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You think you're better,
Than who you are.
I know you better,
You are an animal.

Wallowing below your instincts.
Down on all fours.
The animal does not feel,
All it knows is survival.

You **** one another,
So one stays above the other.
No different than the animal,
No different form a carnivore.

To devour is survival,
It is how we stay alive.
Down here in the dirt,
Life feeds on other life.

Your belief that you are above your instincts is fauted when the hunger sets in. Reduced to a single thought, survival of the fittest.
You can try to outrun who you are, you won't get very far.
The animal inside you is waiting dormant.
It is always there, and there it will always be.
I sit with intravenous headphones
             a dopamine drip          
my dress pants are torn at the inner knee
my hair smells of yeast
my face itches
my eyes wander

we screech to a halt
and it hisses like a feral cat
the platform then filled with bodies
that funnel in
bright as the undead

one seat from me
              he's balding        
and in the absense of hair, scabs
polka dotted,
He barks to a younger man about his dog
but the younger man just stares straight forward

In the disabled seating, sits
a woman
who is not pregnant
             or crippled        
             or elderly        
her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil
her breath is audible, from the tenth row back
            even over the bald man        
            even over the chugging motor        

At the front
a boy sits with his older brother -
who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book
and grunts
and makes sounds
          yes, thats right, bus        
and groans
         it's okay, you'll see mum soon      
in discomfort,
snot seeping from his nose, spit
falling to the floor

Again, we screech to a halt
the alley cat hisses
only one at this platform

Her hair is neck length
her slip is long, silky and sky-blue
          as are her eyes        
fingers fiddle at the purse
         pursed lipped, she smiles      
... at the bus driver

Her boots sound the isle
they watch like its a runway
finding her way
Next to the boy
with the greasy hair
and the torn pants
and the sauce stained uniform
and the wandering eyes
and the inability to start a conversation

