Somebody Take Me
by Ryan P. Kinney and J.M. Romig

You shook me up
And poured out my mind
Cooked me ‘til I crystallized
Crushed me up and smoked me

You got high on my experiences
Took my stories into your body
You loved it

Then the bad trip came crashing in
The heartbreaks, the beatings,
The suicidal thoughts
I made you paranoid, cynical, and distrusting
Every loss peppered with a smile
Each warm, glowing moment
Tainted with the debauchery of the act

You’ll pay for all this in rehab
Blood and tears diluted with stale coffee and ****** cigarettes
(They all taste the same)

Go ahead, Detoxify.
Spit me out
No matter how you try to purge
You’ll never be rid of this poison

Plato’s Paradox
by Ryan Kinney

What if Plato was right?
And there are eternal truths
Ethereal knowledge that exists independent of humans
Just waiting for us to grasp

What if all knowledge was the not the product of human ingenuity?
But just our ability to latch onto these truths.
We can reach and hold them,
But never with our hands
Feel them,
But never touch them

What if he was right?
But off by a few millennia
Maybe it was a prophetic vision
Just waiting for technology to catch up
Some access code or binary formula
That taps us into ultimate knowledge

What if you could instantly know anything you wished?
And substitute lifetimes of training
For a momentary flash
Bach and Bruce Lee
Socrates and Einstein
Lennon and Nietzsche
All their skill, yours with ease

What if you knew everything?
Nothing would be out of your reach
Would you become a god among men?
Or covertly use your power to reign?
Would you be a benevolent benefactor?
And teach instead?
Would you share your knowledge?
Would you share your power?

Or would it drive you insane?
Madness that only a genius could know.
With no questions left to answer.
Would, why I exist?
Haunt your existence.

Would life lose its flavor?
Would you spend your life bored?
Obsessed with trying to locate something you don’t know
Only to realize it’s all been done

Would your heart be left twisted and wrung dry?
As your mind grew.
Would you scar yourself?
Or stand in the freezing rain.
Just to remember what it was like to feel.
Would you allow knowledge to make you cold and bitter?

Would you allow it to make you a monster?
An immoral beast who did only because he couldn’t be stopped?
If absolute knowledge corrupts,
Would you lose your humanity?
At the very moment you understood what it meant to be human?

What if you could know anything you ever wanted?
What’s stopping you?

Light
by Ryan P. Kinney

There will be no more hiding
Not from the rhetoric
Not from the self-righteousness
Not from the lies we tell ourselves

Not from the guilt
Not from the pain
Or from the shame
Not from the anger
Or the happiness

Not from the us that never was
Not from our definitions of family or love

There will be no more hiding
Not from you
Not from myself
Not from life

We will be naked and bare
Ugly and beautiful
Out from under the covers
Out of control
And into the light

Cross My Heart
by Ryan P. Kinney

He awoke that morning feeling more alive than he had in years.
The usual good morning kiss with his wife turned into more.
She could see that old youthful magic in his eyes,
The kind that had outlasted his wrinkled, scarred face.

They made love like nothing had ever mattered.
He would be late to work this morning.
It was worth it.

As she made breakfast,
Humming that song he had not heard since their wedding
He caught sight of her curves,
Slyly slipping in and out of the folds of her robe
He remembered how much he loved that woman in his kitchen
And briefly considered an encore performance

He heard a door swing open
Creaking sharply under years of abuse
Tiny feet came thundering down the stairs

“How does such a little person step so loudly?”
“Dad!”
He turned,
Just in time to duck a Nerf dart sailing past his cheek

His son gave him a mischievous grin
And his wife rolled her eyes
As he reached under the table and pulled out his blaster
Launching three darts into his son’s forehead before he could raise his

His son flopped to the floor
“You got me. I’m dead.”
The cat walked over and licked his forehead
“Alright, I guess I’m alive,”
“The kitty gave me one of his lives.”
His son laughed and bounded into his seat, just as his wife handed him his coffee.

His first sip was like no other before.
If morning *** could be coffee,
That would be what he just stuck in his mouth.

She handed him a plate of eggs and potatoes
And a bowl of cereal to their son,
Kissing him on the forehead as she did
“Ewww, Mom!”

He had long since taught her the virtues of a good breakfast
Though she only ever ate a bagel
She was always happy to send him off to work with a full belly
Even more happy to send him off with more today
Even the eggs and potatoes tasted special
Like a little extra love had gone into them

“Love tastes like eggs and potatoes…”
He trailed off, biting into an empty fork.
His plate was empty.
He had devoured the entire meal while musing over silly thoughts.

His wife shot him a “job well done” grin
Then leaned in to kiss him
“You guys are weird,” their son said,
As he pulled out his chair,
Placed his bowl in the sink,
And went skipping upstairs

“He actually remembered to put his dishes in the sink,” said his wife.
He got up, and threw his arms around his wife,
Kissing the back of her neck
As he reached into her robe
She giggled, and handed him his lunch.
“Go to work,” she said.

He grabbed his lunch,
Yelled up the stairs,
And walked out the door

The car started on the first turn this morning.
He eased it into gear
And it glided gently out of the driveway.
“That’s much better.”

He couldn’t get the grin off his face as he drove
The sun had risen to greet him in a kaleidoscope of hues
He began picking out shapes in the color kissed clouds

There was a light breeze in the air
A calm comfortable spirit blew around him
With just a hint of the flavor of the impending autumn
Yet still not betraying the richness of summer

His eyes snapped out of the daydream
“Today is way too good to be wasted at work.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number he no longer had to look at the keypad for.
“Hello,” his wife answered”
“Honey, call our son into school. We’re doing something today.”
She paused for a minute and he expected a recrimination.
Instead, she just replied, “Something? Like what?”

“How about the beach?”
“We’ve lived two miles from the lake for years and have only gone twice”
“It’s time we stopped wasting what’s been given to us”

She paused again, then, “Ok.”

“Oh, and wear the bikini.”

She sighed, “That was not meant for outside the bedroom.”

“It’s Monday. Everyone else foolish enough to not call off are at work.”
“No one will see, except us.”
“Meet me there.”
He hung up before she has a chance to object.

An hour later, he was there.
He slammed the car door with a reassuring thud
Her car was here, but empty.
“They must already be in the sand.”
He took to the concrete path.

As he walked, toads hopped out of his way
Butterflies danced to a tune none, but they could hear around his head.
His every step sent a cascade of grasshoppers in every direction.

He finally reached the sand and kicked off his work boots into the weeds.
He scanned down the beach and picked out the outline of two people,
His wife and son.
As he thought, no one else was here.

His wife had already removed the tank top and shorts she’d normally hide behind.
She was wearing the red bikini he had gotten her for their last anniversary
Her body showed all the marks and scars of age, wisdom, and childbirth.
He couldn’t have loved any of those marks any more.
She had earned each one.

She caught sight of him and smiled that beautiful smile,
Then tapped their son on his shoulder,
Already engrossed in a sand castle
He looked up and took off running,
Barreling into his father.

The rest of the day whisked away in the blur of one who forgets that time is a measure for events we have to think about.
He and his wife worked muscles long past functioning properly.
He swam in his work uniform and when it became too heavy,
He cast it onto the beach and swam in his underwear.

While his wife prepared lunch,
His son and he built a sand castle taller than either of them
It was more like a mound than any recognizable structure,
But it was magnificent.

When the next wave came in and took half of the empire with it
They just laughed
And jumped in to finish the job

Lunch was PBnJ, a necessity for any day spent playing hooky.
They tasted of forgotten memories and a sun-warmed nostalgia,
That up until now had only left a bitter taste in his mouth

Lunch was quick,
As both boys hurried back to the water
Making sure to share plenty with Mom.

After a few hours, the sun began to sag
And their son began to droop on this father’s shoulder
He carried him back to the concrete path,
All three with irreplaceable smiles on their faces

Their son was nearly asleep before they came across the first toad
This time they just sat and watched.
The grasshoppers remained still and not a butterfly stirred.
Everyone sat silent in their seats,
Transfixed by the building chorus of crickets,
The melody growing richer as the sun sank into dusk

By the time they reached the parking lot, the frogs had added their amorous harmony.
All of nature had serenaded their son to sleep as they strolled.

He placed him in his wife’s car gently.
He looked at her and pulled her close,
His hands groping under the bikini.
She pulled away.
“I’ll see you at home,” she said.

“I love you,” he paused, “…both,” looking at his son.

She got in the car, started, and drove out of the parking lot.
He stayed there, watching her taillights fade into a magenta-orange curtain trailing the horizon.
Just before she vanished from sight, he caught her eyes watching him in the rearview mirror.
He waved,
Casually,
Slowly,
Until she was gone.

He got back in his car and closed the door.
The reddening sun was half gone
A deep blue was inching in slowly, closing around the falling orb
Pink, blue, purple, green
Every color of life was lavishly splattered across the sky,
As if color and beauty were so cheap that it could spilled everywhere,
Without a care.

The sunset was the same it was 20 years ago.
The day he left his parents
As he was driving the last load to his first taste of adult freedom,
He had stopped at this park
To bid farewell to the boy who spent so much time here.

Here he was again
Back with a new boy to give to the park.
The sunset that sent him to become a man was back to greet him once again.

“Today was perfect,” he said, as he slipped on his jacket.
“But, it’s time I woke up.”
He pulled a revolver from the jacket’s pocket
“I kept my promise.”
He pressed the muzzle to his chest.
“Cross my heart.............”

Snow Day
by Ryan P. Kinney

“God ******* ******.”
The car is stuck.
Forward or Reverse
The tires just spin,
Taunting me
White powder, fluffy on top, but thick and heavy at the bottom, is piled above the hood

“This ******* thing’s not going anywhere”
Now what?

Another of Ohio’s freak snow storms,
In April.
Winter’s one last *******,
A send-off, reminding us that he’ll be back

My cavalier is no match for several feet of snow
And I’m stuck two miles from home

I don’t usually mind the winter
I like the variety
I love the calm the white blankets bring
Silencing and hiding all the filth of our careless summer decadence
It’s a splendor I’ll never be able to create
A peace I will never know

But today,
Winter’s ******* me
Please, just not today
April 25th
Her day

I glance around
I left my phone at home too
I didn’t want to hear from anyone
No one telling me, “It’ll be ok.”

