The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets

Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out

1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute

1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart

learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide

One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine

I wonder what Heavens like
Is it white with fluttering doves and shiny golden gates that tower 7 feet above the clouds?
Or is it outside the atmosphere where a stars twinkle is so bright its blinding?
Are you suppose to walk up an ivory stairway or fly with your feathered white angel wings?

I see Heaven as a place you go when you are loved
A place where you don't have to be good to get in or bad to get kicked out
It's where your guardian angels gather and interact among the holy gods of Allah or Our Creater himself
Heaven is the clouds passing daintly and lazily by
Caught up in the leisure winds, grinding against the azure sky

Where the demons hide beneath the entry way, laying low
Wishing they were loved like the rest of the afterlife that lives in Heaven

You see her over there?
Lucy,
the one with kaleidescope eyes.
she being chased by the egg man, no. The Walurus.

As she runs by the church where Eleanor Ribgy is picking up the rice,
a yellow submarine is submerging into a sea of green.

Imagine all the people around her saying theres no heavens
and that they tell the Walurus to let it be.
Wait, --Let her be.

Little darling, its to cold to be outside to be running!
Can't we all just come together?
Don't be afraid!

---OH NO---  
Her name isn't Lucy!

It's Jude.

Dreams,

symphonies of sounds, and arrangements of metaphoric surrealism

the hibernation of ones mysterious thoughts and deepest actions

a psychedelic wonderland of white rabbits frolicking down holes,
a time warp of madmen
 the thought of being chased by dark shadows
in the mind of monsters that hide under the foot of the bed.


Dreams, 

a stew of emotions boiling and biting at our ankles,
a *** of acid-spiked visions so unclear 

a world where billows of color mix and mutate

the tall man chasing us young children through scenes of disruption and
everything within us as mortal beings 
where buddhist pray and the sun shines,
leaping over peace pigmented hills,
filled with hysteria and delirium 

the dreams that have left me uneasy and the dreams that leave me wanting more

It's a disease
Manipulative and painful
Traveling through the veins of innocent people
Wandering through the genes of many
Its cancer.

I look at the shelf where I keep your pictures, figurines, and such
I think of the red wine made with your soft Sicilian touch
Sitting under the grape vines, reminiscing great times,I read the poem that you left for us to read and it tells me not to weep

The slices I stow are on my wrist in a row,

they will turn to quiet grieving scars,

even if my heart is crying out for help.

No one can hear me, no one would care.

No one would ask me, no one would dare.

Coming off as a tough girl, they are deceived.

I am really just scared, but I am care free.

I fret the day I face my fears because it is a mystery.

You shall fret too, because one day there will be a note to read,

that thanks my friends and family,

I’ll apologize for my being and again I will thank you all so much.

At the end of the day, I’ll be dead from pills, drugs, and such.

Many will realize that this happy girl was sad,

Now they might feel like this was all of there bad.

I lied to everyone, saying “I’m fine.”

So it’s my bad, I had crossed the line.

Don’t care, don’t mourn for it was a mistake that I was even born.

You soon will find my used utensils,
such as my scissors, bands, and razorblades.

Take good care they were my treasure.

The death I chose was a mix of two.

The pills are on the dresser, and the razor is in my hand.

Please forgive me, I just wanted to be free!
Is that a lot for my family and friends to see?
Disappointment is probably on your mind,

I know how one could get confused,
when their daughter says she’s fine.

When I am purging for perfection, hoping I’ll soon die.

Hugging that cold porcelain, puking up my problems.

I step onto the scale, and I cry at what I see,
For I have an addiction, that is slowly killing me.

My friends would try to help, but I told them I didn’t need it.

I kept things to myself, so I wouldn’t cry for help.

Help was never given, because I would sit and sin in silence,

People thought I was “fake” for the way I was feeling,

That’s where they were wrong, they thought I wouldn’t do it, well look now.

I’m dead, and my life ended with Suicide.

Flashing c o l o r s, and ongoing music it hits me in the face like a wave of static electricity.

The ecstacy strikes my taste buds like sugar and neuro toxins dancing on my tongue.

The smell is foul of puke and *****. Teens are raving,
while the music is playing. Grinding against one another like a mortar and pestle.

Watching an influenced man try to get with a vulnerable women.
Taking advantage of every drop off alcohol that goes into the women’s veins,

there is no blood left, just firewater.