“HE LOVES ME “ she says to herself everyday. She always claimed he would change and day by day , month by month til eventually years he became worse. One day he came home and everything was her fault in his eyes. He beat her so badly her family didn’t recognize her anymore. She never told them he was beating her, locking her away in a closet for days at a time. 3rd times a charm here she is in the hospital once again and fighting for her life. Loving the abuser eventually costed him taking her life. Now as she lays in the casket she looks down upon her badly beaten body asking herself “why didn’t I just leave?”
—a passage from my next book other book that I’m writing—
Do you love me? The hand print on my arm say you do Do you love me? The bruises on my body say you do Do you love me? The loss of air as you squeeze my throat means that you truely love me, right? The black eyes means you love me The death threats do as well The namecalling and insulting means you love me, right?
Which means you love her too So when you touched her, I didn’t move As you hit her I didn’t flinch As she bled I didn’t falter As she choked through breaths I stood still, stayed silent And as the life from her eyes left I walked away.
Ignoring the signs of happy endings, I dont want to see Avoiding all the mirrors while everyone stares at me I'm your broken China doll but I'm scared of what they'll find So I keep a smile present as I say my line...
Zombies don’t make news anymore. Hearing about them eating brains is such a bore. Filming undead hordes for movies is such a chore. Zombies don’t make the headlines anymore.
Zombies just eat blood and guts That is delivered from Braindead food trucks. Zombies now eat brains from cans And no zombies movies ever show during the Cannes.
Zombies are just yesterday’s news, Because everyone’s high on hearing vampires singing the blues. When you see a zombie, you just shake its hand Instead of running the other direction as fast as you can.
Zombies don’t get shown on the telly As they are all perfumed so they are not smelly So they can grab applications and jobs Instead of plaguing the city in oversized mobs.
Zombies are now the dominant population As there is no longer any fascination About a group of corpses taking college courses. Zombies just don’t get the six ‘o clock spotlight anymore.
Zombies are now the movie stars Who now frequent malls, offices, and bars. Zombies are now a fact of life As I even know a friend who has zombie kids and a wife.
Zombies are now casually walking So there is usually no point in talking About a zombie who got elected city mayor Who doesn’t promote stalking and terror.
So zombies are not stalking people So even an op-ed piece is feeble In getting the people excited about the walking dead. There are no zombie hate crimes Because the zombie onslaught times Are over and done with as six month old bread. So there’s no point anyway And it’s illegal anyway To make your friendly neighborhood zombie Full of hot .45 lead.
I am floating around in the mortal realm with no real place to go except to inhabit the bodies of unaware folk who just toil to and fro. I inhabit a pretty-looking woman just to get inside her head but all I keep hearing are musings of how she ought to be dead by slashing her wrists with a kitchen knife to escape from her domestic life and lie ****** on the floor for her husband to see that she was his last great casualty of being a drunken and hot tempered monstrosity. I have to get out of her mentally tormented rhapsody as she stands around looking around for somebody to hold onto. I wish I could hold her too. I walk beside a boy but he doesn’t see me so I get inside his head and find that his mind is filled with poetry about his worn out mother who is passed out and drained in the chair and she never knows where her son is or if he is even there. He writes bright-colored graffiti on those drab gray walls but scrambles to a dark corner whenever a police siren calls. He sells some **** to the local children in those same corners that keep him hidden. It is also the same place where he practices his rhymes about struggling to earn some dimes by selling some death to the innocent so he can live with a dark conscious to lament. This boy is a growing travesty so I leave his tormented rhapsody. I watch him grip the wall and cry and I want to comfort him, but I can’t, no matter how hard I try. I infiltrate into a homeless veteran and probe through his broken mind about his past as a soldier trapped in a fiery jungle with his companions roasted at his side as he hears sinister voices call out for him as he tries to hide in a corpse-ridden hole filled with his shot up compatriots. Now he hides in an alleyway in a country that shuns soldiers but welcomes “Patriots.” All of these people are filled with absolute pain of scratches, gunshots, batterings, and isolation. But the truth is that I want to feel just like I felt before when I walked with these mortals and I want to feel some pain than nothing that makes me feel alive and human again.