          and she sits      
          and they sit
JR McFadden Jan 8
The thought of a blade cutting his flesh to the bone had always been a dread fascination of Jakith’s. Something he would day dream of from time to time which had never failed to send chills flooding down the back of his neck. Here and now, it did far more than fascinate, it enslaved his entire focus. The glinting piece of steel demanded attention, twisting his guts to knots, his sense spilling from his mind like ice water bursting from a flimsy dam. Absolutely captivated by the gleam of the cruel instrument moving from side to side, back and forth with a practiced weight and feline prowess. The man holding the knife was a decrepit thing. Thin, yet stringy with corded muscle, which wriggled under rough skin as he clenched and flexed his hands. It was easy to see that these hands were no stranger to hard work, and the more Jakith studied them, it seemed to him that the work had been violence and blood. Knuckles gnarled and crisscrossed with old scars, but his eyes were the most unsettling feature of this cacophony of a face, chips of flint leered ****** from beneath granite brows. The remainder was hard lined, craggy and gaunt. It reminded Jakith of standing at the edge of a cliff and staring down into oblivion. Jakith held his hands up in a feeble attempt to disarm the situation and was taking careful steps back from the man as though he’d just cornered a rabid hound. He could feel the panic begin, now coming to a boil, overflowing, grabbing hold of his limbs, molten bronze coursing through his veins and coming to set, freezing him solid.  
“What do you want?” his voice a cracking squeak.
The man said nothing, huffing and snorting like a bull preparing itself for violence.
“I’ve got money, take it!” Jakith fumbled to untie his coin purse, holding it up to display its meager contents. He would have given the man anything to end this waking nightmare “Please! Take anything you want, please!” his voice thick, tears welling in his eyes. “Please, take anything you wan...” his words cut short, turning to a cry of utter despair as the man lunged forward, grabbing for Jakith’s neck with one hand while the other came up with deadly intent, a veteran fighter throwing a punishing body blow. Jakith dropped the purse from his numb fingers as he reached in a pathetic attempt to stop the man’s arm from ramming the blade into his side. Jakith felt his one hand dig hard into the man’s bent elbow, the other completely missed the mark only managing to get a meek hold on the back of the man’s sleeve. Before he could adjust his position he felt the first punch thud into his ribs. Jakith let out a wavering cry ‘Stop! No!” another one thump “AAK…. NO!” grunting “….UGH!” he felt the wind knocked out of him on the third punch, gasping for breath. The grim realization that the punches were tipped with steel caused his mind to reel with disbelief. The man’s hand, gripping like irons around the back of Jakith’s neck and pulling close enough to whisper murderous secrets, his arm a piston driving the blade up, again and again and again, but all coming short. Jakith had worked his hands around the man’s wrist, ******* in his stomach and half jumping with every ******. “What do I do? What do I do?” His mind racing, the man’s rank stink was overwhelming, flooding his nostrils, he could hear the man’s rasping breath in his ear, close as lovers. Jakith felt his strength failing, and the thought of another painless horrifying thump made him want to scream “stop, please stop, anything, stop!” but Jakith knew the time for words had been long dead, his hopes dying with them. His mind was going black, but in the blackest pits of Jakith’s mind something was lurking, waiting. An ancient sleeping demon forced to the light. A sudden animal fury came boiling up exploding with reckless abandon and he let out an unhuman scream. There were no words, no thoughts, just a single unrelenting focus on the absolute obliteration of this worthless flesh in front of him.  Jakith twisted his head up and bit into the man’s neck like a snarling wolf. He felt the gristle and flesh give way and blood filled his mouth. He spat gore and bit again pushing his mouth hard into the man’s straining muscles and crunched. Jakith’s eyes were wild, blood spattered across his pate, and the man let out a cry of pain and fury, jerking away. The man tried to step back, but Jakith feeling the weight shift and swept the man’s leg with his own, and they began to fall. The man’s head clacked off the ground with the familiar sound of knocking hardwood, and they began to struggle for the knife. Jakith cried out in savage frustration trying desperately to secure the weapon. He grabbed the man’s wrist and threw his legs around the man’s head. The man sunk his teeth into the back of his thigh, but that wasn’t important, with every ounce of mad savagery left to him, Jakith yanked the man’s arm to his chest, using hips as a fulcrum and snapped his back straight. The man’s elbow exploded with a repulsive crack and crunch as it gave way like a buddle of dry twigs. Jakith held the man’s limp arm and began unleashing his fist in a flurry, hammering the man’s face tears streaming from eyes, his usually friendly grin looked more like a ravenous demon mask, pale but for the gore splattering. He was still holding the man’s arm which held the knife, Jakith pried the knife from his useless fingers. “You ****! You ****** pathetic… ****!” before he even knew what he was doing, the knife came down in a savage arc and Jakith felt the blade glance off his cheek bone, hitting the stone sending sparks. Flesh sheared like paper, with what seems like unbelievable ease and leaving a ghastly wound. “You ****! You ****!”  Shrieking now, shrill and panicked, an animal insanity gripping him, holding him, comforting him. He felt a wave of maddening exaltation as he slammed the knife down, again and again. His rage coalescing into white hot beam of molten lust, a lunatic’s grin peeling from his lips. The man’s head was losing all of it remaining human qualities, a wet mass with one eye split in two and the other staring at nothing. “You ****, you ******….” He wheezed. The man was dead and for Jakith the madness was passing. He kicked the corpse away, disgusted and shocked by the realization of what he had done. He stammered to his feet, panting. Try as he might he could not take his eyes away from the horrific scene, gasping for breath which rasped and gurgled in his chest. The knife fell from his hand, sticky with blood and half clattered on the stone damped by the spreading pool. “What the… ****…?” Jakith brought his hand up to where the man had struck him and pulled his hand away wet and glistening with fresh blood, he staggered back lifting his shirt. Dark lines crisscrossed down his side, he stared in disbelief as blood ran from his wounds. “Oh…” he said words catching “well… that’s not good”. The despair creeped back into his mind and he clutched his hand to the wound, trying to staunch the flowing blood. “Help!” he cried as loud as he could, but to his dismay, the voice hardly sounding like his own, was no more than a croaking whisper. His eyes kept returning to the ****** mess of his side, an unbelievable amount of blood pouring between his fingers. “Help…” he stumbled and reeled looking for someone, anyone. He was alone, but for the mangled corpse. His eyes came to rest on the wound again, but he found that the more he stared, the more he felt he did not seem to care anymore.  The only thought that was passing through his mind was "why wasn’t it hurting more... why wasn't it hurting at all?" As another moment passed, it seemed he did not care about that anymore either. As though the blood leaving his body contained all the worries this world held. He glanced down again, puzzled expression passing over his face. A sudden exhaustion gripped him like nothing he’d ever felt. “Tired... very tired” he slowly sat down, one hand still uselessly held to his side, the other steadying himself. “Just a quick rest… and… then I’ll decide what to… do.” The words no more than a ****** mumble trailing off to nowhere. God, but he had never felt so tired. It took a tremendous amount of effort just to keep his eyes open. Jakith wavered and began to slump forward, but caught himself “Wait… Wait… Wait...” the words were losing all meaning, wait for what? Jakith slumped again, this time his arm collapsed, he teetered over, nose and cheek crunching into the ground, the weight of his body plowing his face through the blood leaving him in an awkward heap. “Wait…” the word bubbling crimson, cheek flattened against the stone, breath rippling across the pool. There was something important he needed to remember, but it was slipping from his mind, passing into what seemed like some long forgotten memory. The farm, the earthy smell of the green house, the fields sweet with the sent of harvest, could that be what it was? “No, no… I need to…” The crunch of snow beneath his feet, the crisp mountain air, the sun kissing his face, his father’s easy smile and the way his sister would tease him. Jakith felt the ground falling out from beneath him, like when he was young and would catch himself falling asleep, jolting awake. But there was no jolt, just his body slowly relaxing on the stone, blood silently meandering through the cobbles. Jakith tried to pull himself back from the breech, one last attempt to hold on. If he could just hold on, hold on and stay for another sweet moment, please just one more. Then, as though his soul had been anchored to the setting sun, it ripped him into the abyss, all encompassing. A final chuckle croaked from his half smiling lips, as dazzling colors and a thousand half remembered memories flashed across his minds eye. The hollow pang of absolution, there was nothing, he would be nothing, and then... he felt home. The last thing that crossed his mind before the blackness swallowed him completely, “Is... that... you... mom...?”
First attempt at a short story, tried to make it gritty and real... visceral... raw... Let me know what you think!


