Young and in love,               
she was everything I               
wanted and more. We               
even had matching tattoos               
to prove it.                 
                
Her parents               
thought our love written               
in permanent ink                 
was a serious issue, but                 
little did I know this               
ink would turn into nothing more         than scar tissue. Seeing                 
a wild night turn bad, we               
wish she would have turned               
away and ran.                 
                
But this is where it all began.                 
                
Engaged on a Friday night,   
her friends wanted to
do something special for her bachelorette   
party.         
        
They leave for Italy, and     
I'm overwhelmed with fear,               
but her best friend puts me at ease,       for I know her intentions are                 
innocent and sincere.                 
                
At a bar, everybody is soaking               
in the joy, laughing, and having            a good time.                 
                
But when sweaty Latino dudes climb   into the picture, everyone                 
starts to separate. She's got a bad           feeling about this.                 
                
The dude next to her               
is getting a little touchy               
feely, and she can sense               
trouble, on account he will not               
get out of her personal bubble.                   
He offers her drinks, and               
she thinks...               
                
"Why not? It's harmless, right?"               
                
Little does she know that the               
dude buying her this drink is               
totally insane, and when               
she passes out, he's going to               
take her home               
and run a train.                 
                
8 Latinos, 4 blacks,               
and two whites each               
have their five minutes.                 
                
Naked and battered,                 
she now lies                 
helplessly shattered.                 
                
She may have survived,               
but during that night                 
a piece of her had died.                                
Not wanting to be touched,  and not wanting to be seen, she can't stand the sight of her being a recluse. 
             
So she takes a bottle of pills               
and is found hanging from             
a noose.

I love you 
          
          I love you 
  
                     I love you 
  
                                  I love you 
  
  
  
FLATLINE..........

Painting a black 
rainbow underneath 
a falling sky, it's mist 
consumes and eradicates 
your last breath, your 
last hope. 

They pour the drink 
you are forced to drink, 
and feed the flesh you 
are forced to eat. 

Taught to be stupid, and 
raised to be nothing, 
what's left to do, except 
make a noise so loud, fame 
will hear you. 

Your dreams will tell you what to do. 

bang 

bang 

Congratulations

A young man sits in deep
contemplation, plotting to
escape her clutches.

She beckoned, and he
couldn't refrain.

Now he's entrapped, serving
his dark lorde. Not as glamorious
and not as it has promised.  

What used to be his
refuge is now the leach,
draining him dry.

He came as the archer,
now he's leaving an empty
shell, void of any emotion
and sentaion.

starting  as pain,
turning into pleasure,
leaving him....

Beaten

Broken

Shattered

Numb

The breast that once
nourished, is now the ***,
tantalizing cracked lips, and burning
ones throat. Over and over until
one has drinken into obvlivion.

Though he is forever in her debt,
his heart and soul still show promise.

What has been devoured has not yet
been killed.

Hand in hand, she turns to
see his eyes veer.

The darkness may have striked,
but of the countless it has
consumed, the odds of him
prevailing fair pretty well.

All the great minds I      
have come to        
know are now consumed          
by the unoriginal.       
I choose not to look, for       
the looks on their dying       
faces seem very          
pitiful.          
          
Pen in hand, I work          
endlessly, knowing       
these  words will          
carry me out of the       
middle world, a place          
where I have failed         
the people who        
see through me.          
I'm sorry, but a working          
class hero is not something          
I wish to be.       
          
My friends think it's       
unacceptable, but here I sit,       
telling you that dying is       
inevitable.       
          
It's these words       
that carry me to a          
place that's magical,          
where all my thoughts,       
ideas,          
and innovations       
are not deemed          
impractical.         
          
No money, no fame, and no          
security, this is who          
I truly am, naked to the          
very core. All the       
possibilities projected       
on me seem like nothing,          
but a bore.       
          
Pen being my          
only weapon, my imagination          
runs wild and free, for  it is          
the only way I can make people       
see.          
          
I pour this drink, in          
hopes I can cope and mend,          
while the people laugh at       
the ideas they can't       
seem to comprehend.          
          
Continuing  to double   
check these answers, 
thinking on whether          
I should be consumed          
by all the hate, while I       
contemplate my fate,       
and self  medicate.         
          
In a reality where          
I can't unwind, I       
attempt to break free,       
trying not to look back          
at the family I have          
left behind.       
          
These endorphins       
continue flowing, and there          
are no signs of me slowing,       
in a drunken haze, where       
I choose not to reminisce       
the cost, but rather, I 
pour this drink, and   
cheers to all       
the friends         
I have lost.

We're born, 
we live, we 
die.   
   
Upon arrival,   
they give us   
numbers, and   
inject the   
system into   
our veins.   
    
We're given     
a name and told   
what is wrong   
and what is right,   
how to act, and how   
to live 
    
We remain in their   
ideological   
prison, without   
asking ourselves..   
    
Why?   
  
We're not safe. They will always turn a blind eye to our loud cry.     
    
Conditioned  to produce in   
a capitalistic world. It's about time we rise up and revolt or fema camps will be our end result.   
    
programmed to follow   
the rules and smile   
when our eyes look   
sad, let's  mount up and   
rock big brothers   
Iron clad.   
    
We built this country   
with our bare hands, but they   
took what was ours and     
made it theirs. Now we're     
under their demands.     
    
Don't be   
another sheep   
in the herd,   
let your mind   
be heard.   
    
We don't   
have two eyes.   
There's   
such thing   
as a third.   
    
We're not just   
some number.   
One day we'll 
rise up and you'll   
feel the wrath of   
our thunder.

Each session was 
an hour and a half 
of pain. 

Little did I know the true 
hurt would still remain. 

What I perceived as thoughtful 
and deep turned out to be 
my worst enemy who even 
watches me sleep. 

In my dreams I'm able to stray, 
but when I awake I know you 
are here to stay. 

I will cut, claw, and scrape as 
I may. But all efforts are to 
no avail for you will never 
be kept at bay. 

Sitting in regret is not 
time well spent, there's 
nothing more I can do, 
so I shall repent. 

There will come a time where 
I will no longer be your slave. 
Soon you'll just be three layers 
of ink that will diminish in my grave. 

No longer will I be consumed with sorrow 
because where I go I know you will never follow.