I have to get out of here
I can’t sit here
Winter’s trying to stop me
Slow me down
Nothing stops me,
Catches me
If I stop, I think
The cold catches up with me
I catch up with myself

I click on my flashers
“I guess I’m walking.”

I open the door and immediately am assaulted by a frigid gust
I crunch into the snow and realize,
Water Resistant does not mean Water Proof

I close the door with a loud thud,
Look ahead,
And resign myself to a miserable walk,
Hoping that the angered flush in my face keeps me warm

I begin walking,
One step at a time
My head is cast to the ground
Each time I try to look up,
My head gets knocked right back down

My mind wanders to the scheduled routine of the day.
“I’m not making it to work”

I look back at my car
The door I just slammed is already buried
In a few minutes all that will be left is a couple of blinking lights,
Fading into the background

I remember how much I used to love snow days as a kid
Now it just means I could lose my job
I’ve been on thin ice for the last year
My work has suffered
My heart is not in it anymore
My heart is not in anything or anyone anymore

I just don’t care
The only reason I’m still there is a desperate need to cling to something stable
Something,
Anything,
The house that she left me with
That car,
That thing that represented freedom since I was 16
When I first asked her to be mine
Which is now a rusting death trap,
Stagnant and immobile on this wasteland road in the middle of nowhere

I wouldn’t be surprised if my job wasn’t already drafting my termination letter
How the hell am I going to pay my mortgage?
Or for that car I apparently need?

A violent artic chill hits me in the chest
Penetrating my jacket
And blowing right through me
Trying to rob me of any warmth I have left
“Tough luck, ya *******. You won’t find much there.”

I look where I’ve been again,
Following the chill with my eyes
My car is long since gone,
A memory, hidden beneath a curtain of iridescence
My footprints disappear the moment I make them
Any evidence of my every struggle
Gone before I can make another move

Before me is an unpainted canvas of nothing
A void, so much more ominous than the blackness of night
The white,
The light
Promises more than it ever has to offer
She’s a cruel lover
Who will let you in
Expand into your pupils,
Make you think you are seeing for the very first time
She will explode into your mind
And fill you with the euphoria of hope

But, it’s a lie
She wipes the slate clean
And decides,
This canvas was never meant to be painted on.
At least, not by me

Better to have the black.
It may hide all the horrors and fears of childhood
But, it’s honest
It never offers false altruistic promises
Sure, it’s a mask
But, no more than my own face
Pretending that it does not crack in the mirror

My steps are getting harder now
Ice has encased my work boots
My toes have long since ceased any feeling
And my face stings with every gust

I can only inch forward,
One foot at a time,
With every ounce of my will

Religion says, it is in these times
When Jesus walks with you
(or whatever deity)
My footprints vanish before I can make them
I certainly see no others beside me
Even he gave up trying to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders
Atlas shrugged,
And all I got were two broken vertebrae

“Why the hell am I still trying?”
“Nothing I do makes a difference”
“Come and get me now,
I’M HERE.” I scream

If Kubrick could see me now,
His little cockroach would be laughing it’s *** off
At the futility of this scene.

A single tear slides down my check
Warm and harsh against the bitter cold
I haven’t been able to cry since she left
Just numb,
So cold…
Void of anything, but hurt

I take a deep breathe
That hurts too
I can’t remember what it’s like not to hurt

I’m still plodding on
One foot in front of the other
One step at a time
Each moment takes an eternity to feel

I should just let go
And fall

When the thaw comes
They’ll find an empty car
With its lights flashing
And an even emptier person
With no light left in him

Why did she do this to me?
Why the **** am I always left alone?
Why am I always so ******* cold?

A salty torrent begins to burn my face
Mucous slides into a week’s worth of stubble

I can’t do this.

As I say this,
Feel this,
Finally feel anything…
I slow
The weight in my heart getting heavier with every step

I’m still moving

In the distance,
Partially shrouded in a cascade of flurries
I begin to make out something of familiarity;
My driveway
Behind it I see my porch,
And a maroon door
My home finally comes into view
The lights are still on

An Argument with Myself
(aka Identity Crisis)
by Ryan P. Kinney

I can’t do this anymore
I’m manic with kleptomaniacy issues
At 31, my body is beginning to betray my spirit
Age is catching up to me with a vengeance
I have a broken spine, a *** knee, carpal tunnel, and “significant” bone loss in my jaw
And…

Will you please shut the **** up?
You are a whiny little ****

Your back may be broken, but you’re not spineless
I’ve seen you stand straight and tall, even when it hurt
Nothing has ever stopped you from moving
A bad knee isn’t either
Bone loss in your jaw?
That won’t stop you from saying your piece

Who are you?

I’m that cocky super ego phallus replacement you drag around
…6 inches….
From the ground.

I know you
You’re that impulsiveness that gets me in trouble
The one that tells me to just do it
Stop thinking
The one that smashes my intuition and forethought like a raging Hulk
You are the Manic Hammer

I don’t like you very much

Nah, You love me
You just don’t know it yet

You know I hurt the one’s I love
I have more scars than ****** skin
Nothing of me is untainted anymore
I’m all alone

You are not alone
You are swimming in a sea of people

But there’s not a drop to drink

No one has everything you need
Drink of pieces of each person
And you will have more than you ever need.

I’ve lost so much
So many people
Two hearts
One is gone forever
The other,
I feel her slipping away

Yeah, but you held them both for awhile
It’s like the gods trying to hold the stars
Sometimes, even they get burned

Besides, you held onto the first for a long time
Even if she wanted it back
The other one is still playing tug of war with you
You’ll just have to pull harder

I’ve been used up, beaten, and ****** over pretty hard

Remember those times you were ****** hard.
Most of the time, you loved it

I don’t know who I am anymore
What I’m supposed to be
I am stuck,
stopped,
stagnant.

You are Ryan
That used to mean something in this **** town

I’m the one who’s kept you moving
Kept you alive
I kept you from pulling the trigger
Or digging in the knife
When Lisa left you in pieces
I put you back together

But, you hurt me as much as you help me

And you are as pathetic as you are courageous
You are stronger than you think
I should know,
I’m you

I have credit card debt greater than the value of both my cars
Because I’m addicted to stuff
Stuff stays, people leave
I hate the tedium of work
But can’t survive in our capitalist conglomerate without it

You work to get yourself to a better place
You’ll come back as many times as it takes
You’re not the only one dreaming of getting out of there
Just the only one with an escape plan

I cut my arms
(More like scratches
Because I’m too chicken **** to go any deeper)
Just to get attention
Hoping someone would notice and ask about my arms

No one did

Someone did.
But she is just as broken as you
And has no idea where to put your pieces
Or even to ask where they go

Sometimes, I just want to die

Really, Death?
That ******* has been on your heels since the day your mom popped you out
Are you really going to let him win that easily?
Yeah, he’ll catch you eventually
But you’ll give him the run of your life

And my family,
Jesus, they ****
One big curse of genetic white trash pretending to be middle class
Thanks Mom, for teaching me to steal
Thanks Dad, for giving up on yourself
Thanks Shawn…
Wait, Who the **** are you anyways?
Thanks for giving me no foundation for a family I can belong to, love, or even care about

Yeah, your family *****
You got me there
But they don’t define you
You do

Your mom taught you crime
But you learned how to survive on your own
Your Dad gave up on himself
But you learned to never give up
Your brother, well,
He’s the you you could be if you keep up all this *******, whining, and self-pity

And, don’t lie to yourself
You care about them
Even when they don’t
They are another piece of you
It does not matter if you like them
There is some home in that broken mess
No matter how bad you **** up
They will never judge you
They’ve done worse

As for a family you can belong to, love, and care about
You have a son

I have no idea what to do with a kid
I’m still a kid, aren’t I?

Nope, you aged,
Whether you like it or not

I don’t want to grow up

You don’t have to
Not entirely
But you do have to be a man

How?

You’ll figure it
The same way you always do.
Trial and error

I’ve been fighting this for so long
Alone
I can’t anymore
I have nothing left to fight with

You have them
You are not alone anymore
Ask them for help
You’re going to have to trust

I don’t know if I can do that
I’ve never done that
I don’t even trust you,
Myself

She loves you because she loves your son
She loves that piece of your combined hearts
Trust in that.
Have faith.

I don’t have that either

She’ll teach you

She’ll find you.
I need to protect her from you

You’re never fully yourself
You never let them meet me
It’s no wonder you always feel alone

You are a thief!

So are you

I don’t want to be you

I’m coming through no matter what
The more you wear this mask of innocence
The guiltier we both become

I don’t want to be a Kinney

You want to make that name mean something
You have that chance.
There’s a brand new Kinney

I’m scared
What if letting her know about us scares her away?
What if it costs me my son?

I’m here with you, always
She will be too
But only if she knows all of us
The piece you are giving her isn’t enough
It wasn’t enough for Lisa

You’re going to have to accept me
We have to work together
She has to know
You can’t taint her anymore with our lies

I…I…

No,
US.

Now, get the **** up
Be a man
There’s a little boy out there looking for one.

Half Life
by Ryan P. Kinney

Welcome to the digital age.
Where man’s best friend is Internet ****
And a woman’s only friend is her *******.

We’ve traded a heartbeat for an electronic pulse.
Blips and bleeps in an imagined humanity.
Forgetting that living means leaving the house.
And that sandals and boxer shorts are not formal wear.

We live in the information age
Full disclosure is no longer optional
We are sharing information.
We are contributing to the death of the self.
Or are we finally mastering intelligence?

There is an epidemic of inaction
Entropied Progress
The mobius sloth slides down into its own gluttony
And I just want to have *** with someone who is still alive

Have you seen the latest episode of Walking Dead or Breaking Bad?
Have you looked in the mirror?
Reality shows?
Who’s reality?

