My veins thrum with
The thrill of death and blood
My eyes alight with life
As I stride through the mud

Dead men all around
Most felled by my hand
They gave their all to die
And still alive I stand

I am invincible
Too angry to die
The battle rage fills me
As I roar at the sky

My thirst is never sated
I always yearn for more
More killing, more blood
More bodies for my sword

A feeling of sadness lingers in my chest,
like the ghost that haunts me late at night.
Each night I become less and less like a person, and more like the ghost that visits me.
And sadly I cannot stop what has already been started.
And soon,
I will haunt you too.

-o.b.

She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883

She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales

She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening

She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men

Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed

She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings

Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen

Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship

But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below

She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel

And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .

Some micro poems about antiheroes.


I give my best friends black eyes,
I wont lye,
Some of it's their blood,
Some of it's mine,
But I cant talk about the first rule.

Tick tok,
Whirring cogs and grinding gears,
Going after low hanging fruit,
While we're,
Singing in the rain.

Returning video tapes,
Often leads to Huey Lewis and the news,
Raincoat, reservation, rat, rage,
I escape through blood lust and *******,
But this is not an exit.

There’s blood on his hands
Not that anyone can see
It’s the blood of the innocent
More blood than he could foresee

It’s been years and years
Of fighting and killing
Evil monsters and demons
To **** them, he’s more willing

His hands hold the weapons
With a strong and firm grip
He can slice off a head
Into evil he’ll empty a clip

His hands are calloused
From digging grave after grave
He’ll shake others’ hands
They’re soft, it’s what he craves

He wanted tea. She was coffee.
He wanted butter. She was cheese.
He wanted Facebook. She was Twitter.
He wanted Louboutin. She was Keds.
Your flaws aren’t flaws. You are art.
It may be killing you slowly everyday—but just sleep to forget the world.

They're eating me alive
It's eating me
It's driving me crazy
It's 5:30 in the morning
I haven't slept
It's killing me
I don't think I might be able to overcome it
But I'm not brave enough
To pull the trigger

"Somehow I thought escaping to a land half way around the world, I'd leave my old self behind, finally leave him and all his problems. But somehow he found me and now I just sit alone in my room. Just the two of us and we stare. No words are exchanged. But I feel the emotions between us. The tension, the disgust...The hate."