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 Dec 2013 Trent Kutchara
Mr E
We like to think we are hard to understand
Intricate mazes with twisting chaotic paths
Leading to numerous outcomes
Mysteries woven within our stories
Constantly changing and always anew
We like to believe we are elaborate structures
Constructs of pure ingenuity
Winding corridors with infinite knowledge
With mysterious doors holding plethoras of secrets
Darkened halls to shroud our true motives
Stairways up and down, leading anywhere and everywhere
We like to fool the world
Building these zig-zagging stories
Losing the truth the farther we burrow
Forgetting who we are in the labyrinths of our minds
Forever lost in what we have become
We lied to ourselves
With broken confidence, striving to be who we want
Rather than who we are
Living in a world of other grande designs
Trying to keep up against time itself
We doubted ourselves
Unable to look at the mirrors which spoke the most truth
Turning away and hiding in the lies we fortified around us
The barricaded conscience, locked away and ignored
Emotion took hold and there you sat
We all sat and wondered
Where would "I" fit in this broken world
Of towering deceptive motives
Glimmering pedestals of deceit
Trick rooms and evil men
We all asked ourselves "Where will I go"
When people see the place I've hidden myself away
Calling us out, asking to venture, deep through our halls
We felt simple opposed to the world
Far greater stories, fascinating, colorful
And our structures crumbled
And there we sat
Alone, where the world could see what we ignored in that mirror
But we understood
That Truth can set you free
Despite the lies we make ourselves believe
For simplicity is truth itself
Niemand weiss wie Andere brauchen,
doch ich weiss ich will etwa rauchen.
To translate is futile, it ***** up rhyme and idiom,
and moreover it's done in a vein of humour;
so, I shall do it for you:

I need smoke

No one knows how others need,
but I know I want some to smoke.
 Dec 2013 Trent Kutchara
moonlit
Stars are invading my vision and everything is blank. All I see is blinding darkness for the next few hours. When I finally wake, I see myself hanging from my rope attached to my ceiling. I gasp in horror. My throat closes up and my eyes betray me when they allow warm tears to form puddles on my sunken-in cheeks as I watch myself sway in horror. I quickly compose myself and the silence I hear is piercing. I wait. I wait. I wait. In the next two hours, I hear someone enter my house. I freeze. I hear keys jingling and the removal of coats. Next I hear voices. Two separate voices. Two familiar voices. My muscles ease up when I realize the foreign people are simply my parents. I hear stairs creaking. (I always hated those stairs. they reverberated booming creaks while I was trying to quickly maneuver my way up them after a deceitful night of sneaking out to see someone who was my very first heartbreak - but that's a different story.) I hear laughter. I hear happiness. I hear desperate calls for my name. I hear silence. I hear frantic knocking on my door. "Open this door right now young lady! We do not have time for your disobedience at the moment!" The door swings open. Sobs. Screams. My mother falls to the floor. I hear my mother calling out for my father, begging him to somehow comfort her.
My father files in. His mouth opens. Tears escape his eyes. He doesn't bother wiping them. Through his cloudy vision, he spots my note of finals words. He reads the first few sentences. "It was my time to go, I felt it in my bones. This was for the best, for I was only making a mess. I was making a mess of my life. I ruined myself. I had to leave. I am very sorry." He only gets that far until he drops the note and frantically dials 911. "Operator! Operator! I just found my daughter, she, she hung herself!"
"Please be patient sir, we'll have someone there right away." And with that he hangs up. He looks at my fragile mother. Then to me. He eyes me up and down before shouting to no one in particular, "Why?" He loses it and breaks down even more. My mother is still sobbing. Her shoulders are shaking. I ache for her. When I was alive I had not known I could have such an effect on people. I'd always considered myself dead, on the inside that is. Now I really was dead. And there's no going back. As much as I wish I could take it back, I cannot. And for that I apologize. I snap out of my thoughts and bring my vision back to my parents. The ambulance is here. They cover me in a white sheet and take me away. My mother tries to go into the ambulance but the paramedics stop her. They drive off. My mother falls onto the street. My father beside her. They are both apologizing. They are apologizing to me. Saying how they should've been there for me. Saying they should have noticed something and helped me. They are apologizing to each other. A day later, my best friend finds out. She sprints into her room and slams her door. Carefully, she selects a razor from her wooden cabinet in the bathroom and drags it across her wrist. "I'm sorry, I should've known. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispers. And with that, she's gone. I have caused all of this. I caused turmoil and pain, I am the reason for my best friend to take her life. I had not known people actually cared about me. I soon realize the severity of my poor judgement. And at that very moment, what was left of my ghostly my soul withered away. I decayed into stardust and floated into space. I am gone.
It was the sort of day
that equates to the last day
December **** it
why is it sixty and humid enough to swim circles through the air?
yet the grey mist suffocates the horizon
and the light mist tastes like a city
the cat standing on driveways of crumbling mansions
running with fur puffed up from wild dogs snarling at choke chain collars
The trees are all hiding their heads in the sand
and each building passed decays in decadence
everybody hungry enough to do something they might regret
men and women taking shelter in zoo enclosures
to avoid the jungle cats which stalk the streets beneath blood red hunters' moons
It was the kind of day to make me want to see the next

— The End —