We are social creatures
And social control is how you keep the pigs in their pen
Until it’s time to offer us up as sacrifice at the altar of decadence

We willingly give them our intelligence
Our spirit
For another video game
Another TV show
That promises a better reality
See it all in HD
While we dubstep to our doom
Up Jacob’s Ladder
Built out of the 15 minute prophets

Sell me another artificially derived addiction
Masquerading as sustenance
Trading them like baseball cards
Tell me how much I need it
Need you
Preach it with the fear of the unorthodox on Fox News
While everyone’s getting high on your life

Televangelist CEOs
Sell us the next salvation
The anarchists are screaming,
“Legalize it.”
And the stoners aren’t helping

The half-life of modernization guarantees that if enough of our individuality decays
There ceases to be anything worth calling human

Analog Man
by Ryan P. Kinney

I am the analog man
Do not give me your zeros and ones
Black and whites
I'll take a red two any day

Old fashioned old school
All chivalry and filth
That mars the scars
Customized dirt
Nothing is written in stone yet
(or in the dirt)

I wear these glasses,
This fraud,
As armor,
A filter
Against that which I am forced to see

I am not in or out
Black or white
I am live in TECHNICOLOR
Excited electrons
Ebbing and flowing
From the extremes of existence

I do not fit the pattern
Nor am I a predictable algorithm
Put your garbage in me
You will not get garbage out
I will turn and twist
Create while destroying
And shine your **** into my gold

I will thrive off of what is wrong with this world
And make your leavings better than you ever were

This One’s Mine
by Ryan P. Kinney

I could tell something was wrong from the moment I saw her. The usual vibrancy that I find so irresistible was replaced with fear and doubt.
“Go look in your bathroom,” she said.
Laying on the counter I saw it. In our over-litigious world the blue donut no longer proclaims the news.
Just one simple word.
“PREGNANT”

I was immediately ****** into the eddy of doubt that plagued my accidental lover.
We had to be sure. So she made an appointment for the coming Tuesday to verify our fears. I anticipated that day with great anxiety. I needed to know, to create a solid path to follow. But the day came with no resolve. The doctor cancelled at the last minute. Life was torturing me for the sin of corrupting Erin’s innocence.
What I feared more than anything was the uncertainty. I’ve always feared it more than death itself. Death is going to happen. It’s inevitable. While I cannot anticipate the when I can try to prepare for it. Uncertainty gives me no straws to grasp at. Nothing to get ready for. Nothing to control, to steer, or get my bearings.

Nonetheless a week later our suspicions were confirmed. The depth charge known as a baby had been detonated into my life. My emotions became chaotic shrapnel, cutting shards into my every thought and confidence.
In those early stages my mind was a flurry of fret. My brain conceived every outlandish scenario: from adoption to challenging for sole custody. Only occasionally would a rational thought throw a life-saver into the churning murk of my thoughts:
“You survived Lisa, Ryan.”
“You will survive this.”

My first difficulty was Erin. She has been a conundrum between my word and my nature since I fell in love with her. For one symbolized by fire it is in my nature to burn that which I hold closest. But my word, the mock chivalry, deceives me into trusting that I will do what is best.
I loved her, I hurt her. A little over a year after I first picked the lock to her chastity I had left a time bomb in her life. No matter how little commitment she wanted from me, she would now be linked to me for the rest of her life.
And while it is undignified, assinine, and unbefitting The Phoenix, the human portion of my soul affixed misplaced blame, then shifted to lament and anger...
“You should have known better. You played with one born of fire and we both got burned.”
“Why was I never good enough for you?”
“My life was finally going in a direction I wanted it and now this comes to **** everything up.”
Angry more at myself but blaming Erin, I sought revenge on my life through self-pity and self-destruction. I desperately sought the affection of a woman I hadn’t corrupted. Yet, I was still afraid to corrupt another with my desperation. Eventually, I came full circle. It took both of us to create this child. It will take both of us to continue creating him. Although we may never be one, our unity will still exist in our son. It will have to be enough.

However, there was another storm on the horizon. And its name was Kinney.
My family is a curse, who it is my responsibility to love. No one else can understand them. They don’t even love themselves very well. Ours is a family where dysfunction is the only way we function. It’s like some unsolvable, incomprehendable equation that must still exist if the fundamental laws of reality are to hold true. No one else should have to take this taint of Kinney upon them. Yet someone now does, one poor mother and a marked child.
I am sorry that you both will have to share the blight of Kinney.
And, so very, VERY proud of that.
There is a twisted pride in surviving the curse of the Kinney. This survival is a quest to turn all that dysfunction into unyielding potential, of creating something beautiful from all the filth. Is it any wonder that I fought so hard with Erin to ensure that the label “Kinney” was somewhere in my son’s name? Another son to carry on the sullied name, another to try to make it mean something. The mark of Kinney is my stamp of selfish pride in having created something from nothing, my greatest art project.

Initially, the reward of my child felt as though I had been sentenced to 18 to life. I had reached a point in my life where I was ready to move on from Erin. I lamented something as trivial as the loss of my love life. My whole life was soon to belong to someone else. Control of my existence has shifted, seemingly overnight, from the culmination of my experiences to a little person not even half-formed yet. A deadline had been placed on my youth.

Slowly, acceptance began to quell the hurricane of emotions and uncertainty turned into certain doom. I began to make plans. In true “Ryan” fashion I looked to the future. It was time to get to work.
My anticipated son gave my dreams a sense of urgency, a deadline. A series of shelved, unfinished art projects burst into an organized chaos of activity. My art studio was erected in four months. A room full of storage was converted into an actual room. My most personal space, my bedroom, has always undergone radical changes each time my personal mindscape must radically change. It, like my life, was incomplete. It now better reflected the man I wanted to become; chaotic, nuanced, lived-in; not the man whose most brilliant pieces lay hidden in boxes. My entire foundation, which my home had become since the last foundation was shattered, underwent and is still undergoing major baby renovations. It is time I made room for someone else in my life.

To the beautiful mother of my son, who I will always love if for no other reason than she gave me this new life, I say this:

“Just as fire breeds we too shall watch our little spark explode into life. We will guide, tend, and fuel. It will be our job to give the energy of the universe form and function. The fires of a phoenix and the faith of a believer burn within our child. As Blessid Union of Souls says, “Love will find a way.” Ours will find its way into our child. I love you Erin, but I will love our child more.”

I remain full of doubts and insecurities  in my life as one self will end when our child is born. Born of con artists and addicts, this cliché haunts me, “Can I do it right?” The only promise I can make is that the world will never be the same. The Phoenix is drawing to a close. The latest manifestation of Ryan, The AntiFather shall rise from its ashes, bearing, like all spent phoenixes, new life.

As I enter this new chapter in my life I have one thing left to express:

Of all the people it could have been with, of all the doubters and underestimaters, all the possibilities, potentials, mistakes, and failures. For all my incessant ramblings, babblings, worries, and obsessions. To the world in which I bring my son, I say this,

“******* *****, this one’s mine.”

The Phoenix
(To Love and Lose Part 2)
by Ryan Kinney

It started with a broken heart. Through the crack seeped liquid fire. It engulfed me, burning away all that I was. The flames shall purify me. Boil me down to my base components, and then rebuild me. From the ashes will rise a new entity.

Who am I?

Following my divorce I began an identity quest dubbed The Phoenix. It is my own personal trial by fire. Fire is the essence of life itself. As it destroys it also creates. I will create a new life from the remnants of my former, a persona not defined by another.

Chapter 1-The Quest

Depression and Suicide
“…my life before you was very chaotic and unstable. You were the stability I needed and the foundation on which I built my life.  I never doubted that you would always be there for me. You were my rock. Of all the people that had disappointed me you never let me down. Yet you did, You pulled the rug out from under me without warning and the foundation upon which I built my entire life crumbled…” –email correspondence to Lisa; Nov. 21, 2008

It took four months to undo ten years of my life. A debilitating depression overwhelmed me. I never saw anything in my life, but Lisa. What did I have left without her? What would I do? Darkness clouded my heart.

A rusty blade in my hand. A message in blood written on the broken mirror.
I lay in the tub, leaking crimson life. In my haze I barely make out the words.
What does my final message to the world say? I cannot remember why it hurt so much.
In a few minutes it won’t matter anymore. What the hell did I write?
I can only think of one thing that torments me enough to drive me to this darkness.
Trailing down in letters, clotting on the wall…
“I loved you.”

This revolving drama played on a loop in my mind. I was lost, a walking corpse. All I felt was cold hollowness.
“All that is left is emptiness, an empty house, an empty soul.”-journal excerpt; Oct. 6, 2008
I so badly just wanted the hurt to stop. In my tunnel vision existence I was oblivious to those whose hearts bled for mine. All my substance and passion was gone. Lisa took my heart with her and left nothing inside. Without her my existence seemed meaningless. The cloaked figure smiled, offering me the almost irresistible temptation of sweet release.
“Do I give in to the darkness? Let it consume me”-journal excerpt
Ultimately, though, there came a day when I awoke from the fog. I was living outside myself watching this unknown drone on a worthless trek. One phrase finally broke through the shell.
“What a waste!”
The Phoenix was born in that moment. The match was struck to light the way on the difficult road to recovery.
“The pieces of my soul are on the floor for everyone to trample on.”-journal excerpt; Oct. 6, 2008
I was in over my head. I needed help. A therapist helped at first, but the relationship quickly cheapened because I was essentially paying for a friendship. Antidepressants proved to work too well. I have a manic level of natural intensity. Lexapro ignited fireworks inside my brain. Both, however, gave me the nudge I needed to help myself. Eventually, I grew beyond the need for crutches. A previously unrecognized army of supporters each lent their kindling to the fires. One day at a time I battled my inner demons until I was ready to accept happiness again.
“You will be amazed on how much of the original Ryan is back. Why? Because I'm over my depression about change because something I feared more came to fruition.  I lost you.  I'm doing my best to survive from that, but my past fears now seems trivial and meaningless in comparison.”-email correspondence to Lisa; Sept. 8, 2009

Denial and Desperation
“Run, Run away Ryan. Open another book, turn on the TV, surf the Net. Delve into your fantasies and escape reality. It’s how you survived your childhood…”-journal excerpt; Oct. 2, 2008
The cracks in my facade were beginning to show. I shielded myself in delusions. I lied to myself to soften the full scope of Lisa’s betrayal. I more than lied. I was absolutely sure. I trusted her with my life. I trusted a lie. I was living a lie. I betrayed myself more than she ever did. The realizations came in shards, each piece punching holes in my heart.
I wallowed in self-pity and desolation.
I yearned so badly to feel some warmth, anybody’s warmth.