J.R McFadden
Sam Dec 2018
Lately, death is everywhere.
It sits on the rim and recites
the contrition of unburied mad.

Nectar dusted glasses.

These shards raised you.
Contoured as cells
that neat flesh together.

How far we stretch
when flavours dull
and loose thoughts the last
we push around our tongue.

Demons that swirl,
unfolded for the world
in aching concession -
how sorrow leans heavy on the bones.

Meat and sacrilege,
these apparitions scream
in a plume of citrus;
saliva like flint
drawing moths to the table.

They gauge, every ground memory;
the feeding vessels
of freshly kneaded delirium.

I'll never shake that screech.
Piercing as brass embracing brass,
the sound of death still tepid
with the scent of rotting fruit.

We circle,
a grey scar between wheels
and the unresponsive telephone.

I clawed clean every last piece of static,
served on platters once wholesome
now plunged with the ailing sunset -
our last supper.
Ever got your heart broke?
Sam Feb 2018
Silk fabrics, spin words like a black widow.
Observing shapes on the crest through a cracked window. 
Faded kinfolk percolate a vicious cycle.
Concede the title, passed from an image spiteful.
Hooded silhouettes cast a shadow in dystopia,
cityscape a gallow the skies hold a rope for ya.
Urban paradigm, tantamount to euthanasia.
Soured fruits bear the hallmarks of human nature.
Twisted labyrinth, apertures soak mundane fragments
innate patterns, ways learned through a stained malice.
Same chalice bequeathed, from a father deceased,
drowned in his sleep under smeared linen sheets.
In the belly of the beast, waves echoed familiar,
another soul torn in this concrete perimeter.
Jonas ernest Feb 2018
my money

my watch
my house
my car

my phone

my wallet
my toothbrush my couch my lemons my green grass
my plastic

my plastic hair
my plastic teeth

my blue pool

my black

my red heart
my green soul

my exoskeleton . my ectomorphic mass.
my balloon filled gut

my bleeding

my brown shoes . my yellow banana. my $1,000 child slave my
$10,000 hitman

my $1,000,000 white Bengal tiger

my $0.02


my $0.02 pack of gum
Benji James Oct 2017
I won't be satisfied
Till something takes my life
Too many pills I've been prescribed
To many times I take more than I should
Something's gonna get me before my time
But that's not enough to fulfil my desire
I'm standing on a ledge on the side of a bridge may be
This might be the thing to quench this thirst
The adrenaline's pumping through my veins
My mind has been declared insane
But I won't be satisfied
Till I find a way off this ride
Cuz I've lost all desire to keep on fighting
I've just run out of thunder and lightning
Something's gonna get me before my time
Maybe super high speeds through deserted streets
Just hope I don't end up
Running into a tree
I'm still lost within my conscience
I've seen too many people come and go
Maybe I'm next to end up the mess
Maybe I'm next to be blessed
But something's gonna get me in the end
I don't need to pretend
I don't need another reality check
Cuz I know I'm getting reckless
And I know people couldn't care less
I don't feel the need to impress
I don't feel the same as I did
Something's gonna get me
I can feel it in my bones
This downward spirals coming to a close
Something inside me knows
There's not long left to go
Before everything in me explodes
Before everything shuts down from all the blows
Something in me knows
There's not much time left to go

©2017 Written By Benji James
Jenovah Oct 2016
Like a melted puddle of cherry popsicle on hot asphalt; I want to lick you up. The sweet parts of you, and the ***** parts too.

I want to feel the grittiness between my teeth.
Give me the raw parts of you. The stayed up past 3 am parts of you. The I haven't combed my hair in days parts of you.

Like a breath of cold air in a Midwestern winter, let me breathe you in.
Let me absorb you like frozen snowflakes on my tongue.

Let me feel the warm parts of your heart, and the cold parts too.
I want to touch you, every inch of you.
Show me the scars, and the freckles on your skin.

Tell me the about the dark places of your head, and what keeps you up at night in bed.
I want your voice to fill my head, and to savor each word as it rolls off your sweet lips. A slight twang of an accent you don't notice, and don't know where you got it from.

But I do.
I notice. I notice every detail of your inches from head to toe. I notice your slight paranoia and the way you fix your hair.
I could observe you for an eternity and I wouldn't get bored.

I want you to eat me up inside.
I want you to leave a trace in every corner of my room.
I want my sheets to smell like you.
I want you to get to me.
And I want you to read this
on those nights you can't sleep.
I want it to get to you.
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