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Kaycee33 Jan 2013
Resident Facebook by Keith Collard

{remnants of a blood and ice coffee stained diary}


23april1996,

Been working at this mansion for at least four months now. Fellow co-workers are friendly enough. The pharmeceutical researchers are very pompous with their exact demands. Im in charge of the food storage and refridgeration for the mansion. It is the only modernly powered facet of this mansion. Besides the labs in the basement(from which I only heard).


26april1996,

This mansion is too creepy, the architect designed the living quarter and main facade of the mansion in a 1920 neo gothic fashion--with gas lamps and gothic paintings. Every device, even the typewriters in the mansion are old fashioned mechanical. A top researcher told me in casual conversation that these doors and clocks are more durable than current electronic means, built in the same fashion as the pyramids and stonehenge--he was pointing out all the clocks and engraved doors in the dining hall as he was speaking,while I was putting out the food. He's the usual eccentric for as these researchers go, he told me the company president paid him to design classical mantraps along the mansion and guardhouse to keep workers from straying, encrypted with runes and riddles as keys(some odd ducks).


2may1996,

Mansion workers were given each a laptop today by the head researcher Albert Wesker. This guy is like the James Bond of scientists, dashing and suave with a 9mm berreta at his side(wish we were allowed guns). He wears sunglasses--even at night. He said they experimented with a comunications app the scientists have been using to communicate expeiremental data. The only app available on there is something called Facebook, which the scientists call "fbproto."


5may1996,

The f.bproto is neat, we can watch movies , talk to eachother, and to workers at the pharmaceutical's sister facilities. Everything is monitored by the companies security admins Ive heard. The company will be holding raffles via f.bproto for staffers who could win a chance to participate in "beneficial lab trials" from ***** extension treatment to magnetic wave reducing therapy. Sounds unappealing to me...I put my name down on the site just in case.


6 may1996,Been talking to girl who works in sanitation department underneath the guardhouse, her name is Ada, she said there was an important goverment official flying in to the helipad today. She is pretty cute, and one bright light in this shadowy mansion. message from company, we should join democratic party on fbproto. whatever they say,they're the scientists.


10may1996,

Been stayin up too late posting on f.bproto,the company is posting alot of links, of visual images and sentences I don't quite understand. Ben from mansion cleanin services keeps hitting on Ada,I want to defriend him but want to know what he's doing. I put my cat in fbproto company pic contest,with everyone else who was given lab pets by the scientists, I put little gloves on her paws--Im sure to win.


11may1996,

Karl sent me a message on fbproto that he saw a researcher go into his room, and never saw him leave, and when he went to clean his room the researcher was not in there. This mansion is creepy, I mean a statue of a woman cutting her own throat with the inscription "only death shall set you free,"is that a little gloomy or what. fan of smiley faces on fbproto.;)


12 may 1996

man, the doors are like eight inches thick, solid wood, I locked myself out of my room and tried to shoulder the door in. Well, the door with its inlaid wood carving just laughed at me, it resembles a dragon or snake or someshit with two fern looking wings, red and blue. Spooooky stuff. I had to go get the security admin for the mansion staff living quarters. He unlocked the door, and told me that all the doors are solid oak. I asked him what the words at the bottom of serpent meant, he said it says in latin “ the two wings of the beast are red and blue.” I asked him what the hell that means, he says he didn’t know, but that it has to do with the research the scientists are doing.

I stayed up almost all night on fbproto, at first because my shoulder was killing me, but then it went away, and I kept finding myslelf with a ciqerette in my fingers all the way burnt down and my skin charred, geez, fbproto really takes your mind off things, especially this mansion which reminds me of a sepulcre. That Dan thinks he’s hot stuff, posting himself in his living quarters in the guard house, which is better than the mansion staffs. He get’s to go to the guardhouse recreation room, his profile pic is a bottle of Johnny Walker Red in it’s high end package that looks like a coffin, that him and the guards won at dart’s. It’s not hard to win that when Albert Wesker is on your team, that guy sunk three darts WilliamTell style into the bull’s eye. He tagged me in the picture of the Johnny Walker, *******.


13 may 1996

Locked myself in the walk in freezer today by accident, forgot the code….a researcher let me out finally, and asked if I was alright, I said I was fine, he just looked at me curiously. I was in there to clean out these blue vines, that kept on growing into the ducts and stuff, kept on turning the temperature down. But I won’t lie, I had my laptop with me to pass time, but after a while I couldn’t scroll down because my fingers stopped working , so I pressed the keyboard with my tongue. Ada’s pictures kept me warm, oh how I love her…..I want her so bad.


13may1996

Had a dream about the helicopter ride in and how the dense forest resembled a corpse’s face as we flew past it fast overhead. We touched down on the helipad, and there were dead bodies in the razor wire, they were shaking as if they were in a laughing frenzy from the rotor wash of the helicopter. Then as I entered the main façade (my footstep's echos on the tile seemed to walk away and disapear into the mansion)and stepped on the black and white checkered hall floor, Albert Wesker was there, and he was nicely dressed as a bartender or sumthin, and he asked if " I wanted a ****** mary," and he was squeezing a heart into the glass, then I looked down and there was a hole in my chest where my heart was supposed to be. Then there was a giant ice coffee and dancing with a mirror to moonlight sonata….****** stuff, this mansion is getting to me.


14may1996

dan is such a ****, keeps posting pics of himself shirtless, he was given some experimental hormone from a researcher and is relleshing in it It was some form of energy drink called Red Bull.

Him and Ada are talking more. Message from company to like republican party page(whatever)Daves three eyed frog won fbproto pic contest,grrrr.


15may1996,

there's been more accidents in the mansion and in the labs below. Fred from the kitchen staff cut off his fingers today,and Ive heard through Chris' post that someone fell into the live feed area where they feed animals to their experiments. Bob put his fbproto password(instead of mansioncode) into the mechanical lock at the observatory springing a trap of spikes that spiked his hand to his head and his head to the wall, the featherduster was still in his hand(or face).;(


16may1996,

the scientist with the always grave look has disapeared, the guards said he transferred,but a fellow researcher said he was fired, shame, I liked him.

There is a plant living in my radiator, keeps growing vine-like tendrils, and is turning up the heat...230 friends on f.bproto,woot woot.


17may1996,

the company is handing out promotional ice coffee that they created in the labs to staffers via f.bproto,I wasn't picked, dang,its said to give you "10x human energy and vitality".I became a fan of Backstreet Boys on f.bproto.


18may1996,

karl found a memo from the missing researcher under his bed when he was cleaning out his room, sent me a message via f.bproto,it read that the researcher concluded that the f.b proto had negative effects on living tissue, decreased brain function,increased tendencies for violence,and not worth the sublimal control contract with the goverment, and that both pre-cambrian ferns pose to much liability for a biohazard and show signs of sentience.........hmm,im up to 300 friends now.


19 may 1996,

more accidents in mansion, Albert Wesker sent message to staffers that he was just promoted to Head of Security,and that if anybody is caught leaving the premises they will be shot. I wouldn't even dare to go out in the surrounding forest, I hear the wild dogs howlin all night amid those dense woods.just became a fan of Ace of base, they are awesome.


20may 1996,

my roomate looks like a hot messs, his skin looks pale with black blotches and he has pitch black circles underneath eyes, he's been taking the labs new painkillers, man he should change his profile pic. I poked Ada.


21 may 1996

message from f.bproto, "outside guards replaced by Hunters.".....man, def would not go out there now, I fed one of those ape reptile thingy's live feed the other day( Phil went missing, I had to do his job, always doing other peoples work), and the feed for that day was a cow, and this thing just poked the cow to death with its razor claws.

Everyone of those brute raptor things have a skeleton key has their middle razor claw, a researcher said they can hear every door open and shut in the mansion, " If you see one, turn around and go out the door you came, if you enter a door your not supposed to, well....." he didn't finish what he was saying, only walked off muttering "what have I done....".....I friend requested him on fbproto, his last post was "god forgive me." His profile pic was his mansion room, with replicas of insects and a fishtank(that is rumoured to be a model of a giant one in the basement). He disapeared soon after and his fbproto was deactivated.