The New Girls
Upon Lisa’s departure I sought to quench my loneliness in the convenient woman around me. For a moment’s time, they took pity on me.
Rebound-I immediately sought solace in the arms of a good friend. She’s always shown me nothing but love and idolization. I was ashamed for disrespecting her and our friendship. I knew full well that our brief encounters were all that would ever be between us.
Crazy Chick-She was a brute of a woman, yet conversely, very maternal and comforting. She had a unique talent for forcefully ripping out my raw emotions, breaking through the masks. As she said, though, “I’m not Lisa.” Pathetically, that’s exactly what I wanted.
One Night Stand-ups-Several brief encounters fed my addiction for attention. Like a ****** with a needle, my appetite grew. Desperation was becoming my scarlet letter.
“…but it did seem that the thing we are most proud of and the thing we are most ashamed of are but the front and the back of the same coin. They torture and thrill all at once.”-Grotesque; Natsuo Kirino
I felt guilty and *****, yet loved for but an instant. These experiences were very cathartic. I had completely lost the ability to cry, feel pain, rage, or joy. They were the prefect drug, just so that I may feel again. Without these women to reopen the wounds, the numbness would have consumed me.
“Every angel has a little devil inside them.”-Manda; 2009
What attracted me to these women was mock chivalry. Each had their own “hard luck” story. So ingrained in me is the comic book ideal of heroism that I constantly seek to rescue the damsel in distress. Women will always be my kryptonite. However, as Crazy Chick put it, “ When is it time for you to be rescued?” The divine irony is, it was they who saved me.
It too, was not to last. A long period of isolation followed, as the women grew tired of babysitting me. Another lie to myself, a band-aid on a wound desperately needing stitches.

The Crush
Hers was the first light I allowed to pierce the darkness. She did more to heal me than any who said, “Yes.” Her secret, she said, “No.”
It has always been my curse to be eternally misunderstood and underestimated. I could see her scars bled the same as mine, although hers had begun to clot long ago. I am attracted to those who have a depth chiseled by adversity.
I identified with her. Her intelligence far exceeded my own, an Einstein in a circus. My eyes saw straight to her soul, seeing only the gorgeous woman she was on the inside. My friends would point out my eyes would sparkle whenever I spoke of her.
Yes, I loved her, but only in transition. We came from different worlds, but met as wounded soldiers on the battlefield. She was the catalyst to open my eyes. A sweet smile for my shredded soul.
“A worn beaten heart trapped in by bars.” From “Painless” by Tracy Reed
She held the key to my self-imposed imprisonment. My growing frustration with her opened the door for my transformation. For all her grace, all her amazing potential, she was wasting away in the same feeding trough as me.
“You can do better.”
Then it hit me…
“I can do better!”
I began to rebuild my empire. My never-queen rejected me…
I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The Emotional Spectrum
“Stuck in a prison of abstract ideas and overpowering emotions.”-Zach; mypsace blog
Shock
1) ‘I don’t love you anymore.”
2) Letter…”I can’t wait until my divorce is over!”
3) Ryan-“So I guess this means we’re getting a divorce.”
Lisa-“Well, yeah. You knew that.”
4) “Ryan, they’re together, and have been.”
5) “I’m moving out.”
6) “By the State of Ohio, I hereby grant this dissolution.”-Judge; Dec. 30, 2008

Six bullets to my heart, six separate, devastating phrases that brought about Armageddon. I gave her a decade of my meager existence, nearly half my life. She threw me away like garbage, and couldn’t have been happier.

Fear
As the gun smoke drifted, I clutched my breast. I was frozen in horror that I’d lose myself along with her. Fear, you see, was the beginning of the end for our marriage.
I never dealt well with change. When we bought our house, the combat that ensued left me crippled. I ultimately built myself into a comfort zone again. “I don’t know what I want to do” was always an excuse for me. I lay stagnant and complacent with no true purpose or direction.
It was Lisa that first took action. She sought to elevate us from the ranks of lower middle class into which we were born. I fought her, determined to lay docked in the doldrums. “Leave me alone in my bubble.” I made attempts, but with each failure became depressed. She became frustrated and took matters into her own hands. It is obvious she loved me then. She worked effortlessly to give us a better life.
I was blind to the truth and in time Lisa lost sight of her motives. She plodded on, mechanically, no longer sure of why. She drove herself to extreme exhaustion, afraid, that if she stopped, for even a moment, she’d realize it was all for naught. She lost faith in our combined, bright vision.
So, she did the only thing she knew how. She ran away, straight to another as miserable as her. She kept running, further and further, taking greater risks. All just to not have to feel her own hollowness.
She left and my phobia ended there. What followed was a newfound fear. “I don’t know what I want to do” became “What the hell do I do?” I was afraid I was doomed to be alone the rest of my life.

Sadness
“Are you ok?”
“We’re worried about you.”
“How are you, Ryan?”…

“MISERABLE!”-Ryan

I always speak the truth. I’ve never felt so surrounded and alone in all my life.

Anger
“Like koi in a ***** pond, you can see your rage barely hiding below the surface.”-Erin Kompik
The most intense rage fueled The Phoenix. I lashed out at everything. Everyone was burned. I was ******* and the world would pay. The spectacle burned so bright it threatened to eradicate all that I was.
“I can feel bitterness and anger coming. I am fighting for control over the anger”-journal excerpt; Oct. 1, 2008
“The seams in my heart leak nothing, but hostility.”-journal excerpt; Oct. 6, 2008
“I’ve become a monster. I once loved someone so hard I would die for her. Now all I can feel is scorn and hate. My heart is twisted and black. I fear I will become the bitter man my father is. I hate myself for being so.”-journal excerpt; Sept. 30, 2008
Who was I so angry with? For all the hurt I felt from Lisa, I was most angry at myself. How could I let this happen? How could I have been so blind? My blood boiled as I berated myself. The loss I suffered left my heart festering with hatred, as nothing but fire and volatility overtook it.
“The red light of rage is violent action without consideration of consequence. It is uncontrollable. So I will unleash it.”-Final Crisis, Rage of the Red Lanterns
Then, the root of another anger broke through the fury.
“I know that you may not see it now, but time really will heal these wounds.”-Michelle Kinney
She was right. I had absolved myself of my original rage. I had forgiven her. I could forgive myself. I couldn’t be held responsible for another’s irresponsibility. The anger dissipated into the smoke. It left behind a few flickers, but I’ll not extinguish them yet. I still have a use for that rage.
“Do not be afraid to expose the darkness. Only by bringing it to the light can it ever truly be resolved.”-audio journal excerpt; Aug. 16, 2009

Love and Happiness
During my marriage, hers was the only love I let myself feel. Then, she took it with her when she left. I felt scorned and unwanted, a refuse of human waste.
I was wrong. I am a man that seeks love as an end all for my existence. Lisa unlocked my caged heart. Over the next decade I cultivated relationships with countless individuals. There was more love in my life than I ever realized. They were there when she wasn’t. My parents sacrificed everything to give me a life and family they never had. Lisa’s family had become my permanent family. She divorced me. I did not divorce them. All my friends gave all they could. Even my harsh enemies stepped off the battlefield, for they understood the casualties of this war. All of them, a shining sea of compassion, poured their hearts into mine. Their light overcame the darkness. When I finally crawled out of the pit, they got me to my feet.
“For them, I must continue.”-Naoko Takeuchi
I had to be strong. I owed it to them to survive. They gave me their love to fill in my missing pieces. For all I had been given, I could never give up or give in.
“I am meant for greatness. I am meant for happiness, for joy, for me.”-Zach; myspace blog

Chapter 2-Evolution

Picking up the Pieces
“I need to be out there.
Living.
Looking for my own life…
I need to open my mouth.
I need to be heard.
I need to live.
You’re gone…
I’m not.”
-Goth Girl Rising; Barry Lyga.
It was time to rebuild that which had been broken. My life was fragmented chaos. I needed an order to the chaos, or more to my tastes, organized chaos; anarchy with purpose. I learned to become a master strategist. The civil war I waged on myself demanded a general.
STEP 1-Stabalize finances.
My pact with the devil to keep my beloved home required emptying the coffers completely. How delicious the irony that I wound up working the same long weeks as Lisa.  Hard work and sacrifice were absolute necessities if I was ever to afford to live again. It was Lisa that taught me that. The only difference, I must never lose sight of why. Money is not the reason for existence. I simply needed enough to achieve my goals.
“Money is nothing.  It is an imaginary concept.  Its only value is what we put into it.  While often a necessary evil to survive, it is not important.  The only possession of true value is time.”- The Most Valuable Possession; 2009
STEP 2-Tear down the Mausoleum.
My home had become a testament to a dead marriage. Lisa’s five day moving notice threw a grenade into my living space. It was disheveled and disorganized. It was no longer Ryan and Lisa’s. I had to reclaim it as my own. Out of respect for our past, I kept a few pieces of Lisa as a constant reminder. I will never forget where I’ve been.
“Your spirit helped build this place and it still flows through its walls.”-email correspondence to Lisa; Nov. 21, 2008
Physically putting my environment in order likewise put my mind into an order. As I rebuilt my home, it became the new foundation for my life. The Phoenix had a place to perch.
STEP 3-Know Happiness again.
“I seem to find that my great periods of change, evolution, and growth precede an ultimate betrayal from someone I’ve let close to my heart. Is survival mode the only way I can fuel my passion? Where do I find the love that ignites my will, yet does not drive me to complacency?”-audio journal; Aug 13, 2009
The answer, I needed to love myself again. I could not rely on someone else to complete me. I had to become independent, to be ok with being alone. I deserved to be happy, to be loved, above all, by myself.
This was going to be hard.

