I was approached the other day by an older man.
He told me,
“Don’t ruin a life.”
I thought he wanted money; if I didn't give
His life would be ruined.
This man was looking deeply;
Dipping into a section of my soul, connecting ours as one.
I noticed his eyes,
They began to tear up,
Like a swimming pool, suddenly being filled with rain.
I was so confused, so I asked;
“Sir, what do you mean?”
“Don’t ruin a life”, he answered,
In the same tone as before – softly.
I decided to say “thank you”
And I walked away.
Up the street I went, on my way home.
I noticed something ahead, perhaps a bicycle?
As I neared, I realized it was a person.
I hurried to the scene; no one around.
An elderly woman lying there,
A red pool beside her battered head.
There was a note on her chest.
It read,
“I’m sorry my dear
I’m sorry my dear
I did not mean
To ruin your life.”

Sadness.*
Emotions so empty they hurt me no more.
I look for an exit. The meaning of life,
yet I find nothing more than this lonely room and my thoughts.

Have I ever been happy? Will I ever be?
Is there a new tomorrow? Is today even real?

Nightmares hunt me even while I'm awake.
Demons, witches, death and ghouls.
Staring at me crying in a corner,
with nothing left to hold on to.
No memories, no links to reality. Nothing.

Tears roll down my face
frozen by the cold in my heart
(if you can even call that a heart).
A heart once strong, but now so fragile
threatened to break any second.
It pumps blood no more.
It has no beat.
It's yet another ornament in my hollow body.

Darkness all around.
In my head, in my eyes, in my ears.
Ghastly figures dance around me, feasting on my fears.
Feeding on my insecurities.
Growing stronger as I grow weaker.

This torment I cannot escape.
The doors and windows have been long gone.
Not even death will fulfill my wish to leave
for there is no more death for me.
I've died so many times it just feels like waking up again.

Despair. Anxiety. Emptiness.
The last shine of light has gone...
the smile beneath it all.

*Fade to black!

The desk is a refreshing change of pace from the
uneasy comfort of the bed. I
eye the flimsy container of trail mix
lying in wait, my lightly salted prey.
rolling from beneath the body-like warmth of my
blanket cocoon,
I stumble towards nourishment.

I attack my snack,
and settle into the
beeswax halo of drunk hung Christmas lights,
mistakenly onto an uncapped felt pen,
tip bleeding into a beige throw
bought for a newly redecorated room.

Unnoticed, the stain spreads,
advancing on the threads of the throw.
I will, perhaps, see it tomorrow
and curse silently,
and wonder if it can be
hidden by rearrangement and ultimately
decide that a little folding will do the trick.

Outside, the snow freezes a fresh exoskeleton,
primed for crushing the footprints of strangers.

Sanity wanes
and I do not know
what it is I honestly need
to avoid hours like this

That familiar static
rings insatiably in my ear
and the lights turn on

I walk the wrong hall
afraid and tired
to push myself through sounds and sights
that blind and deafen
and can't be handled
by a person as weak as I

And I am aware
consciously
to all the truth I spill

Does hate feel better here?
I used to not hate
let alone literally feel

THE LONGER I STAY, THE LONGER I'M LIKELY TO STAY HERE

Struggling to swallow the strong spicy bourbon,
Staining his breath, like a meatball
Splattered onto a white t shirt.
He wondered, the most dear, delightful
Wonders. His minds roof slowly collapsing
Like the spine of a paraplegic.
He dreamed of the ways he could
Revolutionize the world. Desperate for
A sincere societal change; not only in
Norms, but in culture, politics, religion;
It all mattered, it all must change.
His heart struggled, stuck inside the
Pain-staking world he had grown to
Hate. "It mustn't stay the same",
He said. But, what did he know.
Things don't just change. Things don't
Just get better. People must die.
Innocent people. Normal people.
Non-killing people, they must die.
But he continued to think.
He continued to search, deep in his soul.
People questioned his sanity: "**** lunatic!"
They would say. They. A word he hated.
Perhaps that was it. They!
He realized what he must do in order
To save all of humanity.
He sat down and he wrote. And wrote.
And wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
And wrote. And it was good.
His plan was almost complete. One more step.
Society would forever be changed.
Everyone would love. Everyone would eat.
There would be no bombs. No hate.
The world was about to forever change;
He hoped for the very best.
So he went to his room. It was light.
He reached in the drawer and felt metal.
Pulling out the key to societies happiness.
He, himself became happy. He looked around,
Then...
Bam!