Joined Labville on fbproto.;)


22may1996,

message from company, the labs are combining expieramental ice coffee,painkillers,and steroids,anyone on f.bproto can partake, and we should document how we feel and what we do on fbproto multiple times a day. Took a pic of myself shirtless, can see spine coming thru skin, and I keep catching the red plant from the radiator posing in the background, or giving me bunny ears......grrrrrrrr.;(


23may1996

went to smoke a spleef on the stone balcony, near the greeen house over looking the forest the other night, they grow all kinds of red and blue marjiauna there.....but there was one of those reptile hunter things, standing guard there, blocking the path, it screamed and almost blew my eardrums out, " okey dokie" I said, and slowly backed away and left......friggin nazis these pharmaceutical people are.

I got rid of the Labville app on fbproto, that game is too hard, I keep running out of butlers to feed my experiments, and my humans keep escaping into the woods. But mostly, Im sick of seeing

Albert Wesker's name with the highest score everytime I play......



25may1996,

Ben said he saw a handfull of scientists and guards on the helipad taking a chopper out. There is more plants decorating the halls, no one knows who put them there, some rooms are blazing hot, others are ice cold. Ben said to not go to the library, everyone who went upstairs to that room has not returned, that the blue ones have took over the cobblestone path to the courtyard where the armory is. Said he saw Kevin in the tangles running up the stone wall on the side, he had a vine going in his mouth and coming out his eye; and he said that the researchers call the red ones "evaginates," for how they trap and slowly eat you(sounds ******). Im not on Ada's top friends list anymore, angry.


26may1996,

the mansion is awash in accidents and fighting, roomate looks like zombie, others look like reptilian muscled gorillaz, others just a blur they move so fast.eyes hurt from staring at f.b proto. Moaning alot. everyone is playing "I Saw the sign" from Ace of Base. Vines keep stealing my hat, and eating people.


25...,

no food, ate cat,mittens and both hearts,gas lights out, dark,everyone walking around with laptops to see,blue fbproto reflections on walls.fml.


2aprol

took chris' ice cofee and killed ben before he took steroids,lol,ate steroids,no one cooking food, getting hungry,guards came,ate em.....bullet hole in my chest......chaaange f.bproto profile pic to facee....my quote is mooohaha... just. saying


23...,

feel strong, fast,gruntin alot, hungry, no food, ate carl, ate red plant, carved him with my skeleton clah....I hate mondays was post on f.bproto,yum ice cofee.


43

oooohhhh, lol,lol, top ada friend list, ,ate benny...b.esisde armpits....he stink.....roarrrrr......oohhh....bullel wond in cheeek....see benny in thar......moving quick......hunman bones everyware....stain carpits....helicupter....mur guards......no.....pulice.....wesker is wit em....ace of base now.....bed of blud..I wit...fur em.....fbproto sez **** starssss ......


2..........rooooooahhhhh,yum, ohhhhhhh,lol,raohh.fml............[rest of transcript unintelligible]
nivek Mar 2017
9mm
a 9mm bullet is harmless
unless you swallow it.

An SMG spits 9mm bullets
I was a pretty good shot.

A medic armed for self defence only
following the Geneva Convention.

And believe me the red cross
is no guarantee quarter will be given

-to the medic
or the wounded.
Girard Tournesol Mar 2019
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me

and the more I heard the faster I turned

as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
      best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes

passports are even faster

I never had problems
   with band-aids
       the bank
the insurance company
      the healthcare system
never turned down
      for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
      or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
      and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
      and the faster I turned

then I learned
   about certain specifics
      certain policies

with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government  
       syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
       even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
       has more than one stanza?  
really there were four stanzas?

MY country ‘tis of ME
      and it was making me feel *****

learned that no one
      voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
      o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
              were ordered
      to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
      certain death

then I watched a cop
       shoot a kid in the back
              in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******

baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore

I hit the brakes hard
      on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
      of turning
I slowed down way way way down
      stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
be more than words

> As published in North/South Literary Canon
Travis Dixon Mar 2011
the ashes of ancient
alchemical martyrs glow
in the great tunnels
of Hadron, whizzing
faster than time
at the behest of man,
the measurer of all things
including whether things
are worth measuring or not

a sordid joke on the great minds
that sorted the mystery out
long before quantum physicists
crawled out from under
the church’s labyrinth
of insulting confabulations
and pillaged the fortunes of others
to build the great rings

shall we bow to the new God?
**** your experience, I’ll prove you wrong
He bellows from the podium built from
the finest endangered trees
and polished with the spit of
all who disagree, and yet

it’s truth in action
the 9mm’s omniscient song
sung across this suffering world:
***** with me, and you’ll discover the truth
Danny Valdez Dec 2011
My mom and I went out
driving around from bar to bar
a lot
looking for my old man.
Usually we’d find him pretty early on
the drive home, with my mom yelling at him
while my four-year-old *** sat in the backseat
having to listen t it all.

Those were the
good nights,
the easy & calm nights.

But this one night
I remember
better than others.
My mom went inside his favorite bar
with me on her hip.
The bartender told her he had just left.
with some blonde lady.
So we sat in the car and waited.
His Harley was parked out front
so we knew he’d be back.
My mom chain-smoked,
sipping at her icy Mountain Dew
from her green metal thermos.

She had fire in her eyes,
gasoline in her veins.
My mom was really gonna let him have it
and that blonde *****, too, she said.

The bar was next door to a 7-11
Two lowlife ******* were
Standing around
They saw my mom and I sitting there,
One of them yelled at her
“Whatcha lookin’ at *****?”
“I ain’t lookin’ at you, shut the **** up.”
My Mom spouted back, flicking her Marlboro.
They didn’t say anything,
Just started walkin’ away.

Out of nowhere though,
the ****-talkin’ lowlife was next to her window.
He reached in and grabbed my mom by the arm.
I was really scared, I remember.
“Whatcha got to say now? Huh *****?”
My mom reached for her pistol
With her free hand
While the lowlife kept
talking, threatening to **** her in front of her son.
Within a matter of seconds
The black 9mm pistol
Was unholstered and shoved into his nose.
His eyes were as wide as they got.
His hands now up in the air,
he was shaking & trembling.
My mom pulled back the hammer,
it made that terrifying click.
His eyes shut tightly when
that sound came.
“I AM a *****. The WRONG ***** to **** with tonight.”
Be cool lady. Becoolladybecool. Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.”
The gun was now pressed into his sunburned, pockmarked, cheek.
“Get the **** away from my car.”
And just like that, off he ran into the darkness.

I had fully expected her to
blow his head off, right there in front of me.
She asked if I was okay.
I nodded yes and she kissed my forehead.
She stood outside the car then
Next to his Harley
Pacing back and forth
Her adrenaline really pumping now,
smoking and drinking soda
from that green metal thermos.

I don’t know how much time passed,
but eventually
a little red car pulled up.
My dad and the blonde got out.
When he saw my mom he sighed and said,
“Ahhh **** me.”
scratching his big biker beard
with his brown hands.
The blonde tried to go into the bar.
My mom blocked her entry saying,
“Uh ah! What the **** were you doing with MY man, *****?!”
The blonde looked to my dad for help.
“Danny?” she cried.
“Rhonda, nothing happened. I just got some coke from her. That’s all, now chill the **** out...”
“*******,” she yelled.
The blonde again tried to go into the bar.
And again my mom stood in the way.
Now the blonde was ******. She screamed in fear & frustration,
“***** get the **** outta my way."
“You ******’ *****,” my mom shrieked,
smashing the green metal thermos to her face.
Then she dropped it
and began throwing wild punches to the blonde’s face and head.
I unbuckled my car seat
and leaned out the window
watching my mom & the blonde
roll around on the ground.
My dad let her get in a few good hits,
then pulled her off.
The blonde’s face was
red, swollen, and bloodied.
My mom wore a lot of rings.
The blonde stumbled to her feet
and finally ran inside.