Breaking Codependency
Not having another physical body in the house left a void. Without another heartbeat close to mine, I stopped sleeping at night. My appetite was lost and I started shedding pounds. With my depression receding, I awoke to find I was living in a desolate wasteland. What would I do in this solitary confinement?
Utilizing survival skills my mother taught me, I used it. Ever the artist, I took the pieces and created an existence. Then I improved it, again and again. Loneliness is a disease that attacks only if you let it. I had to learn to accept myself, before I could expect anyone else to. I used the loneliness to redefine and rediscover myself. I would not rely on anyone to do for me. My honor and respect for my loved ones demanded I do for myself. The stifling quiet, the sleepless nights taught independence. The silence used to frustrate and anger me. Now, I use it for peaceful reflection and meditation. Th

To Love and Lose

Once upon a time…
There lived a shy little boy and a chatty little girl. Though the two lived really close they never knew each other. That was until one day, the girl entered high school. They met for the first time on the school bus. The boy eavesdropped on her and for the first time spoke to her. Although she was especially irritated, the boy responded. It was with those words that a lifelong love blossomed…
“You love me, you just don’t know it yet.”
Through the many trials and errors of high school life they grew together. And so, They lived happily ever after.

Or so I thought. Life is not the fairy tale I made it out to be. August 2008, my angel flew away. The woman I loved for ten years of my life lost faith in the power of love. More importantly she lost faith in me. What follows is my most honest recollection of the end of the era of Ryan and Lisa.

When I first met Lisa, I was little more than a persistent annoyance. Gradually, “like a fungus,” I grew on her. She was my first friend, whom I had met at 15. That little boy desperately yearned for love, and she accepted. We became inseparable throughout high school. She even graduated early to keep pace with me. Ultimately, due to my growing family dysfunction and her desire to widen the gap she felt between her parents we moved out on our own. Truly, we demanded our freedom to leave behind the stains of childhood.
Our apartment years were far from a nirvana. My darkness and her porcelain demeanor fought many battles. Moving beyond, we asked, “What next?” Purchasing a home seemed the obvious answer. Unfortunately our American dream was in the hands of Judas the Contractor. It did not go well and stress always marred our relationship.
All was not war, however. We loved as hard as we fought. Shortly after buying the home we were married. We were ever confident in our ability to weather any storm. It took 3 long years, but the house issues eventually settled.
With the tumultuous waves settled to a peaceful reflection Lisa was left with a void. “What will I do with the rest of my life?” Waitressing was not the solution. Then, one day, in the midst of her woeful exile, her answer walked in and sat down at her table.

“This is it!” “This is what I want to be!”
Her epiphany was a chatty RN munching assembly line breadsticks. The next piece was a friendly pair of regulars. Tom and Colleen were in their 50s and never had children. When they learned of Lisa’s mission they instantly adopted her. They constantly tipped outrageously to help fulfill her goals.

Meanwhile, I was stagnant. I was content with enjoying my home. I couldn’t understand why Lisa wouldn’t relax and enjoy what we built. I also had a crippling fear of change stemming from a vicious cycle of depression and guilt. Depression from a series of unsuccessful jobs. Guilt from inadequacy, feeling as though I couldn’t be the man Lisa deserved. Once Lisa had realized her ambition, she began pressuring me to utilize my vast potential. I was lost. The home and “happy” marriage was more than I ever had imagined. What more could there be?
Then, Colleen grew ill. She developed Alzheimer’s disease. Lisa had recently completed her STNA license certification as a mini trial for nursing. Lisa had embraced Tom and Colleen as surrogate parents, feeling a closeness to them she was unable to with hers. She became Colleen’s caregiver. Between Colleen, school, and serving, it meant 100 mph weeks and very little sleep. The stress and exhaustion weighed heavily on her.
A new civil war began. I tried relentlessly to get her to take her school and work slower. Slow was not in her vocabulary. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t share her vigor for a pursuit of my own. I was clueless and feared what new horrors change would bring. She misunderstood my concern for her welfare as denying her independence. In the war of hearts, I was quickly losing ground.

April 25th, 2008-Lisa’s 25th Birthday, her “Other Mother”, Colleen died. I didn’t realize it yet, but as I carried the casket my marriage was tethered to it. As the dirt went over, the fuse was lit, and the countdown began.
As the two who loved her most, Tom and Lisa fell into a deep depression. Both began drinking heavily…
“More and more just to get through the day, more and more just to feel okay.”
Lisa still worked 70 hrs weeks (now at a nursing home) as well as attend school full time. Often she didn’t come home. A gnawing sense of dread and paranoia washed over me. Not for a suspicion between them, but for her safety.
However, the world progressed as though nothing was amiss. Soon, it was nearing Lisa’s entry into the Nursing Program. I could not longer fight working a second job and begrudgingly accepted a position with her. Our proximity only increased the mounting tension. The cracks in our armor were beginning to show.
Finally the bomb went off and my world crumbled to pieces. The last week of July, following another fight I demanded to know the root issue. I received the answer I never wanted to hear…
“I don’t love you anymore.”
After a three day absence she returned home. However, that night I found an incomplete letter to Tom that finished, “I can’t wait until my divorce is over.” After pulling the arrow from my heart I immediately woke her. Without a word and in a panicked rush, she got in her car and drove out of my life.

The end was a series of saddening and maddening clichés…
“Couple gets married too young.”
“Woman chooses career over love.”
“Mourners seek solace in each others arms.”
“Man falls for wife’s nurse.”
“Woman pities sorrowful widow.”
“DIVORCE!”
Etc., ad nauseam.

Upon Lisa’s departure I feel into a black hole. Carelessness is not in my nature. I feel everything. For the first few weeks I was dead. Frequently, I contemplated finishing the act. Depression waxed and waned as the uncertainty of our finality wavered. I pleaded for help.
My journey taught me this…
When you’re sinking, in over your head, reaching out for someone to help, no one will come. You have to drop the arm seeking pity and use it to pull yourself from the muck. The climb out of the pit is a solitary journey. It’s only when you’re back on your feet that you notice all that stood around you. They are powerless to help, only watch as you cried and flailed, their hearts cut by the shards of yours. They are there to dust you off and stand you up, but never to pull you out. Only you must do that. My fear of change ended there. That which I feared most had come to pass. I survived; scarred, yet alive.

I describe my life as a learning process. Lisa’s life can best be described as a frenzied quest to prove something to no one. What does she have to prove? I always knew she was worthy of loving. She cannot trust anyone, therefore cannot trust herself. In the pursuit of her blind ambitions she sacrifices everything and everyone. When complete she feels lost and confused, until her next futile crusade. She is a soldier without a war. Her “self” is defined by her monochromatic goals. She puts so much of herself into them that there’s nothing left inside. She’s destroying herself from the inside out. Decay in a pretty wrapper.
When Lisa was a child she suffered an extremely traumatic experience. She never told her parents, the chasm between them seemingly insurmountable. It left her feeling sullied and insignificant. Since then, she has desperately tried to prove worth noticing. The child within her cries out, “Please pay attention to me. I need help.”
This inadequacy bled into our life. She is incapable of accepting death, instead diluting her sorrow with an obsession, fixation, or addiction. Her confidence in any decision is brittle at best. She views our marriage as universal shackles, keeping greatness just out of her reach.
However, I must also stand trial for my sins. On several occasions I did show her violence. No blacks eyes or broken bones, but that’s hardly a justification. Each morning I wake alone the weight of this guilt bares down on me. Lisa caught a glimpse of my dark side and it scared her away.

What lingers of my love for Lisa? I won’t hide that I harbor some hostility. Ultimately, though, I will forgive her. Beneath all the rage and guilt, denial and anxiety, I just want her to be happy. I owe her my life, now it’s time I gave hers back. I can never deny the light she inspired in me. She gave me a gift and moved on. As it is frequently said and not understood…
“If you truly love someone, set them free.”
What is true love, anyways? True love is giving all that you have and letting her leave with it. True love is letting go when all you want to do is hold on. It is not dismantling her dreams simply because you’re no longer part of them. Sadly, Love is all too often, a dead language.

As the dust settles, What remains of my life? Our love lies with Colleen now, a wonderful woman who had a huge impact on an impressive array of people. I still trust in the power of love. Now, I stand at a crossroads. For the last decade of my life my entire identity has been “Ryan and Lisa.” The question left is, without Lisa,…
“WHO AM I?”


TO BE CONTINUED…

Written August 2009

Please read "The Phoenix" for Part 2

Hammer
by Ryan P. Kinney

Picks up Hammer
Swings Hammer
This one’s for every woman who didn’t love me
And for every one that ever did
This one’s for every person who has ever doubted and underestimated me
For those who ever thought my life should be a mirror of their journey
‘Cause theirs worked out SO well for them
SMASH
This one’s for my Father,
Mother,
Brothers
My brother’s keeper,
Sins of the Father,
And inheritance of Mother’s malice
This one’s for every time I’ve had to prove I’m the GOOD son
SMASH
This one’s for the bigots,
Racists,
Hate-spewing monsters
For the ******* morons
This one’s for those who assume I’m gay
‘Cause that’s SUPPOSSED to matter
SMASH
This one’s for those who have passed their petty judgments
Based on the surface of my face
Or my visible scars
Or my hidden ones
This one’s for those who have called me freak
For those who judge me on who I was
Not who I AM
SMASH
This one’s for those who lack the ability to see in color and shades
Locked in their boring black and white senseless absolutes
There aren’t just gray areas
There are tints of every shade we a capable of perceiving
This one’s for the LITTLE people
SMASH
This one’s for those who patronize my intelligence
But yet are so easily fooled into acceptance
With a pair of plastic black frames
This one’s for IRONY
SMASH
This one’s for those who have let me down
Disappointed me, failed me
Failed to live to their potential
This one’s for EVERYONE
SMASH
This one’s for me
For not living up to my own potential
This one’s for who I AM
SMASH

And this one...
These tears...

