The only role I ever land is "outcast tortured by the cruelty and pain of his past" I sure didn't choose this path, feels more as though I've been typecast, or maybe I am a *******, holding out for every last ounce of pain before I blast this trader living in my head for the last 30 years off my shoulders, through a window pane, then, just as fast, turn to the vast hole in my chest that once held my heart and press the cold steel to it with the mass of my dread firmly in my grasp, gun fire drowned out by echoing laughs, fulfilling a prophecy of my future while neglecting lessons from my past, the game of life feels less like a game of chance and more like a test that's harder to advance than all the rest and wouldn't you know it, I fell asleep in class and didn't pass, apparently I even tuned out the emergency broadcast. Went and amassed a losing record that'd be impressive if not for the direct contrast the win column presents and the enormous shadow my downfall casts. Harassed by the devil on each shoulder, I thought that maybe once I got older, if I could just stay on task and remain steadfast, I would be able to open a can of whoop a$$ and trespass the evil within this house of glass but alas I must telegraph my every move or they've seen a future telecast because they lambast each strike and I'm not sure I'll outlast these issues, I'm gassed, plus, problems have started showing up in mass from a much higher weight class, they must have bypassed the weigh in process but I've always known who the deck was stacked against, hence why I never win, I only survive and my methods would flabbergast most, the truth finds it's way to the surface and I find myself aghast, crying like I've been teargassed with no gas mask but I've surpassed the point where waterworks will bring forth empathy, gotta own my involvement in the crash, volunteer to take out my own trash and this time I'll throw my pain out with the bath water and be free at last...free at last, free at last, no thanks to god almighty I'll be free at last

©2021

I find it hard to put myself out there, I don't go out on a limb
To concerned about what people think and say, like "man, look at him"
"Who the **** does he think he is, he ain't no Eminem"
These words never hit my ear but I swear I'm hearing them
"Look at this, another poor white boy from the trailer park"
"Trying to hit his mark and make it big by belting out what's in his heart"
They got no clue money and fame wasn't my reason to start
It began as a way to shed some light on what seemed like eternal dark
One spark was all it took and I couldn't stop this pen from spilling ink
On the brink of insanity aboard a ship destin to sink
Life ******* me like a *****, two in the pink one in the stink
Swallowed a bottle of pills, why did they give me this charcoal to drink
Hmmm, let me think...****
That's the problem, I just reacted, I didn't stop to think
Didn't stop to think about everything I was about to flush down the stink
But the rope that was supposed to save me is now the one around my throat
The beautiful words I wrote now read as if a suicide note
But getting these thoughts out worked better then letting them get my goat
The loose lief kinda saved my life, it kept me afloat
I filled up hundreds of papers, I wrote down thousands of lines
The more I wrote the less I hurt, confidence up and pain declines
The rain subsides eventually in everyone's minds
But make no mistake the beast still resides behind these eyes
It's just these words are like a prize, they put the beast to sleep like lullaby's

©2018

Dreams aren't real, right?
They're just figments of a rampant mind
Anxiously piecing together the world that surrounds, right?

Why do I see you at morning noon and night,
Disrupting the schedules of trains in my mind,
You bring forth questions to a heart yet undefined.

I miss you.
That much I know.
At least...
That much
I can admit.

Cramped, lost, and crying in my own worn out body.
Consistent loss of hope to become somebody.

Can it end?
Will it end?

Short is this vivid pain,
too long is this bright ornament,
until I finally see the point of it.

No longer numb yet still caught in a gasp,
until I finally connect the dots and filled in the gaps.

I’ve been told by a friend to wait here.
As long as I stay here, you’ll be back past five o'clock.
I’ve waited—you came and opened the door.
It’s true; now I will dedicate my nine lives to you.
 
"She drinks her tea by midnight and lulls herself to sleep. You should waggle your tail and lie beside her. Every day except for Saturday." My friend laughed rigorously when she finished that statement.
 
“Why can’t I play with her every Saturday?” I asked her, trying to grasp her evading eyes.
 
"Just because," she shrugged and tried to climb the tree.
 
"Wait!" I hissed, but she’s nowhere to be found now.
 
I did everything she told me to do. Eat my food past lunch, play with my worn-out toy, and wait for her to be home.
 
At the exact moment the cruel sun rose and the light hit my body, I waggled my tail and lied beside her. Unfortunately, I forgot it was Saturday today.
 
I called her name, distinctively meowing in a weird manner. I cackled slightly; she wouldn’t understand. Biting slowly with her calloused hands and licking the side of her face, she still won’t wake up.
 
And I meowed until there was no sound left of me. My dear Celia, wake up, for you have to give me food now.
 
You still need to bathe me and play with me at the park. We’ll still wait for the night to come and watch TV.
 
Oh, Celia, I’d still spend my nine lives with you. Where have you been since I slept last night?
 
I’d still wait for you here at the table, near the window. Where the trees dance the delicacy of their sickening leaves. Oh, how we both hated the crispness of those brown leaves.
 
Oh, how you knew how much I hate autumn and how much I undoubtedly love the breeze of winter. The screeching of the winds and the snow falling onto the ground, where we both scrutinize its unique aspect. We were the same.
 
How you were covered in snowdrops, and you’d throw me inside the snowpack. I’ll hiss, and you’ll laugh.
 
"I told you not to play with her every Saturday," my friend whispered, almost with a faint cry. There was a hint of longing in her voice.
 
"You haven’t told me the answer, Ong."
 
"She grieves in her dreams, my friend. He visits every Saturday, spends a day with her, and goes home at exactly midnight. She’ll wake up tomorrow, bud," she answered in agony.
 
Who's he? " I turned to her, but she vanished once again.
 
Celia, I will love you for the rest of my nine lives. I’ll wait for you tomorrow. It’s okay to grieve for now.
 
I’d still wait for you here at the table, even though it’s autumn. We both got to accept that winter is already over.
 
It’s my first life with you in autumn.