My parents argued all the way home
The old man stuck to his story,
that it was just a drug deal.
She wasn’t having it.
They told me to go to bed,
but I stayed up
peeking around the corner,
watching them argue.
The old man was too drunk & coked out.
He wasnt making any sense, the **** he was saying.
Finally she got tired of arguing in circles
and just threw a hard right
layed him out on the kitchen floor.
I ran as fast as I could back to my room.
I could hear her say,
"See? You ******' *******! This is what you get!"
as I pulled my Batman blanket up to my chin.
****.
My mom was tougher than Batman.
Monica Alvarez Feb 2021
9mm
I was back in my prison-- the four walls of my room.
Emotions were shooting like pistols.
My head is about to go boom.
Adam Smith Dec 2017
As I look at the bullet, my head hurts like I've done this before.
I'm ready to end it, aside from the mess I'd leave on the floor.

My only concern of what I'd leave behind,
The burden to clean up whatever's left to find.

It'd be more than a week before anyone knew,
and only for something that I didn't do.

I used to worry bout how it'd be done,
Now I don't care; everyone else has won.

It doesn't need to mean something special to me,
Its not worth pressing on with whats destined to be.

I've held on longer than I thought I could,
It would seem much longer than I really should.

No need to see whats around the next bend,
I've turned a few corners and this is the end.

So one last pull while I'm standing tall.
I just need one, then you can have it all.
Courtney Jun 2018
9mm that’s the size of a bullet fired by police,
It could be in self-defence,
It wouldn’t matter.

Cameras and press are pressed for time and need to get a front-page article out,
“Chicago policeman shoots man” is what they go with
Never mind that man killed three girls aged 10 – 12 but not before they were violently abducted.
Police to avoid this happening to another child raided the house with the wallpaper faded.
He shot at them first and when the policeman fired back he signed his resignation because no-one wanted to hear his apology in front of the whole nation.

NRA and the 2nd amendment are giving everyone an easy excuse,
It’s written into the constitution therefore it must be okay,
But let me tell you something real quick:
Slavery was legal
Segregation was legal
Does that make it okay?
And here is where we sit right now on that fine line of it being moral and it being legal
Rococo May 2022
9mm
Heart, racing
Legs, shaking
Thoughts, boiling
Canvas, ready
Brush, loaded
-----Bang-----
Mind, spilled
*******, came
Alex Lutz Aug 2014
The weight of the world sits on my chest,
The pain of longing, of want, of a companion I know well,
With complete prior knowledge of this fine specimen,
I cant help but be ensnared again in the tangly web of love

The first time I saw, my god. Its like the eyes' virginity is taken.
A beautiful woman to admire, and get to know.
Complete originality, not one in the world like her.
Not in body. Not in mind. Not in spirit.

Remember back to when we fell, together.
Do you recall the crazy series of events that put me in your path?
Where would I be if not for you, I have no idea.
Without you, I am nothing. I know that now, loud and clear.

We were one, you and I, tightly bound
Nothing could or would stop us.
I am my own worst enemy, Regretting my past decision.
Cutting my lifeline and rope off from my love, my one and only.
I would love more than anything to slowly reattach, and heal,
The cable that once held us together so tightly.

You say " let your actions speak" will you watch and listen?
If I get my actions in line will you see them?
Ive been working hard to be wiser and less rash,
to understand and listen instead of jumping to conclusions fast.

You say you love me, what is holding you back?
I love you too, more than anything in fact.
Why must you say that you need time,
I understand but baby, lets forgive and move on.

But Alex, you were the one who let me go!
Yes baby looking back I realize, I know!
I will beg, do anything for another chance.
Anything for your love's sake is worth doing again.

But time is the key to a strong love, and healing,
and to rekindle a relationship you need both things.
And plus you said right now its what you need,
your wish is my command, Ill treat you as a queen.

My time with you isn't time spent, its earned,
after every endeavor somehow I feel richer mentally or in my spirit.
Wish you could jump into my head and see, into the fathoms of my brain,
Deep deep down how much you mean to me.

The longer the clock ticks the stronger the bond gets,
That is why I regret the decision to break it.
There is no other woman that I have a heart or eyes for,
Baby I don't want to argue, just sit down so we can talk more.

The bond is broken, but I can bend it and mend it
Back to its original shape, or even stronger.
Let me come back in your life, and start to carefully and gently restore,
What I had ripped out before. :(

Our love can be stronger. I know you feel something special between us.
I will respect you first, in order to earn your trust.
Then all the dents and kinks can work themselves out.
Knowing that love will overcome those tougher obstacles.

My heart still yearns and longs for her small, gentle but strong hands,
To be clasped around my heart, holding it secure, never inflicting pain,
Tending to its every need.
Why did I not see, The absolute rarity of a woman so elegant and fair as thee?

Her golden-brown hair, her emerald eyes,
Her perfect smile, those American thighs.
Just a few things that describe the one and only potential bride
That I have ever met in this challenge called life. In my best moment, I had it all. In my worst moment, all was lost.

Have we lost it all? The house we spent 2 years to build?
Has it come crashing down brick by brick?
What of the cornerstones? Are they in their respective places?
Has all that I have worked and loved for been completely vanquished?

Have the winds of change blown? Have the tides shifted?
Is the playing field the same, or is it somehow different??
I remember the days when things were straightforward,
I  said what I felt, and my words were never distorted.

I want to work hard to prove myself. Am I worth it? I know I am.
Does she think that of me though? Have I lost ALL respect between us?
How can I live with myself if I let true love slip? But if I grab tighter, it only becomes more slick, and chances of us ending up together diminish.
The only person that could give me true happiness I run away from? That was hands down my absolute worst mistake.

I will work hard for another chance.
I will be a better man
That you are calling out to me to be.
Then perhaps you and I will reunite our team.

Where is my mind? I cannot catch it, slips away from the conscious
Memories of you, dash in and out, at any times notice.
Something I see or hear pulls that trigger over and over again.
BANG. 9mm to my mind. An endless reminder of my fatal mistake.

I have hurt worse in 2 months to be away from and missing you,
Than it ever did in all 2 years I was with you.
Come back to me, my purest love, my one and only, my Juliet.
You are the only thing I can think about.
Nevermore Jul 2014
I would have loved to teach you
Chinese chess
And Muay Thai
Or even Brazilian Jiujitsu
Staining the mats
With sweat and stolen caresses
A serious session
That just might transition
From full guard
To full-on French kissing.

We could have watched Oldboy again
Together this time,
Or Glengarry Glen Ross,
My favorite movie.
And you could have shown me
A film major's favorite movies.

We could have tried the tacos
In Chupacabra,
The salmon sashimi in Sugi
(Their fresh sea urchin is the bomb, by the way).
I could even have cooked for you.
My vichyssoise isn't bad.
And you do love potatoes more than your own family.

Kayaking in the south,
Roadtripping all the way north,
Visited the stone houses and the honest folk
Of the northernmost islands.

Held contests
To see who could drink who under the table.
Your weakness is beer,
Mine is soju.
Could have seen who could hold whiskey better. 

I was dead serious too
When I said I was serious
About taking you
To the West Indies and North Africa
For that pilgrimage of yours.

I was prepared to hear what you had to say
About the things you see
The spirits calling to you
The dead dancing like wisps at dusk
Demons chasing you;
Skeptic or not,
I never would have minded you waking me up at 4 AM
To tell me about your latest vision.

Run cigarette companies out of business
Introduced you to my friends and my family
Listened to you sing and
Allowed awe to seize me again and again
Written a hundred poems in praise
And read your requital ones.

Kissed under the stars,
Talked in the dark
On the sand
Until 3 AM,
Exchanging yawns and hugs,
Bumming smokes off of each other
And greeting the sunrise
With a bottle of local moonshine
Bought from the fisherfolk.

Taken you shooting
9mm, .45, even 12 gauge.
Entwine my arms around you
Whisper in your ear
Inhale the cordite in the air and the smell of your skin
Teaching you shot placement
That you're pulling the trigger wrong
And hold your breath a bit and don't flinch.

Played Skyrim and CoD all night long
Yelled ******* at each other
While kicking *** on Tekken
And swapping spit in between rounds.

Made friends with your beagle
And discussed a life together
A dog, a cat, maybe no kids.
Just one, if ever.
Argued over names for the kid.

We had a real connection, too,
But, oh well,
How was I supposed to know
That you were just looking for cheap thrills
For transient pleasure
That the 'connection' was probably just one-way?
Maybe I'm just stupid.

I'll just have to find someone else
To do these things with.
Someone better, smarter, funnier,
But none of your legion of issues
The truckloads of your problems.