Drops Hammer
Looks to the sky...

This one’s for my son

Ego Storm
by Ryan P. Kinney

Do you see it coming?
There! On the horizon…
A selfish **** storm of pretension and superficiality.
It’s inevitable.
So why fight it.
Welcome to the Ego Storm.
----------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------------------------

I say unto the non-believer.
I am Ryan.
You have never known one like me,
Nor will you ever

I burn, I shine,
I flash so bright.
With every color of the rainbow,
But I do not sparkle.

You can’t stop me,
Or help me.
I am a sickness.
I am average,
But, Oh so much more.
I NEED to be different.
No matter the cost.

My thoughts are perpetually incomplete,
Ever evolving,
Never to be understood.
Like an alchemist,
I will make the ridiculous a reality.
Anything is possible at any time for no reason at all
Hell, Even I don’t understand me.

I am constantly unsure of who I am
But always confident and cocky that I am.
I am an adult child,
Never fully grown,
And I refuse to mature.

I never control my emotions.
I channel them.
And express them with color
I bleed liquid color.

I attack everything with a sharp tongue and a soft heart,
Pushing boundaries and pushing buttons.
I am sorry,
But not really

I will turn everything into a *** joke,
Because life is one big sensual sense experience
It is meant to be felt,
Not thought.
Created,
Not forced.

I’m in love with a fantasy.
Obsessed with an ex,
Who dared to leave me.
Romance in a dream.
An unfulfilled, unrequited devotion to the imaginary

My memories are my scarlet letter,
A crimson “A” for *******.
Sure, I’m a bit of a *******.
Pain is preferable to feeling nothing,
Experience is superior to the void.

I’ve witnessed the birth of beauty
Where others only see trash
I’ve created it.
I’ve also watched it wither and die.

I survive on the decadence of our society.
Your **** is my sustenance.
I turn nothing into something.
Then give it sweet oblivion in the hell of my dreams.

I am plugged in,
But only on the original analog connection.
I prefer the nuisances that inconsistency provides,
And refuse to let the tech think for me.
It is a machine.
You control it.
It does not control you.

I befriend, commiserate, and comingle with the dredges of society
The downtrodden, broken, abused, freakish,
Overlooked and underappreciated,
Geeks and intolerated deviants.

I force the shy to rise up and speak out,
To slice the crippling fear of looking foolish.
To prove the biggest fool among us,
May be the most brilliant.

The unpopular are my cool.
I love the weak and pathetic,
Just like me.
Equality through adversity and diversity.

All of you are pieces in the art that is my life.
Some are darker,
Some are brighter.

I will get inside you,
Around you and through you.
I will **** that which pleases me,
And **** that which does not.
But nothing more than your mind,
The most brutal tenderness you have ever had forced on you.

I will swear with one hand on my “Bible,”
With the sweetest foul mouth you will ever hear.
I laugh at the stupid,
And weep at the unintelligent

I will force you to know me,
And force harder for you to know yourself
I will take your words,
Make them stronger than you ever could
I shall throw the full weight of my genius behind them.

I will question everything,
And make you question yourself.
I will annoy you with a thousand “y’s,”
And swear out every other vowel.

I will make you give till your hands bleed,
And on occasion your ******.
I will challenge you to succeed.

Your clock is ticking.
So do it,
Or do me.
Too many are lost.
Go find yourself.
Or go **** yourself.
-------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------
I think,
Therefore I am Ryan.
I am better than anyone I have ever known.
As the clouds begin to part in my mighty presence,
I can see the only one I have ever truly known
Is myself…

Tanka-ka
Or Not Tanka

American tanka: Japanese influenced poetry that ignores rigid syllable guidelines; typified by an individualist, nonconformist sentiment.

1.

You step so cautiously
That sometimes you forget
To take a step
And I am left waiting,
Running far ahead


2.

You don’t realize
That your body
Might just save this one
This body might,
Just **** me


3.

What does all this stuff mean?
What does this world mean?
Long after I am gone
This **** will still be here,
Forgotten by everyone


4.

Internet ****
Seduces mens’ hearts
And objectifies their desires


5.

The destruction of the self is intolerable,
Everyone tells me
To destroy myself is unacceptable,
Little round pills


- Kinney Ryan

Christmas Presents
by Ryan Kinney

For those I know and know I have some special gifts. Call it poetic materialism, or even selfish regifting.
I will give you what you don't want and take what I want, because such is the spirit of the season.

For my mother...
This old bird no longer caged, she gets to look on the other side of the bars this time.
Her freedom, so precious, that she will be as far removed from those who incarcerate her soul as possible.

Dad...
He gets another stumble in the hallway.
A head first dive into a bottle of pills.

My brother...
He gets a brief reprieve from alcoholic rage and abandonment issues.
His fiancé gets to bear the weight of these sins. It's a package bought with her dignity and sold with her respect.

The half-brother...
He gets mothered and smothered,
coddled and cooed,
held and supported, so much...
That he's unable to stand on his own.

My half sister...
She gets ___.
It's not like I'd know what to get her.

Grandma...
She reaps what she has sown in the cold, barren winter of her life.
Her years of hate finally cashed in
for an empty house.
The gift receipt bears the inscription,
"Wish you were here, (but not really)."

The murderous, ****** cousin...
He gets cold, prison justice.
A gouged eye for an eye.

The ******-addict cousin...
She gets undeserved sympathy..
As she drops another burden on this family.
Her seven deadly sins, rosy cheeked and innocent, get to ask,
"Where's Mommy?"

What of the countless other cousins, aunts, and uncles...
They get silent nothings.
A commodity given with the sentiment of fruitcake.
Every year I get it,
I give it away.


Now let's move on from family,
As they have moved on from me.

The ex-wife gets to unwrap another year of her inner rot.
It's a flamboyantly gorgeous package,
adorned with crisp $100 bills.
What about the outlaws?
Who used to be the "in" thing.
They get my absence.
Another alien transmission expelled from their bubble.

And how about my best friend...
Well, him, I like.
He gets new family, new hope, and new dreams.
His son...
gets life, our collective legacy.
A promise of future triumphs and heartaches.
His fiancée...
She gets domestic bliss.
All the joys of diapers and laundry and feedings.
These gifts,
paid for with each of her child's smiles.

The techie, my shy secret agent...
She gets her first year as Mrs...
And unemployment.
But, at least they are together in their poverty.

Now, what does one get a Love Toy?
She gets all my unrequited love..
The bulk of my desperation and loneliness,
packaged as an ******.
It's an awfully cheap thing.

My gay friends...
They get an epic dance party,
The likes of which only those from the "other" side of the rainbow could throw.
While the mundane from the dark side hurtle their sticks and stones.

The pseudo-grandma...
She gets my respect and admiration.
And gives, always gives,
Wisdom.

What of my new college friends...
They get finals and stress and hunger and house fires and...
Kinship in the academic struggle.

Finally, Me...
What do I get?
Because that's all this is about.
You didn't think I'd give without expecting something in return?

Well...
I get to ***** about why I hate Christmas.

And Then There Was None
by Ryan Kinney

First they came for my things.
And I did not speak out.
Because I had so very little anyways.

Then they came for my mind.
And I did not speak out.
Because I had no thoughts to give.

Then they came for my heart.
And I did not speak out.
Because it was already broken.

Then they came for my body.
And I did not speak out.
Because it was already worn beyond use.

Then they came for my soul.
And I did not speak out.
Because I was empty inside.

Then they came for me.
And there
Was nothing left
For them to take.

The AntiChild
by Ryan P. Kinney

Happy Birthday, my AntiChild.
What will be my gift to you?
Life.
A random slice of all that came before you.
With the wisdom of a madman.

I will twist, and shape, and encourage,
Oh yes, you will be corrupted.
I will teach you,
That the world is not as you’ve been told.

I will tell you,
What it means to be a man,
And a woman.
And the difference is all in your head

No one is right or wrong.
Only what’s right for you.
Adults lie.
Juvenile records are not permanent.
Kids were made for fun.

While we’re at it…
Santa Claus is a zombie,
The Easter Bunny is a mutant,
Unicorns are a government conspiracy…

Then I will tell you,
I could be lying.
But, think for yourself.
I bet you could come up with a better story.
And, know,
That the sanest man in the room is probably the most insane.

Life will hurt,
And often ****.
But don’t give up.
Women will break your heart.
Growing up is a sin,
But, be responsible for yourself.

Never take anything too seriously,
And do everything with absolute sincerity.
Question everything.
Take nothing for granted.
Seek the answers yourself.
Answer Who am I?
Then go out with Nerf guns blazing.

I will teach you to create,
To turn garbage into gold.
To give your thoughts form.
And your hands their due.
To see potential and possibility,
Where others only see trash and hopelessness.
Everything is art.

You will write on paper bags,
And doodle on receipts.
Grab the nearest object,
And give way to your soul.

My little taint will ensure,
That your thoughts MUST bolt
With the spasmodic urgency of adolescence.
Or you WILL combust.
And sometimes,
I will tell you to do just that.

Life will be your creation.
Therein lies the truest art.
The finest work of man,
Is to make something out of themselves.

Why, the AntiChild?
Because you will be the antithesis of every other kid,
You will be better,
You are our legacy.
A universe of your own making awaits you.
Built on a family of love, life, experience…
And more than a few comic books.

Free Kittens
by Ryan P. Kinney

Whenever I see one of those signs
Advertising cheap, easy love
I am reminded of my darkest hours
When I fed my addiction to affection
To a love, a life I could control.
To something that needed me.

Surely they’ll love me
And quell the devouring loneliness and disconnection

Like little furry ******
Without the ***.
Wrong kinda *****
Wrong kinda love

When I had a full harem
I discovered, there is such a thing as too many
They were infested with parasites and ailments
Without constant attention
They’d **** on and defile
My every possession

My childish and selfish delight
Turned into an overwhelming nightmare
I didn’t know how to handle them
I never did
Never her
Never myself

Each time I put one down
I’d see their scared faces
Pleading “Why don’t you love me?”
“Because,” I’d say, “She didn’t love me.”
“None of them do.”
“They won’t keep me.”
“I can’t keep you.”

Unable to understand why
As I snuffed the life out of each little creature

Pushed to the brink
They became souvenirs of desperation
If this horrifies you,
Then you are right.
It horrifies me too

I cared more for those cats than my grandmother that year
At her funeral, I said prayers for them
Her entire 77 years more worthless than several weeks with each cat
Grandma- Dead in my heart by her own callousness
The kittens-By my own hand for their innocence

Who Am I?

I am a boy and a man.
I am a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, and a grand child.
I was a boyfriend, a fiancé, a husband, and an in-law.
I am a bachelor.
I am surrounded and abandoned.
I am a family man and a loner.

I am a homemaker and a handyman.
I wear the apron and the tool belt.
I am a neat freak and a slob.
I am an amateur contractor and a contracted amateur.
I am a dumpster diver, a recycler, and a decadent waste.
I am a glutton, a scavenger, and a scrapper.

I am a friend and an enemy.
I am fun and an annoyance.
I am a lover and a hater.
I am creepy, cruel, and harsh.
I am tender, loving, and inviting.
I have a foul mouth and tender lips,
Drenched in jagged, soft-serve words.

I am a painter, sculptor, draftsman, sketcher, character designer, photographer, graphic designer, fashion designer, kitbasher, customizer, and crafter.
I am a reader, a writer, and a poet.
I am the Jail Baby, Ryan & Lisa, The Phoenix, The AntiFather, and The HEYMAN!
I compose symphonies of visual and intangible imagery.
I bring form to thought.
I destroy,
I create.
I am an artist.

I am a geek, nerd, freak, and otaku.
I have been punk, goth, prep, white trash, and metrosexual.
I wear glasses,
But only as a sick joke.
I am beautiful and ugly,
Clean and *****.
I am unique.
I am predictable.
I have changed, but am still the same.

I am a techie,
An electronic ******.
I am cutting edge and old school.
Digitally signed and sealed.
I am analog and obsolete.

I am an adrenaline addict.
I can chill, maybe slow,
But never relax.

I am blue collar, tradesman, and service industry.
I am peon and ****** on.
Oh, but I have done the ******* too!
I have been hired and fired,
Bought and sold.
I have worn the uniform,
I have said, “**** the man!”
I am the proletariat,
I am in charge.

I am a student, dropout, and teacher.
I am class clown and teacher’s pet.
I have learned, forgotten, and taught,
But never learned my lesson.
I don’t listen to what I’m told,
But always do what I tell.

I am a genius,
I am an idiot.
I have intelligence, but often lack the intel.
I am naïve, but wise.
I am right and wrong.

I have philosophies and ideas,
But no religion.
I have desecrated and blasphemed,
Prayed and praised.
I have lusted, envied, and coveted.
I am guilty and innocent,
Pure and soiled,
Good and bad.

I am a driver and a passenger.
I am an explorer and a shut-in.
I am wild and free,
Caged and stifled.
I was warmly wrapped in my blanket,
But burned through it.

I have rode, climbed, and conquered.
I  stood still.
I jumped in.
I have fallen and been defeated.

I have been abroad,
I have been nowhere.
I have drifted.
I have settled.
I have led and been led.
I have been in and out,
Here and there,
Around and AWOL,
On the run and trapped.
But, not everywhere.

I have applied,
I have procrastinated.
I have worked my fingers to the bone,
I have slept it off.

I have fought and fled.
I have quit.
I have endured.
I am a winner and a loser,
A champ and a chump.

I am fake,
I am real.
I have lied, cheated, and stole.
I have been honest, fair, and generous.

I am selfish and selfless.
I am a gift giver, gift wrapper, and gift taker.
I am a thief and a philanthropist.

I am insecure and confident,
Confused and absolutely sure.
I am proud and ashamed.
I am complicated and convoluted,
But simple to please.

I have blind faith and guarded suspicion
I have secrets,
But lie rarely.
I accept everyone,
I trust nothing.

I have pointed the finger,
Only to turn it on myself.
I have held grudges and forgiven.
I have trusted and misguided.
I have been Judas and Jesus.

I am a maniac,
I am sane.
I have been strong and weak.
I can keep it together,
But prefer to break it apart.

I have bled.
I have healed.
I have been abused and neglected,
Coddled and protected.

I have been kissed and punched;
Hunted, wanted, and arrested,
Ignored, overlooked, and invisible.

I have loved and lost,
Lived and learned.
I am a soldier of misfortune and opportunity.

I have blended in.
I have stood out.
I have stood up.
I have backed down.
I have been backed into a corner.
I have all the space in the world.

I have seen, interpreted, and perceived,
I have ignored, dismissed, and been blind.
I hunger, want, and need…
I am satiated and content,
But never at peace.

I have been misunderstood and underestimated.
I have been put down, put up, pushed away, and let in.
I have been known,
But never entirely.

I have raged, cried, smiled, trembled, and laughed.
I have been depressed.
I have been happy.
I have been suicidal. I have felt death.
I have been lost and found.
I have been broken, then fixed,
Stitched, yet glitched,
Scarred, but whole.
I am alive.


I took the chance,
I let the moment slip.
I walked the straight and narrow,
I ran down the road not taken.
I dream; some whole, some shattered.
I go with the flow, but don’t let the waves take me.

I am shards and reflections,
Machinations and reactions.
I am translucent pieces and parts,
Assembled and disheveled.
I am the big picture still focused on the details.

I am the sum total of heredity and experience.
I am not,
I am more.
I am everything and nothing.
I am a walking contradiction.
I am human.

I tried to be you,
But didn’t know what that meant.
I am me,
It’s all I know.

Who are you?

The Moment
by Ryan P. Kinney

The Japanese girl sits quietly on the pier
Gazing out over the water
Her silence and knowing glance says more
Than either of our languages could ever comprehend
She is beautiful in her hopelessness
And I, dumbstruck in awe of a peace I will never know

She sits behind me squawking with an adolescent banter that must seem dire
Her intensity of voice speaks the same thing I had secretly wished for years, but been too afraid to say
“Please pay attention to me.”
Speak, I did, for the very first time
This awkward message of youthful adoration is not exactly communicated articulately
Her only response is, “God, I hate you. Please shut up.”
If I am already taking risks with my life, then I will not be silenced
For once, I will not back down
“You love me. You just don’t know it yet.”

We are inexplicably sat on the very edge of the river
The smell of Texas BBQ intensifying our hunger
Half of our small group is exhausted proving their technical prowess
When I declare that this most manly of feasts
Must be a competition to prove our testosterone
Why simply dine in San Antonio
When you can challenge your friends to a banquet of sauce laden meats
I declare that he who finishes least or last
Must surrender his manhood
The ***** are on the table this night

I awoke early this morning
And slipped quietly out of my bunk.
My compatriots were still sleeping off a hangover
I push open the door hundreds of years my senior
And witness the burgundy sunset of French wine country
Just think, right now I could be mindlessly staring at rolling machinery

I place another valve on the pump and
WHIRRR...
Hypnotically tighten it down
The sound has become a meditation now
The zen is broken when my radio squeals
The producer has just jumped on the air
“The World Trade Center is on fire.”
I place my wrench slowly down on the table... Confused
We all do.
We all are.
In a half hour we will all be sitting around the table
Listening to Howard Stern speculate on a horror
We are blinded to the true terror, what this really means...
Until hours later.

Snow continues to flood my windshield as I wind precariously around the bespeckled Allegheny’s
The city below, shrouded in the early winter night
Looks as though the heavens have finally released the weight of the stars to the ground
As I marvel at this, a twinge of fear arises
I may not find shelter tonight
Nonetheless, the roads level out and an exit is offered as salvation
In the midst of planned itineraries, sightseeing, and tourist attractions I had lost track of time
I am resigned to sleep the night in a Wal-Mart parking lot
When I pull off the exit, however,
I am pleased to see the welcoming glow of a mall
There I discover an establishment long since lost to the ether of my youth
As I sit there, eating the 10,000 calorie hot dog I ponder,
“This is what life was like when it was simpler, when I thought I knew what it was all about,
Before I was proven horribly wrong.”

In the midst of the audacious and elaborate splendor of Florence
I see a sight a sight so simple
And yet so much more a monument to man’s unfathomable capacity for love and compassion
A rose, brown and dead, is stuck in a chain link fence
Attached to it is a small hand-written note that reads,
“Kiss her now”

I am in her arms
Having been told, “No”
And resigned to rejection so many times
So many times I told myself that this would never happen
As my lips touch hers
I laugh inside my head
“Is this really happening?”
This is really happening

I hold my breathe
I can see him through the window
As I have seen him through the electronic window of my TV for years
As I get closer this feels less and less real
This is my hero
My God
He has accomplished amazing things
And pushed the limits of the human body
Suddenly, I am in front of him
He looks up, and smiles, as he says hello
All the nervousness, the anxiety disappears
When I realize that my God is a man
A man like me

I am terrified
Before me is a discolored, screaming, clawing, misshapen alien creature
My son takes his first breathes of real air
We are all exhausted
His mother looks at me with a look that practically screams,
“We did it.”
I plead, “But, we’re not done doing it yet...
Are we?”
His gurgles turn into cries
And I know...
I know that this,
This is the moment that matters more than any in my life
I will never have a single instant matter anymore than this ever will...

And while I stare into his bed
I hope he proves me wrong.

Things
by Ryan P. Kinney

I don’t have people. I have things.

I suppose that is not completely true.
As one of those “things” is so apt to say,
“It’s a shade of gray.”

