The pencil lead snapped with a sharp cracking sound.


He continued with a new sense of urgency as he scratched his message across the page.



The black cat bumped its black head against his ankles then brushed its black body across his saggy socks.


He instinctively reached down and scratched the cat behind her black ears without looking.


With his grey stubbled chin he pointed toward the page,


"What about yogurt the frozen kind????".


My smile hid the fact that I wanted to cry, I wanted to hear his voice again, I wanted him to look healthy again, I wanted him to get better.


I said "Of course whatever you need."

He blinked his dark circled, shallow eyes and held them closed for a second to long before nodding his now bald head.


He grabbed another pencil, his hand flew across the page as he wrote.


" Don't worry about me You're gonna be fine."

He has to
drink his
meals,
so I drink
mine to.

I have to
drown his
cells in
nutrients.

I'm
trying
to
keep
someone
alive.

Its Torture.
The cruel
painless kind.

Torture.

Like watching her
from the shadows
as she  
Loves her new Lover
while you're
still so alone.

Within my
mind I've said
a word then
spelled out
in ryhm.
It sounds so perfect
within my
mind.

My quivering lips
mouth the
word in silence.
Im afraid to try.

Listen to my struggle
and you shall see
why it is I choose
to hardly speak.

Its the stammer.

The God given
gift which has
held my
opinions hostage.
Prevented me from
approaching her
and telling her
what she secretly
longed to hear.

Forced me at times
to remain silent
when there was
so much more I
had to say.

This stammer
provides
cruel children
reason enough to be
even crueler.
I speak around certain
words and
communicate
more with the hands.

Kind souls
finish sentences
for me as I fight
for my voice.
Never  knowing that
their attempt
at being helpful
only drives this silent
knife even deeper.

This Stammer has
barricaded what
I need to say
somewhere
within that dead
and maimed space
between
my mind and
my speach.

I'm tunneling my
way out of this
self contained  
prison.

Word by
written word .

I'm slowly
finding
a way for
this silent
and crippled
voice
to finally
be heard.

The music wasn’t too loud and the band played only instrumental music.
Music that I found rather pleasant as it drifted its way above the senseless conversation and obnoxious laughter of one particular group of young drunk ladies .

Tall potted plastic plants stood stone silent next to cheap pressed wood tables filled with used paper plates ,plastic forks, wadded up napkins and half full clear plastic cups.
The floral arrangements had been set at each table with care for the guest to admire. The flowers  had all began to droop as the air became more stale with the sweat and the breath of the drunken people.

I overheard conversations about money and addicted daughters, ******* bosses and good deals on tires.
I heard about how stiff the drinks were and how long the ladies room line was.
I heard them admire the fact there was no traffic on the way here and how the food was ok.
I purposely listened for any comment made about the dying young flowers whose time was cut short in order to be at their table.
I listened the whole night .
I heard no such thing.

A pair of huge ******* brushed against my bad shoulder as a large woman with dyed black hair and too much jewelry on began to speak into my ear.
She spilled a splash of her drink on my only good pair of shoes.
She knew what she had done but never bothered to apologize.

The cheap faux wooden dance floor laid there like a minefield devoid of the swaying bodies and sweaty torsos.
Yet for some reason the music still played on.

I noticed she had a strange need to be as close to you as possible as she spoke.
Her conversation was about as cheap as my shoes and the empty linoleum dance floor.

The party balloons began to lose their ability to float above the senseless conversation,
cheap cologne ,dying young flowers, plastic plants and plastic *******.
I smiled as they began to slowly fall to the floor.

For the third time that night I cursed my decision to come here and mill about with the rest of the cattle.
I went to the bar and got another drink.

Overweight women with undersized clothing stood in line to the single stalled ladies room like needy mothers in a well fare line.

This pair of ******* kept themselves snug against my bad shoulder as the lip stick painted mouth with the tobacco stained teeth kept on about what she did and where she went, who she knew and where she wanted to be and how badly she wanted to smoke.

I downed my drink, the drinks were strong, the drinks were good.
I stopped her in mid sentence and said.
“The trees they all die in silence in the forest’.

I made my way towards the exit passed the dying flowers and the sweaty men.
I hit the double doors with all I had and stepped out into the welcoming night.
I took in the scents of the salt water and the burning fuel, the taco truck across the street and the ***** still on my lips.

Before I left I went back in and tipped the Mexican bartender a 20 dollar bill.
He took the 20 then offered me one on the house which I gladly accepted. It was the strongest drink I had ever had outside my home .
He smiled as I thanked him , his smile held a row of Gold capped teeth the rest were the straightest set of teeth I had ever seen .

I pulled out a extra 10 and left it on the bar.
The Gold toothed bar tender and his stiff drinks were obviously the life of the party and the only real reason I was glad I came.

I'm not one of those
**** CANCER people.

You can't Understand something if you say
**** it.

But I will say Cancer is something I would not wish
upon any living being.

It takes away too many people far before their time.
All the money and material possessions people hold so dear become instantly useless when Cancer comes along.

This is only the beginning for my
small families fight against Cancer.

I plan on learning all I can about this disease
it's origins, reasons and possible cures.

To say **** Cancer is in no way helping anyone's situation.
In order to make a difference in the battle against
Cancer you must first Understand what it is your dealing with.

To enter such a battle with a ******* attitude
will only keep you from truly making a difference
to those inflicted with it today
and those who will fall victim to it tomorrow.

Cars, Diesel trucks Motor bikes and Transit Buses, rebar and structural steel beams, sounds like fading sirens in the distance. Freeways and black topped school yards, city streets without enough tress, jails without enough beds.

Tents blocking sidewalks, cardboard castles where the forgotten go to smoke their prize.

You got millionares next to transients all waiting to be served. 6th and San Julian on another friday that happend to land on the 1st of the month.

Cops killing everybody, not even the innocent stand a chance, courtrooms sit silent as judges all retire to go play golf in the desert. Another innocent man awaits his execution, it'll be a grey day in hell when the blood of the wrong man soaks its entry way.
Beautiful girls and I mean Beautiful girls, start dancing as soon as they learn to walk in heels.

They know what works those filthy ******* who own everything and don't mind if you know it.
They want it this way.
They want her that way and her and her and even him.

City full of *** shops and not a dam thing left to smoke.
Cops still bust down doors like looters in a riot.
No ones has told them Nancy and her War is dead.

Leave where you left off right where you left it.
Lies don't deserve another chance.
I got a new way for you, I got to take some time to fill you in while pulling you out.

We are'nt going anywhere, this place wasn't built to explore.
See the mountain, see that tree stump, giants once ruled our world.

People who don't live here think they know it all from watching T.V.

City lights cast down upon city streets.
They know no other way than to survive once someone comes and shoots their street lights out.

They **** and die for the street.
The fat man on the radio tries to calm the city.

Grafitti acts as a warnig, who'll get the 187 mark out today.

Some grew up on the low side of town where the bridges and the freeways meet.
L.A river acts as borders for the Gang controlled neighborhoods and washes their blood and sometimes their guns away.

Everyone's from somewhere ,are you brave enough to say.