Have a nice day.
Christian Grover Jul 2010
It can be dangerous
     To encounter something
     Thought provoking before sleep

Maybe you will have a couple of minutes of afterthought
     And then drift to Sleep
Or you may catch Insomnia caused by, and causing,
    A series of jumbled thoughts
Thoughts that change paths quickly, sharply and often

So they are crossing and weaving
     Going up and down, side to side
               Forwards, backwards, short and longways
                         Until you have an apparently infinitely tangled mess
                                   And that point a 9mm seems appropriate
                                             To clear out this heap that has kept you from
                                                       Much needed slumber for the past few hours
-Whew

Don't take this as a suicide attempt though
     No this is merely a desperate, fantasy of an attempt for some rest

The next plan may be to scream,
     as if jumping from a building
     Hoping that the thoughts would leave
     With the air from your lungs
Of course that would not work
     Seeing how breathe and ideas
     Come from different parts of the body
And your not so cruel to wake those who do manage to sleep

So now try to scream inside your head
     But really you want someone to hear it
     So the purpose (which I believe I no longer grasp) is defeated
Well, you could scream to yourself,
     Or God
     So someone knows what going on
But then out of now where arguments break out
     Upon realizing that you are fighting with yourself
     You fear a schizophrenic diagnosis
     And argue with God (if you haven't already)
     About why he gave you two personalities
          That fight each other into the wee hours of the night

Then your mind will just happen to wander
     From the quarrel
Analyzing the last point to come up
     Which drifts into a semi-related tangent
          Then wander to something some one did
               That this particular thought reminds you of
                    Maybe that meanders on ever to the actions
                         Of a character from some book you've read
                              And after rereading the book inside your head
                                   Go on and review everything you've read by the author
                              And relate how similar the name of the author is
                    Related to a cast member of a mind bending movie
               As the lost pattern of whimsy gurgles like a puzzle of
          Light bulbs flashing with assumed direction but no
     Real goal in mind, but just on and on, etc, etc, etc,

Captured inside a tighter, messier ball than before
It can be dangerous
     To encounter something
     Thought provoking before sleep

Maybe you will have a couple of minutes of afterthought
     And then drift to Sleep
Or you may catch Insomnia caused by, and causing,
    A series of jumbled thoughts
Thoughts that change paths quickly, sharply and often

So they are crossing and weaving
     Going up and down, side to side
               Forwards, backwards, short and longways
                         Until you have an apparently infinitely tangled mess
                                   And that point a 9mm seems appropriate
                                             To clear out this heap that has kept you from
                                                       Much needed slumber for the past few hours
-Whew

Don't take this as a suicide attempt though
     No this is merely a desperate, fantasy of an attempt for some rest

The next plan may be to scream,
     as if jumping from a building
     Hoping that the thoughts would leave
     With the air from your lungs
Of course that would not work
     Seeing how breathe and ideas
     Come from different parts of the body
And your not so cruel to wake those who do manage to sleep

So now try to scream inside your head
     But really you want someone to hear it
     So the purpose (which I believe I no longer grasp) is defeated
Well, you could scream to yourself,
     Or God
     So someone knows what going on
But then out of now where arguments break out
     Upon realizing that you are fighting with yourself
     You fear a schizophrenic diagnosis
     And argue with God (if you haven't already)
     About why he gave you two personalities
          That fight each other into the wee hours of the night

Then your mind will just happen to wander
     From the quarrel
Analyzing the last point to come up
     Which drifts into a semi-related tangent
          Then wander to something some one did
               That this particular thought reminds you of
                    Maybe that meanders on ever to the actions
                         Of a character from some book you've read
                              And after rereading the book inside your head
                                   Go on and review everything you've read by the author
                              And relate how similar the name of the author is
                    Related to a cast member of a mind bending movie
               As the lost pattern of whimsy gurgles like a puzzle of
          Light bulbs flashing with assumed direction but no
     Real goal in mind, but just on and on, etc, etc, etc,

Captured in a tighter, messier ball than before
     Still no closer to falling into bliss and dreams
     Continuing a run around circle of red eyed agony

And what of Emotions
     Before it was a string
     With many frayed and loose ends
     All tied into a childish knot
Now add your emotions from the day
     A bunch of gunky wax and slime
You stuck with a coarse
                                                  stringy
­                                                                m­ushy
                                                            ­                  smelly
                                        ­                                                    tangled
     ­                                                                 ­                                        and damp
                            pile of sspthpthtphtphthhh (a.k.a. crap)

And the only things
     That seem a proper remedy
     For this pile of crap
     Are tranquilizers meant
     For animals much larger than you
     Or just a friendly bullet
     (One with a hollow tip to really clear out)

You know you could get up
     Read,
                 Write,
                              Watch some TV
But even though you are
     Completely awake and
     Fully alert
You are just too tired to up

But if by some miracle
     You do manage to just doze off
     This perpetual law of irony dictates
     That your alarm is not even
     Three moments from sounding

And in that ringing
     Is a true moment you may wish to have that bullet
Written a while ago when I often suffered from insomnia, but this night was particularly bad after watching a deep, surrealistic movie before going to sleep.
It is the longest poem that I have yet written, and if you have made it to the end, thank you very much. I hope you enjoyed it.
Also please let me know of any spelling or grammar mistakes if you catch them
Danny Valdez Dec 2011
It was a suicide.
He had gotten drunk,
too drunk.
He tried going to the bar he worked at,
it was his night off,
but they turned him away.
“You’ve already had too much to drink. Go sleep it off, pal.”
Instead he went home,
put a glock 9mm to his head
And blew his brains out
on his back porch.
His roommate found him.
There was no note,
no answers,
just questions left behind.
A week later was the memorial service.
He was an atheist,
a vocal one at that.
Had a tattoo of a rotting zombie Christ
on his arm.
But his family was devout Lutherans,
so that was the send off he got.
Standing against the wall,
in the small chapel,
the lines were clearly divided.

Seated in the pews were people
dressed in bright, happy colors.
Pastels.
Blues, greens, pinks, yellows, and lavenders.
Those were his blood relatives
and Lutheran members of the family’s church.

Then on the edges and in the back
Stood and sat his other family,
the metal heads, the punks, the ******* kids, and subculture misfits,
Dressed in black,
arms & legs tattoed with ink.

The pastels
spoke in unison, reciting prayers and scripture,
While the kids in black, stood silent
Unmoved by the minister’s words about Christ.
The pastels bowed their heads in prayer, for the poor boy’s soul.

We in black looked around the room,
studying their pinched faces
while they remained blind.
One woman apparently could feel my stare
cause she opened her eyes, and looked right into mine.
Never will forget that look she had,
like she knew something I didn’t.

The minister in the white and green robe kept talking,
saying my friend was in the loving arms of Jesus.
Guess he forgot that suicides got
a one-way ticket straight to hell.
It was typical.
A spiritual buffet,
take what you like,
ignore what you don’t.
But I don’t blame them, not one bit.
What parent wants to imagine
their child burning in that lake of fire,
never to be held in their arms again?
No one.

His mother went up and said a few words,
Some stories,
funny ones from his childhood.
Then his neighbor went up and spoke,
then an old girlfriend from high school.
And then a great silence.
The podium stood empty.
Before I knew it,
my hands were gripping the wooden podium
and my mouth was talking.
Telling the pastels & black shirts kids
about the first time I saw him.
He was in the mosh pit doing spin kicks and backflips
like a five-foot-six, blonde, ninja in Saucony jazz shoes.
And how I never saw him be unkind or mean to anyone,
that he was a GOOD boy.
My eyes began to burn,
I felt my throat tightening.
“Really gonna miss him,” I managed to choke out.
I took my place back against the wall
as the slideshow & music started up.
They were playing The Beatles.
My friend was a Black Sabbath kind of guy.

Outside I saw faces not seen in years,
not since I was a 17-year-old kid.
I saw Matty standing there.
We had just buried another one
of the boys from the crew,
Munster
less that six months earlier.
Poor Munsey.
Now Matty and I were the only ones left.
Went straight up to him and we both latched on,
sobbing & shaking
hugging each other as tight as we could.
“It’s too much, man. It’s too soon. They’re both ******* GONE.”
He was broken and I was worried about him.
Very much so.

Then we all met at a bar,
his bar.
The one he worked at and got turned away from that night.
We told stories
like when everyone was trying to **** this girl
and he wasn’t, but she pulled him into a room
at the end of the night …
picking him over us all.
Or how he could make his ***** do all kinds of tricks,
disappearing and reappearing in his red *******.
“The popper” he called it.
We slammed down shots & brews
burying our little buddy, one glass at a time.
And the last thing …
His parents showed up at the bar
cradling T-shirts on hangars, his clothes.
I saw someone pick up his Blood For Blood shirt.
It had been OUR shirt, we shared it back and forth.
We both loved that band, they sang about “living in exile” like we both did.
“****, that was our shirt,” I said to the table of drunk and grieving friends.
“Well, go get it, man. Go on.”
I went up to the guy holding it.
“Hey man, that shirt means a lot to me, can I …”
Before I could finish, it was in my hands.
The guy gave a generous smile,
“Then you should have it.”
I sat back down at the table of friends,
holding the shirt up to my face.
He lingered in my nose, one last time.
But my little buddy was gone,
a faded T-shirt and a few funny stories
were all that remained.
We all toasted one last shot.
I said,
“to the lost …”
and the table of old friends all repeated,
“To the lost.”
Rest well in your dreamless sleep, pal.
Down the hatch.
Watch it go
With a black tooth grin.
Dear America,

I was built on a loose foundation
A table with three legs
to sustain the load of a table with four.
To make nothing from something but
For something to come from nothing you need some thing.
The most terrible thing to waste
The superlative of Man’s tools
What makes us as individuals unique,
On the contrary defines us as a social order
The mind, The M.I.N.D.
My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence
Always accepting of the opposition,
A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest,
my mind feeds off of their ideals,
Further amplifying my intellectual power.
Expansion within the human intellect,
builds on experiences of failures and success
Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat
The world is a frigid place,
and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon.  “A weapon?
What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun,
9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.”
Young blood, the divine power is in your head
Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates
Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction,
Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others
Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey
A journey to educate myself
A journey to realize the man I want to be
A journey to reach my full potential
Universally familiar words of my grandmother
“You can do whatever you put your mind too”
The future poses as an unknown force,
But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life.
I was built on a loose foundation
Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates.
Expected to come from nothing to something
but had that one thing to become something
Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses
For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
what am I...
if the mere color of my skin
smears fear, suspicion and dread
in the heads of perfect strangers...?

what am I...
if I feel the need to
recede to a sanctuary within  
my very own black skin
allowing the familiar stranger
sharing the elevator
to exhale
and set  her bundle of apprehension,
perceived and imagined,
aside
for the ride...?

what am I...
if I instinctively
hide my black eyes
in the screens
of iphones and ipads
avoiding icontact when isolated
with nervous strangers
lest I inflate the balloon of anxiety
to panicked proportions....?

creating that space of comfort
for all nervous strangers in my life
becomes my obsession...

and I switch lanes
by night
crossing to the other side
of  streets with dim lights
lest I collide head-on
with trepidation personified
in the eyes of perfect strangers...

and I ditch the hoodie
for a crew neck sweater
by abercrombie and fitch
lest some slug with a 9mm gun
profile me as a ****
and defy order, rhyme and reason
to exercise his license to ****
in the still of a rainy night in florida
with no credible witness
in sight...

what am I...?

~ P
(7/18/2013)
Will Storck Feb 2013
‘In the end, it’s the indifference that gets you. You think you’ll have years to get to know each other and, what the hell do they call it, grow “emotionally” together. Relationally. Forget it. That ****’s for the birds.’

Scrtchschrrttchschrttch.

The subject arched his extended index and middle fingers on both hands twice in quick succession as he said “emotionally”. He pronounces “birds” as if it’s spelled b-o-y-d-s.

‘I’m serious. I’ll tell you I’m deadly serious. You think you’re going to grow old with some broad and not cater some resentment? Where the ****’ve you been, kid? Didn’t your old man teach you about women? The times change but one thing remains the same: women. You think that fancy piece of paper over there on the wall really means anything? There’s stuff out there you just got to live through to understand.’

Scrtchschrrrrtschrtschrttch.

‘Well, yeah sure, okay that bit about taxes is true too. Taxes and women. Anyway you got me off track. You marry a girl and sure you feel good. But whatcha don’t know is that a successful marriage is the product of compromise. Love has nothing to do with it. It becomes something you just accept, like gravity. The apex of microdemocracy at its finest. We’re talking respecting and loathing, and I cannot stress enough the irony here, a person too much you wonder why you don’t just wake up the next day and put a bullet through both of your sorry skulls so you both don’t have to live out this day-to-day ******* nightmare anymore. No more waking up and sitting at a breakfast table so quiet the steam rising out of your cup of joe is audible. We’re talking no natural human noises whatsoever. It’s like high-security solitary confinement, but where the schmuck in the straightjacket’s not allowed to even use plastic silverware without the business end of at least three 9mm’s pointing at him by state-appointed officers of the law, not allowed to even ******* feed himself. He’s like almost forced to live like he’s 5 again, kind of like a sick joke, adult supervision one hundred percent of the time. But then at home it’s worse because there is someone in the room with you. You feel this hole in your soul and it’s big. It’s like both of you are looking at the elephant in the room and at the same time looking at each other looking at the elephant. You want to cry but you can’t, you just physically can’t. Screaming won’t help neither because then everyone else but her will hear it. We’re talking about complete isolation.’

There is the sound of cloth across cloth and loose change jingling as right ankle is lifted off of left knee and left ankle is placed on right knee. The subject is visibly perspiring. His face does not have a flush look to it as so much as a sort of the homogenous color of deli ham. An office door slams. The subject’s breathing is audible and moist.

‘What happened? Why doesn’t she give a **** about me anymore? Why don’t I really care? Why do I feel worse about not caring I care than the actual caring? Jesus. Jesus.’

Scrchtchrsctrch. Schtrschchsshtsch.

‘I used to love her you know. That **** I said to her in front of God and Jesus and, like, everyone I ******* knew, those promises to till death do us part and yadda yadda, none of that even came close to mentioning what this is like. I used to love her. I think she used to love me too. I don’t know what even happened, my marriage. One day we’re on a beach in O’ahu and next thing I know I’m shaving in the shower with a straight razor, eyes closed, and hopping on one foot, just tempting fate. I haven’t seen her smile since last May, the episode of my missing glycerin tablets. Heart murmurs.

Sctrtch. Sctrchtrchschtrschtchschtrchshctrch.

‘Of course I’ve thought about a divorce. She’s got to have to considered that too. But here’s the ultimate irony. You go through these pointless gestures every ******* day; every ******* day you get up and wonder just how much more you can take it. It’s like it’s so strong you can feel every second walk on by and slap you on the mouth. It’s so strong that the sight of her literally, literally turns you mute with pressured hatred. Hatred towards the ***** sitting at the other end of the table but sitting there with her head down, complete undivided attention on her toast. Hatred towards yourself for not getting up and chugging every bottle under the kitchen sink right then and there. Hatred for realizing you have nothing in common with your wife anymore and she couldn’t care less that it’s eating you up so bad you get cold sweats. It’s so strong you just sort of freeze and not say a word, just sit there and take it all in, praying for that arterial blockage that will take you to the promised land.’

Sctchschtrch.

'Do you know what it’s like to live with self-contained hatred? Feeling this hate but at the same time just not caring. Hatred that only grows from not a lack of communication but a complete absence of communication, like, I can’t talk to her because I’m too full of pent up depression, loathing, anger, anxiety about actually trying to talk to her, anxiety about failing to talk to her. And these feelings just stew in me and shut me down. No talking. With her. Just sitting there, the desire to communicate just to see if we’re even on the same ******* page, sitting there and wanting to talk but can’t because the loathing and anger towards your wife completely and utterly removes the ability to express any sort of rational thought and the anger over your spontaneous speechlessness just keeps growing making the attempts at even idle chit-chat a prospect steadily receding into the sunset. Just sitting there feeling perhaps the strongest emotion I have ever felt but at the same time feeling completely apathetic towards the current situation.’

Sctrchtrchschtrscrchtrchschtrsch. Sctrchtrchschtrschsctrchtrchschtrsch.

‘Do you know what that’s really like to have to live in this cycle of perpetual hate and silence and the same time indifference toward the hate?’

Sctrchtrch. Scrtchschrrrrtschrtschrttch. Sctrchtrchschtrsch.

‘Do you know what that’s really like?’
Connor Reid Mar 2014
Motions croak in crimped t-shirts
Peace hurts the leg of 3 wheelers
Spit in a book, carefully holding hands over healers
Frosted articulation of bricks hitting off buildings
The doctor resumes surgery on the filming
Actress gummy mouthed backpacker sharing rooms with a jet-lagger galvanizing goo
If I phone myself, I’ll phone you too
Ad-hoc hop around dentures holding saxophones, laziness is the common king around here
Match the sketch with the deliriant fear free freedom and sneer
Shut the promo drunk and dolo
Potions of pogos bouncing so low
Both bones focal, keeping in a smile from an eye perched over the edge spitting on the populous
Attacking formulas with cruel gruel from the oesophagus
Wilting oxalis wooded in obelisks
Mortal coil in amphetamine greed for the sleep
Positioned slightly awkward and barely out of reach
Been seen being dreams piercing holes in the purple of the seeds
Peace is deemed green, free me from the iron between the sheets
Coins flipped in a river and an etude rings out with a profound sense of urgency
Won't wake up faces blindly painted deranged by a 5 sided box that gave fame to what was contained
Warp the wattage, walk in nervous
Hold cosmic stardust in one hand
Another a phone to call the best man
To marry the two hands and I’m sure the priest will understand
Hairs on the ceiling float through the window and provide an outspoken account of how they are feeling
Canisters of friendship huffed in the backs of vans till passing point seizures explain themselves
9mm film reel candy bars and ring modulation skeletal structure cat gut harps
Never finish a walk to work without beginning the start
Trolleys of Dolly Parton facelifts
Knife cutter butterfly anaesthesia makeshift
Hollow bellies of pardoned mop heads becoming a commodity
I can't say sorry if I begin to speak so oddly
I’d say probably yes if you lit a fire beyond the fence where the old man gambles drop-***** with 50 pence
Bite down on copper, synchronise the action
Winter comes and goes like conversation going out of fashion
Morbid, terra-fin switches waterbeds
Hints home at spit-roasting ostrich heads
Cost and effect, cause and intellect
The castle puts his foot down only to find a horses neck
Zipped up in honey, the combs hive mind should reconsider its self lucky
Unorthodox autodidact naturally diffracting compound eye composes paranoia and lies
The patronage of the savant is murderous and contrived
Its better out than in
The constant metaphor for unluckiness
Is where we begin
Radiance in a hot water semi permeable membrane crescent
Strokes the backs of frogs in the desert, stars iridescent and sun bears a weapon
Hammocks, ****, sweat on the brow, split lips on cornerstones of the solstice in the dead of now
Space-age ape on the country road lets out a cough
Caution to the hissing hills ****** in hidden zygotic havens
Actors have no time to cut themselves shaving
Austro-Bavarian chemical burns Molotov cocktail sewers
Crayons let me draw this face on, paint the day on and on, it gets newer
Its the context at which you and I notice the separation, that cues canned humour
2012
nivek Jun 2024
9mm
SMG...small machine gun
9mm
we were medics
sure as hell the Geneva Convention
written down to make clear
we could defend ourselves
and our wounded charges
we sure as hell did
Gabby Aquino Dec 2013
I had every reason to pack up all
my stuff
And just leave
Cause every morning I felt like
I was never good enough
It's just me
I never really had it
figured out
But **** no one really knew
what I was about
Just the black sheep that couldn't
fit in with the crowd
Couldn't really deal with the
anger and pain at once
I need to stop thinking of myself
in the back seat with cuffs
Cause I see myself as the one with
the 9mm in his hand
No way out, a clean slate not a sense
of hope or second chance
I feel myself laying in the bottom
of mud
Why me?
When everyone on the streets
is making money selling drugs
No one took the time to catch me
when I fell
Should've known better, I'm already
living in hell
All I ever see is people crying
tears of red
People **** each other everyday
I don't need that thought process
in my head
Jenny was a sweetie but she
let herself go
The whole time she was sticking
needles I didn't even know
What the f*
She had me, she was never
all alone
A single mom, she was pregnant on
the floor
I knew I had the right feeling
but I wasn't at the door
It's hard to see all the people
from my school
All my friends doing nothing
really nothing they can do
No school or work, nothing given
life is so cruel
Can I really blame life?
Is it ignorance or a right?
If I can go back in time I'd
give it everything I had
Give it all I got with the level
that I'm at
Without the second guess and
sacrificing everything I have
Could've been a brighter light
Instead I'm sitting with my dad
whiskey on the rocks
Same thing every night lecturing me
about the life I almost had.
nivek Oct 2023
9mm
a 9mm for breakfast
one more for lunch
war-torn moments
ever had someone
hate you so much
they want you dead.
Beryl Starkovic Apr 2014
I know how easy it is to **** us,
but don't let people hold you down,
get to the stainless, lose the rust,
do the whatever, not the must,
stare at the sky, not the ground.

I'm not a cheeseburger in a bag,
I'm a gangster in gentleman drag.
Onions come in 9mm and .40 Glock,
all time gets bent on broken clocks,
fresh grilled lemon peppered ****.

Fake **** they got us all watchin'
Kim Kardashian and ******' Snooky
all the while they're pressure cookin'.
They feed us what it is they want,
they don't really want us lookin'.

I know how easy it is to **** us,
but don't let people hold you down,
get to the stainless, lose the rust,
do the whatever, not the must,
stare at the sky, not the ground.

Get a lil' money we feel we really livin,
restin' in a piece of our own oblivion.
Never realizing how malleable we are
and how easy it is to **** us.

I know, how easy it is to **** us,
but don't let people hold you down,
get to the stainless, lose the rust,
do the whatever, not the must,

stare at the sky, not the ground.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
up country Laos, 1972*

I won't do it, I said. I won't.

It's a direct order, he said.

We stood a few yards apart,
in front of the blasted wire
where the screaming
enemy wounded
were caught like stuck flies.

It had been a long night
of attack and repulse;
the howling wounded
were all that remained.

He was maybe thirty,
an Ivy League ***** wannabe;
I was just a battle weary broken
20-year-old with no silver spoon.

You will get your *** out there
and tap those moaning *****
and you will do it now, another order.

I said, I'm a medic, not a murderer.
They are prisoners. There are lines,
even here. I will not cross this one.

**** lines. What you are, he said, is a *****.

In his hand, a lethal black 9mm Beretta;
in mine a 1911 model Colt 45 automatic.

Both loaded. Both ready to speak. Both angry.
Both anxious. Both with something to say.

You aren't my CO. You're not even an officer.
I refuse, I said. ******* and the Company.

My hand tensed on the 45. The Beretta quivered.

We looked at each other, working out the odds,

Death, for one of us, seemed only a few seconds away.

But he hesitated, lowered his weapon.

It's ******* like you who lost this war, he said.

And it's mad men like you who started it, I replied.

He turned and walked out to tap the wounded,
one by one, ****** after ******.

Delighting in revenge.

I walked back to the chopper, gun in hand,
and nodded to the pilot. We flew away,
at first to more war, but then back to the world,

the world that could never, ever be the same.

~mce
Tapping: killing the wounded with a pistol.
The Company: our beloved CIA.
The World: the states.
*****: Spy.
TR3F1LD Dec 2024
another **** nI̲ght in
this room in which you sit with li̲ghts off delightless (no light)
anger inside begins rising as this dA̲rk-ridden mI̲nd gets
preoccupied with hA̲rd-hitting, violent
electronic beats & also senseless toxic thinking
(no means to dump it than writing)
so unacco[ɑ]mplished & spineless
like slugs, but not O̲nes you sent flying
in the course of gun-utilizing
but all you're good for, just like an alliance
of vigilantes fighting org. crI̲me rings
and being a quartet, is typing & rhyming
["good four"]
besides, 'course, like performing the type of dance wI̲despread
among Caribbean party femmes, whining
["wining"; the Caribbean dance known as "wine" & "dutty wine"]
about stuff you ain't fI̲ne with
self-buried alive by the time a **** fI̲ght is
not even started; on to[ɑ]p
of that darksome life stuff, like a wa[ɑ]nton nutjo[ɑ]b
bumping broa[ɑ]ds he swives o[ɑ]ff
your mind gets hau[ɑ]nted by thou[ɑ]ghts...
["thots"]
————————————————————————————————
about this ro[ɑ]tten world rI̲fe with
injustice-multiplying ******, blinded
by their fI̲nances, license
allowing those scU̲m to do vI̲ce deeds
and the fact of being unpunished, plus mindless
web skites in chase of society's liking
all those po[ɑ]p-trap artists, lifestyle blo[ɑ]ggers, IG mo[ɑ]dels
[by "pop-trap artists", I mean both pop artists & trap artists]
whose underlying jo[ɑ]b is
keeping our minds less co[ɑ]nscious
of unjU̲st things in this world; auto[ɑ]cracy with or—
—ganized crI̲me on the rI̲se, which
means corruption is thriving; works of A̲rt simplifI̲ed, which
goes to no[ɑ]nsense sometI̲mes, yet
both are things the larger slice of the highly
evolved kind is alrI̲ght with (so what?)
who in the world where the larger slice of the highest
biolo[ɑ]gical kI̲nd seeks fun & vI̲ce needs your li̲ne kit
that, while not tip-top, just like an alpI̲ne peak
is way above plain? like one occupI̲ed with rock-climbing
who needs that if your stuff is nothing but silent
and features no boasting 'bout riches, dope, boning?
like a simplistic club trap
tune the pace of which is buck slaps
per min. (give or take) & to which a young lass
of Western CBG makes her freaking *** clap
it's a pretty dumb track
[twerk music; "buck slaps per min." - "100 beats per minute"; "CBG" - "cultural background"]
that this world's going down, like an airshI̲p that's go[ɑ]n' crash
a sentient kind, though so nutty & childish
["naughty"]
that's why the world seems like a gargantu[—]an kinder—
—garten with media posers, stU̲ck-up bad guys, &
ching-blowers buying bananas fixed ta
[that valueless piece of work presented as "art"]
[and purchased for $6.2 mil by a media-attention-seeking bozo, I'd say]
walls for the sum authorizing
to buy around 9 mil rounds of firearm ammo with the
addition of around 400 gU̲ns that I'd highly
advise utilizing on a hU̲nt spree for vI̲ce-rich
creatures, such as mo[ɑ]bsters & tyrants
[you may check a long note on these lines left under the last one]
with compliant lA̲p dogs of theirs
I'd say, just like an attic nigh bare
of belongings, thA̲t billi[—]onaire
doesn't hA̲ve much upstairs; & such highly gaga affairs
as that are despite the fact that somewhE̲re
out there conditions of living
may be regarded as a nightmare (so what?)
such finances-trifling when there are ones winding up dying
'cause of an aliment crisis (so what?)
which is mostly a result of armed co[ɑ]nflicts ignited
by marbles-lost tyrants (so what?)
how many of pro[ɑ]sperous gU̲Y̲s give
a **** regarding stuff li̲ke this
apA̲rt few ones forming this
mad world's philanthro[ɑ]pic minority? (so what?)
that's about it
yeah, let's blow funds buying fruits fO̲r six mi—
—llion go[ɑ]ddamn bucks O̲r some-thing
like that to keep satisfying that horribly
big ego, enlarging it mO̲re than it
already is, than help ones downtro[ɑ]dden or those in need
————————————————————————————————
there's no[ɑ]t enough words to e[ɪ]x—
—press how mU̲ch this **** world is sick
like a set of li̲nes on some morbid sh#t
indited quite luridly
semantically loaded, &, rhyming-wise, swarming with
multies constructed nigh perfectly
————————————————————————————————
as if you're a stud in an **** with
an abundance of whorey chicks
f#ck all the wanton... mobs, tyrants, plus loyalists
of theirs,  inasmU̲ch as it's morally corrupted authorities
being alright with abhorrent things
with the now-said in mind, the soundest reply
to such an abnormalcy
is, as if you're 'round a few ***** with an urge to ge[ɪ]t
spanked red-hot, to strI̲ke them bods forcibly
["𝗯ooty-𝗼bsessed 𝗱egenerates", where "*****" means "prize"; "butts"]
just like the bloodthirsty re—
—gime of that Assad schmU̲ck overthrown in ju[ɪ]st
11 days (**** it, you sordid b#tch)
every physically fI̲ne-fettled pE̲rs. who gives
a ****, to whom justice is mO̲re than ju[ɪ]st
a word, should get thE̲mselves wiser, get E̲xercised ta
a level of an effective fighter; find sympathetic partners
who'd be helping with acquir—ing intel, prepping o[ɑ]ps a—
—gainst evildoers & executing them
get intel, prep your offense, get tO̲O̲led up, then
go hunting

[THE AFORE-MENTIONED NOTE]
Caliber-wise, the most common types of ammo used in the next 4 types of firearms, which are pistols, SMGs, assault rifles, & ****** rifles, are the following: 9mm; 10mm; .45 ACP; 5.56x45 NATO; 7.62x39; .308 Win/7.62x51 NATO. Here's (all time) average prices of brass rounds of the types mentioned (taken from southerndefense.com/ammo-prices): 9mm - $0.29/unit; 10mm - $0.47/unit; .45 ACP - $0.44/unit; 5.56x45 - $0.43/unit; 7.62x39 - $0.45/unit; .308 Win/7.62x51 - $0.67/unit. $6.2 mil ÷ $0.67 = (~)9.253.731 brass rounds of the .308 Win/7.62x51 type.

Let's say you have $6.2 mil. Given that a unit of brass ammo of any of the other types mentioned is cheaper than $0.67 & that ammo of those types should be purchased too, you can purchase 8.9 mil of diverse brass rounds for less than $6 mil. Keep in mind that if you purchase some or all of the rounds with steel casings, which are cheaper than brass ones, then you'd have even more than 9 mil rounds. Let's say you've purchased 8.9 mil of diverse brass rounds for $5.9 mil, then you have $300.000 left to purchase firearms.

Most firearms cost $400-$800/unit. $300.000 ÷ $800 = 375 firearms. Given that, caliber-wise, you have diverse ammo, you shouldn't purchase only $800 (or more costly) firearms. Let's say, for the sum mentioned, you've purchased around 400 firearms, which can be used by at least around 200 expert assassins in operations against mafias & agents of authoritarian regimes worldwide. Don't know about you, but to me, that's a highly better way of spending $6.2 mil than purchasing one **** banana for that sum.

Of course, to go on such a hunt spree, you should be organized way better than just having firearms & ammo. You also need other means & equipment, such as money, trustful allies, intel on targets, transportation, a place to stay, knives, firearm accessories. Just in case, I don't try to promote a criminal lifestyle. If there's any lifestyle I try to promote, it's a vigilante/evil-fighting one.
"in the dark (𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗘 𝗨𝗣)" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Silence Screamz Mar 2017
Can we talk?

She said "Sure, give me a minute"

Wait a few seconds, that minute turned to ten,
Now one hour later,
She was ready to begin?

"What do you want to talk about?"
she yelled from
across the room.

Silence, I was sleeping.
But just then, she was about to hear the boom

So.......
She came at me like a wartime poet,
dropping bombs on my head like
I didn't even know it,
Ripped holes in my shirt
and I couldn't even sew it.
She busted rhymes in my mind
even CeLo couldn't own it.
Words flying so fast,
I coulda swore they were stolen.
She moved one step closer
and boom, I was falling.

Each time my mouth opened
I couldn't even answer,
Each word that I stut t t tered was
like lyrical cancer.
I ran around the room like
a Soul Train dancer.
Side stepping her questions
like I was her little **** prancer.
"*******, *****"
my words just got a little fancier.

Whoah!
"Who do you think you are,
are you done spitting it yet??"
You began this little battle,
but I'll be the one finishing it.
My words are louder than gunshots
Cuz, I'll be the one killing it.
I'll just turn my *** around
Cuz you'd be the
one kissing it.
This is only the beginning,
and I'm not finished dishing it

Shhhhit!!