There are exceptions to that rule.
As I, myself, am quite exceptional.
There are a chosen few I let in
And allow to peer into the darkness
And through my unblinking, unwavering eyes
Let the darkness stare back at them

However, for most people,
They are a thing to me
Something to be used, with a specific purpose and function
Whose value is not based on mutual respect
Atleast not more so than I give any of my personal belongings
Perhaps that is the core of the issue
I personify my inanimate accumulations
And dehumanize my sentient gatherings

What good can you do for me?
What good can you do for yourself,
That I can then, vicariously, take credit for?
And justify my use of you
While I put you on reserve for my future megalomaniac endeavors

Some philosopher in an old book I have long since forgotten
Once suggested that true altruism is not possible
That no matter how seemingly unselfish your motives were
There was always some selfish desire in all actions
Even if it was the need to feed on the “warm and fuzzies” of convincing yourself that you are a good person

Another of my “things” has also suggested that my view makes me a sociopath
I can agree with that
My conscience lacks a separation between the human and the inert
Most sociopaths have a certain charm
That makes them appear as if they care and are part of social, collective conscience
Which is often very thinly veiled,
Behind their complete disdain for any others

It’s not something that I want to be.
It’s just a realization that I am coming upon
I wish I was more human
I struggle against dehumanizing these mystifying creatures
But the years of my life, my decisions and actions, and mere circumstance
Has left me less and less desire to trust and care for less and less people

Now things…
Things I can control, warp, bend to my will
I can use things;
They have a reason for being
They are typically where I put them and only let me down when they break
And even then, they are usually easily replaced or subverted.
They don’t leave me, lie to me, or betray me
I won’t say that a thing has never broken my heart
Because, let’s face it,
I put more of a face on object than a person
But even the chips in my core from a seized engine or a shredded shirt
Do not leave half the **** that someone clawing their way out of the depths of my darkness,
That I have allowed them to nestle into, does

To be honest, I do not even know what a person is
I can define an object;
My senses give it form, function, and purpose
A person, however, is like a flowing river
While always the same in name
It is constantly changing, shifting, and flowing
Leaving me no reference point
No straws to grasp onto
If I cannot even understand my own ebbs and rapids
How can I even begin to know this thing that is a person?

No,
Better, or rather easier, that I freeze that river at a particular point
Or even simultaneously at multiple points
Then I can lift it, move it, have some indication with which to know what it is and what I can do with it
Then toss that piece back into the torrents, until I have need of it again

Now, if we really want to get down to it…
I have spent a large portion of my life in introspection
As a selfish being, I constantly try to figure out what and who I am
Do you know what I found out?

I’m not really a person either;
Just another thing.

Relics (House of Stolen Light)
by Ryan P. Kinney

When I pull up in my battle-scarred truck
That old song is playing on the radio
Whose lyrics I have misheard and, hell…
“Who did that **** song, anyways?”
Nonetheless, of what I do hear through the cracks and pops,
It definitely suits this house

It’s an old run down bi-level, with a winding porch
And more windows than walls
But the windows are heavily tinted and shades are all half drawn
The windows do not let the light into the home,
But rather steal it, consume it into the darkness, never to be seen again

How many neighborhood rumors revolved around this home?
For how long has it been whispered that THIS is THAT haunted house?
Or this is where that one creepy guy did that one horrific thing?
Or even that series of horrific things?

Did the boogie man originate here?
Inside the darkness of that house, stealing the sunshine from precocious little boys and girls
Finally freed from the confines of scholastic imprisonment
Until eventually their days of play started getting shorter
And they return to their nine months of confinement
With no one to blame but the invisible tenant of that ever decaying, but seemingly indestructible and insurmountable home

I imagine a stone in my hand
To be thrown into this house of glass
I picture it not breaking the glass so much as piercing a pool of darkness, that ripples across the entire house, melting each window and finally freeing everyone’s abducted childhoods
I see the sunlight exploding from the foundation
The cracked, brown leaves in every dead, broken tree suddenly springing to life and filling with green
Years of devoured Frisbees, kites, and baseballs launching into the air from every crevice

And then, I think, maybe appearances can be deceiving
Maybe, this house is not so much the spooky old ruin
But rather a cracked and worn old photo album
Housing years of relics of lives spent well and with love
Love that our generation could not possibly fathom
Devoid of the electronic means of expressing and spreading it

How many boys turned men turned soldiers here?
How many mothers turned grandmothers, turned cherished memories?
How many years were cried over scrapped knees and first loves?
Or spent on lover’s lanes, backyard barbeques, and drunken sibling brawls?
Is that old tire finally getting its deserved rest from someone’s swing, or off the wheels of a well-loved ancestor to my vehicle?
Who’s lives and legends were parked in this dusty driveway?
Who’s footprints am I standing in right now?

Maybe those dark windows never really robbed the light
But, rather were meant to hold it in for the love growing inside
So that anyone within would always feel its warmth and brightness
And anytime someone left that house, they returned that light to the world in kind
Richer and brighter than it ever would have been had it not spent its time within those walls

Who are you, oh house of stolen light?
What secrets do you hold?
How many childhoods were used up here, either stolen or spent fully?
What lives have you had?
What adventures can you tell me?

I smile.
“This is gonna be fun.”
As I kick in the front door

Jigsaw
by J.M. Romig, Amanda Whitlock, and Ryan P. Kinney

The first time I watched a man die
It wasn’t a man anymore, they told me
Just like my mother wasn’t my mother anymore

I will never forget the wrong answer
And the empty hours
When the minute       hand was always longer

I often welcome sleepwalking through most of the week
In the few instances the machines malfunction
I curse being awakened

I don’t see how anyone
Can smoke at a time like this
When the air is so heavy
It’s like breathing cement

I’m in stressed and panicked misery
And I’m vomiting
Lots and lots of                              stuff
That stretches vast
And expands to eat up everything

The guilt of my sin
The heft of your innocence
Weighs heavily on my soul
As i drag you down with me

Her lit cigarette burns
So brightly from the porch
Against the darkness
It reminds me of a lighthouse
Or a bug zapper

And what is that moth doing there anyways?
People are trying to sleep

Love Toy
by Ryan P. Kinney

It all started Valentine’s Day.
       A day of plastic hearts and candied affections.
Two love-weary travelers,
Overwhelmed by loneliness and desire,
Found solace in each other’s arms

Our stark white uniforms mingled.
Our glasses clinked.
Our lips meet.
While the sins of loves lost
       Hung like the albatross
And pressed a crooked heart into your bare skin.
So beautiful a moment
      For such a deceitful act.

You spent the whole night, transfixed.
       Listening to my heart beat.
Amazed that something so beaten
       Could still function.

In the beginning you were “The Crush”
A passing fancy, I was sure.
       Born of my desperation and your compassion,
But that act crushed “The Crush”
One simple kiss.
       Spoke the words, “I love you.”
And began our own false romance.

I could see how beautiful you were
       Inside that shell of obscurity.
You could see the light that shown within me
        Shrouded in a cloud of darkness.
We both had such beautiful scars.

But you refused to be committed.
To wear these bindings
And dwell within these padded walls.
Yet, kicking and screaming,
       You still accept that you love me.

We are cloak-and-dagger lovers.
       Borrowing sensation
              Stealing kisses
       Whispered intimacy
              And secret *******
One holds the hush, the other the blade

That is for but the moment, though.
We spend all our raw emotions at once.
Choosing to live fully
      At only that instant.
We have all the time in the world to die.

You can’t keep me from others
And I can’t you.
But I want no other.
Although you stand in front of my face
       You refuse to be seen.

What do you want from me?
I want everything from you.
I want to peer into your darkness
       And drink in your warmth.
I want to be so intimate
        You’ll have to smoke a cigarette when I’m done.

Our liaisons have become a formula for pseudo-dating.
Meet
       Kiss
              Touch
                      Feel
Repeat, as necessary.
So close to the real thing
       That only the word “girlfriend” separates it.

We ARE seeing each other.
We see more of each other
       Than those who don’t.

We even see the barbed wire
       That separates us
Digging into our skin,
       Ignored
While we exchange momentary, blissful passion.
I love you,
For now.
Tomorrow, who knows?

I will surely go to a Hell of my own making
        For loving you.
               Sullying, dirtying, corrupting you
And it is that fact
       That keeps you from me.

The guilt of my sin,
       The heft of your innocence,
Weighs heavily on my soul
       As I drag you down with me.

But, in spite of me,
A new hope was born in utero
Inside this woman came new light.
Enveloped in your inner angel
Was proof that I could love again.

You will hurt me
       I will hurt you
To which I reply
       Please do!
             Don’t you dare stop!
For the love of your God
       Let me feel something.

Some love is better than none.
Pain is better than the void.
Let’s just live in the moment.
And agree this is weird,
       And *****,
             And cheap.

All I can say for certain is,
       I love you.
You say you love me,
       But what does I love you mean,
When it doesn’t mean I want you.

The Blue Collar Lament
by Ryan Kinney

I spend most of my week in a semi-conscience trance watching multi-million dollar machines work. They are more alive than I am. Monday at 3 PM I click off my brain, switch on automatic, and begin the countdown-T-minus 40 hours. Each minute that ticks by in the dull monotony slowly steals my sanity, bit by bit. The vampire conglomerate that signs my check robs me of my youth, intelligence, and vitality until I am just another mindless automaton.

These walls are masters of time. Each minute closer to Friday gets slower and slower, until on Friday they seem to tick backwards. Then on Monday, the entirety of the previous week repeats. Each day blurs into the other making them indistinguishable.

The dictator they put in charge of the asylum barks out commands on cue, just to remind everyone that they own you. All the while he never realizes that he's just another puppet dancing for them, only his strings are shorter. When they inevitably cut them he has further to fall.

I often welcome sleepwalking through most of the week. In the few instances the machines malfunction I curse being awakened. At least as a zombie I don't feel my mind rotting.

I live on the weekends. I shed the identity the uniform has forced upon me and my true self emerges. On the weekends I love life, I achieve the goals I value, not the hazy path set before me by the corporation that owns my soul. For two days the dungeon master gives me reprieve from my incarceration. Upon clocking out each Friday I suddenly feel rejuvenated, while Sunday night I begin dreading the impending coma.

The desperation for dollars are the shackles that keep me here. I am only truly living two days a week and dying the other five. I've made a pact with the devil, 5/7th of my life for a weekly pittance. Until the decay of my body matches that of my brain I return weekly to mind numbing tedium, the memory of my weekend existence fading into the background.

Written 1/28/08 while on the "job"
Edited and organized into sensibility on a weekend.