crazy.
Insanity is your job.
The labor of your days is the
knitting of intricate webs of delusion,
crafting your own personal hell,
making ready your eternal cell.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
She text at 4 a.m.
A long forgotten lover,
sending scrambled messages
from beneath.
She is probably drunk,
yet still, my heart is fraught
with worry and uncertainty.
I wish I could transmute my feelings,
eradicate her shadows,
forget she existed at all.
Sadly I can’t.
Her ghost clings to me
like a second skin
rising, her reflection
only serves to
color and confuse me.
Why can’t I forget?
Why is she still a part of me?
Nagging unanswered questions
walking in the deep.
Yes, she is
a haunted memory,
slowly draining me.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
"Quiet... Quiet... Listen up!"
"Quiet, quiet, gather round... silence please."
"Raise your drinks and join me!"
“Another round, all around, **** it!”
“A toast for all forgotten souls, we once called friends.”
"Raise your glasses half born souls.
Your hearts are sunken anvils,
brocading non-stop static,
with smashed lime rinds at the core.
You who are isolated by falling avalanches of pulverized melting cubes,
contained by a lonely, stained, cocktail glass.
We all come here to escape our pain,
to numb it, and rearrange it,
to tell stories, to those who will listen.
Stories, about how unfair life is.
Stories about how one time, we almost found true love.
To hover alone in a numb state of remorse and baffled shock,
To be stuck, unable to move, held prisoner by that mean *******
Fear.
To present to others a daily expression that declares helplessness, confusion, and shock.
And on rare good days, reveal glimpses of a haggard beauty, long since expired.
This space is our space.
A room of sorrow, lead tears and the living dead.
A collection of the remaining shells of veterans dismembered by personal wars,
Now mockingly Inhabited by those, who couldn’t survive them,
but still, somehow failed to die.
They failed to die,
still, I am certain,
they wanted to die with all their heart.
So in their memory, let's lift a glass, and our broken spirits,
to celebrate and remember those we have lost unnecessarily
"To the living dead!"
"To the living dead!"
"Three cheers for the living dead!"
"The living dead!"
"The living dead!"
"The living dead!"
"May they rest in peace!"
And now finally:
Bow your heads for one last moment of silence,
before one final round,
of the failure all around.
.Amen!
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
When I got the call,
I was busy,
distracted,
half listening.
That ended real quick.
I tried to focus,
on what you leaving me
really meant.
I tried to conceive of you not existing,
but I lacked the imagination for that.
No matter, your exit was real,
just not to me.
Over and over,
I kept catching myself,
talking to myself:
“wait until I tell him.”
Only now,
there was no one to tell.
No one to ask,
what should I do?
No sympathetic ear to bend.
No soul to inspire and ground mine.
That is over.
Now it is after,
before is no more.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
You move as fast as you can,
you must stop the bleeding,
without, all is lost..
It’s like that you know,
life and death.
It requires
effort,
nerve,
courage,
blindness,
stupidity,
unrealistic expectations,
sobriety,
self awareness,
selflessness,
sacrifice,
love,
hate,
fear,
and strength.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
... You see that’s where you are.
What do you mean?
You can only go so far in life, and then your stuck... done.
Who can only go so far... me?
Everyone.
Everyone?
Listen he said cracking his knuckles; the past... the future it’s not real...
Not real?
Not real he said softly. It’s just an idea... as a collective species can only go so far, and then were done... it’s done... your done.
Done?
His lidded eyes sighed heavily and he repeated softly The big empty.... done
Death?
No... not exactly... I mean it could be death, but you can be dead without dying.
Right. I said shaking my head what ya drinking? I picked up his glass sniffed it, then put it down in front of him,
This spiked with acid?
Maybe he said, but that’s not the point.
You got that right buddy, there is no point. I laughed darkly.
Ok if you say so.
I say so.
He nodded and looked away as he shook his whiskey resting upon a avalanche of ice.
Silence reigned..
I knew he was right.
That was why I was so restless ...
so unhappy, because deep down, where it counted, I thought I should have been more...
done more with my life...
that’s why I was always so jealous of others who had success...
That’s why the limited success’s I had experienced always felt hollow...
why no matter how much praise and admiration I experienced...
it wasn't enough...
it’s why I was such a narcissistic ******* why I never thought of others, much less their feelings...
This knowledge of my limitations had always and would continue to always to drive me mad.
I closed my eyes and sighed I had nothing more to say.
I was a dead man, long sense... dead man... no future... dead man... a unrepentant dead man.
A dead man all along.
A dead man,
I was just waiting for my body to catch up.
.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Surprise, surprise, surprise,
She is a three kid ******
Her petite, little rich friend, with nice **** is a paid FBI informant.
Setting up her friends like shots of J.D. with cop induced ***** logic.
They flaunt their facebook status; as ultra cool, cutting edge, The next best thing.
Hollow brained hipsters, with dead eyes, and great *****
They all try to be the same,
like some sort of mandatory social ritual,
played like bankrupt Russian Roulette.
They succeed magnificently in conformity
Only usurped by one thing:
Stupidity.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC