She likes toy soldiers with mustaches
and rolling camels from newspapers
(that way she has something to read when she smokes)

She likes spin the bottle at recycling centers
and starting arguments over produce
(she prefers steamed vegetables, you see)

She adores staycations in someone else's house
and dinner theatre for breakfast
(a little Hamlet and eggs)

She likes every other Tuesday
and clocks with only minute hands
(it's more her speed)

She likes hunting for change in penny arcades
and five & dimes
(but not dollar stores...go figure)

She likes soda crackers (but not soda)
She likes beer nuts (but not beer)
She likes wine cozies (well, you know the rest)

I made my way
finally
to Point Pleasant
I crossed the Silver Bridge
and walked the blood soaked fields
where the Battle of Kanawha took place
I walked the streets and absorbed the energy
that hovered like unseen clouds
I approached an older woman walking her dog. She was very sweet and made me think of my Mom, God rest her soul. I knew there would be no harsh words or anger from this gentle lady.
I asked her with a friendly smile if she had a story of the Mothman she might share.
'Not the Mothman, she said...but I do have a story.
One from childhood that I've yet to tell anyone, not even my parents. I was maybe 11 or 12 and walking home after playing and it was getting late. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, I saw a large plane losing altitude. It just came closer and closer until it leveled out and passed by very close. So close that I could see the passengers in their seats looking straight ahead, silhouetted against the light behind them. I could see their faces. It went by and then gained altitude again. The strangest thing is that I never heard a sound.
I'm not sure why I told you that story. I always felt that people would think I'm crazy. I suppose I can see that you are truly interested. So there you have it.'

I saw the museum, the ammo bunkers and TNT plant and went back to the hotel. I awoke the next morning to find two odd looking drops of blood on my pillow...still fresh. It startled me and I got up to see if it may have come from my ear. As I headed to the bathroom, I noticed more blood on the foot of the bed. In the bathroom there were 2 spots of fresh blood on the floor. I checked the mirror and found no blood in my ears. No nicks from shaving. No nicks on my arms, shoulders, neck or head. I have no idea whatsoever where that blood originated. And here's what really spooked me. They look like 2 very strange faces.

There were no phone calls from Indrid Cold. No prophecies of planes crashing or bridges collapsing, but I left Point Pleasant, West Virginia with a distinct and clear sense that I had tapped into an energy, peeked behind the curtain of Oz and maybe, just maybe I got their attention.

I did it!
...Well for a week or so
Partial credit?
...I tried real hard though

Or at least this is how I feel during sobriety
Rather after I have just ended a short stint
I drift off and become a member of my own society
Get quiet and hope the world will take the hint

I really can't handle myself or how I misinterpret things
I'm lost in the translation from my head to the real world
You'll never know the pain the memory of you brings
I was lost and found, nothing and everything all because of a girl

I never did it...
And never will!
I only hid it...
Have you had your fill?

I can't feel my face
Do I know this place?
I've been here before
I can't take any more
I'll fall off the ******* map
Pick up and go and never look back
Afraid to say most wouldn't notice
It took awhile but trust me I know this
Everyone wants you to try so **** hard
But God forbid you expect an inch when you give a yard
Than again how much could I possibly comprehend?
I'm just slouched at the keys, sketched out, at wit's end
This is just a poor excuse for a freestyle
Stream of consciousness once in awhile
I'm so close to ending my effort to care about others
I've had family had friends had lovers
But never found my mutual muse
So I'm stuck with these things I abuse
Mary Jane and John Jameson are good company
Though they tend to lead to a different me
I've come to be scared of my mirrors
No matter how I stare I can't see clear

Through the thunder nothing is heard
A shadow of a voice imprinted on the mind
The wind howls and masks their screams
Can one's own thoughts be trusted?
Not in search of, but finding oddities
Things that seem senseless
They fill the crevices left in dreams
There is no help for the silent
Mind tricks and sleight of hand
Say the words and life is lightened
One load at a time