She just broke in with a loud
"OH!! YOU DONE YOUR TIME"
So you can get on outta here with those wasted lyrics,
stupid rap, and busted rhymes.
This is my house, boy,
and you ain't living off this welfare dime.
Now, go cheat with some other hoes
and sip on their Boone's Farm strawberry wine.
Oh and one more thing, you might
want to call 9-1-1,

Cuz I am about to commit
****** on your *** and a misdemeanor crime.

See you were nothing to me
but my little, poor "boy toy"
and when I say "little" ..it wasn't
very much of joy joy.
The only time I got real excited and wet
was when you were walking out
my front door, door.
So, now carry your sorry ***
on over to your ex's house
cuz she was the real effin' *****, *****.

Oh, that 65" flat screen is mine, so is that X-Box,
touch one more ******* thing in here or I'll
double tap your ***
with the pair of my triple chromed 9mm hollow point custom made Hello Kitty Glocks.
Your time is up,
so say good bye once and for all
count it 1, 2, 3 or I'll punch your ******* clock.
James M Vines Dec 2016
I'm sitting here rocking the cell block, getting a new tattoo. Ever since I left the streets there isn't much else to do. I was banging with my crew when the lead started to fly. I was making a few bucks just trying to get by. One of the boys had a beef and we had to put some work in. One 9mm and three shots later and I'm hitting the Penn. . Watched my homeboy laid down in the street, nobody saw nothing or that's what the police say. Now I got to do 20 hard, I hate that it has to be this way. I left a few good homies still running in the streets, they still trying to be living large and I am property of the state. Looking at the new crew that just came in, I haven't seen my family in God only knows when. So here I sit in a cell, trying to remember what it was all for. I am dying to get a touch, but no love is coming through that door. The ones I thought were my friends, have just walked away. After I took the wrap, they don't have anything to say. Even if I wanted to tell, I don't think I could. I still have family living in the same old hood. So I guess this is how for the moment it has to be. I'm sitting here soldering up with no love from the homies.
Dealer has no reason but to play showing
Irony has the finest meaning when your divinity
***, Salt, and the finer indulgences of life, in a pool
aside wrist watches and pin scratched 9mm's

The son, in the lime light as always, hits on a twelve
seven  being the amount of even luck tonight
for his father drawing the King and Queen of Hearts
following suit, the Devil with the Ace heart showing
smiles with the turn on the Twenty One

Im trembling, but yet the only tears to my eyes blood
having trouble seeing past the red, why it is me
of all of hells card dealers- why tonight is this game
weighing consciousness on my head
for I can't sit at a 12
knowing all the well that my number is Six
I've been counting cards with divinity

and my luck as finally split
18 I infinitely sit

Triple 6's
for I was only ever mortal,
yet Ive been playing cards
being envied by the infernal

Next hand ; pool even deeper
blood even thicker
Christ busts on an easy 13
God takes the 7 7 split  
for two queens, seventeen leads
Satan doubles down on an 11
for a 6, seventeen still leads

I curse LadyLuck, but it turns her on
Two black sevens staring me dead
Why do the psychic serve cards
in hell- is it to walk into traps
like dreams of slaying Queens

Seven of Hearts
house collects
Mother Teresa
Wine
Man

Bets in
7778666
nick armbrister Sep 2023
Times Gal
Give it back she demanded
He took the small barrel
Off the table of her 22 pistol
Saturday Night Killer being cleaned
Or it wouldn't fire as *****
This gal was bad ***
All the effing way
She cut the metal tips
Off the 9mm slugs
Making them dum dum bullets
Took your face off
A mess like a 22 slug
Tho laughed at lethal
Like the small gal
He put the barrel back
It was well machined
She smiled and assembled the gun
Time to work later
Robert Guerrero Dec 2015
Which would be easier
Less noise
Which would be swifter
I'm in a killing mood
This man staring back at me
Seems to only taunt ne
We're both ready for a fight
But can't seem to choose
Our weapon of choice
9mm or a 12 gauge
Maybe I'll blow a hole in his chest
But I just want to erase that smirk
That evil vile smirk
Smeared on his face
Paint to a childs drawing
**** it
12 gauge it is
Looks like he decided too
Same weapons
Guess we both die
But there will only be a call
For one body bag
J Foster May 2016
Your signature was so crisp
And so elegant.
But now it is smeared
With the thoughts that once made up
My ****** up mind
that was once so alive
and utterly depressed.
I asked you to sign
that 147 grain piece of shrapnel
To keep in my 9mm handgun
In case anyone ever tried to hurt me.
I just wanted to make sure
That I would have you with me.
But now you’re gone
And so am I
And the crimson streaks
Left on the walls and ceiling
Of the bedroom where we once shared so much intimacy
Scream
that all is not as right in the world
as we teach our children to hope for.
So I bid you farewell,
And I hope that the cops come to you,
Bring you the bullet that flew through my skull,
And say, “This belongs to you.”
You split in two. One of you has a gun, and the other: Nothing. I look to the empty you for hope. Hope. Hope. Nothing. You look at yourself, and though sight shows two entities... No mirror. Are you there? Fire! Perfectly centered. Lead in your face. Struggle, then surrender. One body down. Who else? You turn on me and I fear you. I fear nothing else. Who am I looking at? The Devil, for God is dead. Hope. Prayers and unrequited wishes. The barrel on my eye. Remember, I bought a 9mm this summer. I shoot first, because I was always the brave one. It is me or you. Me. All hope lost after timeless waiting. Goodbye love. Freedom deserves a chance. Whether together or alone. No stop signs on busy streets. Goodbye love.
Sypher Blaze May 2014
I should have kept my feeling locked away
I shouldn't have let you in
I should have kept telling the lie
I shouldn't have showed the marks on my skin
I should have kept crying alone in the dark
I shouldn't have unlocked the door
I shouldn't have told you anything
I should have stayed on the floor
Now the tears stream down my cheek
You said you wouldn't leave me alone
The you let me die like the rest of them
Because of the marks I shouldn't have shown
The thoughts of it getting stronger
But there isn't a quick enough way to leave
Alone until I can find the way out
And there are no lies to believe
Until that time can come
I have to sit and cry
Trapped by my own thoughts
Not wanting to but still trying to die
Breaking the veins and bones
Just to lose a bit of pain
Then the hurt gets worse
So bad that it won't drain
Shattered from trusting
Broken from tears
Heart forever bricked up
So that no one else can hear
Trust now a dream
A wish that won't come true
No clear point in trying
Done with what I've been through
Fine with just dying
And letting it all go
So that I won't have to be afraid
Of letting the emotions flow
Your smile cut me deep
But I needed it more and more
I needed you while I cried
And you left me on the floor
The 9mm at my temple
You didn't notice the red
The splatters on the wall
You never knew I was dead
You took my happiness from me
And left despair in my soul
You robbed me of everything
So I would think you made me whole
To play with my emotions
And make me mark my skin
Is your definition of love
I'm better off without friends
Eric L Mangum Apr 2018
Prologue-

The guide doesn't show the way.
Only the end.
There are no math/maps to the number of ****-ups that led me here.
But I'll fill you in on a secret (keep them whispers).
1 plus 0 equals 1
Do you understand my reasoning?


Chapter One: Shame

Fourteen was so easy!
Endless number of cigarette butts
taught us the ways of coughs and dry vomiting
You are such an amateur! Can you do better?
should have known that that road led nowhere…
But back alleys and the introduction of such sweet surrender
"honestly the high isn't even that good"
Then hit this and hit it hard
My nose still stings from the pharmaceuticals grounded into fine powder
You had me hooked.
I was an addict.
Soon I'd have jumped through burning bridges for another ****** snack!


Chapter Two: Dodging bullets

Kind of think they should teach a class on S…T…Ds
Or maybe I shouldn't have dropped out
the night before Ms.
(pay attention to the lack of a ring on that finger)
gave the lesson
Then again
a proposal for ***…class
probably would have ended up with more than me in detention
Or would have found us in the girls lockerroom
(she was only five years older after all)
Screaming obscenities between thrusts and moans
And lighting up underneath the bleachers
"I didn't know you smoked"
And I didn't know you were so experienced
Pity fantasies are only fantasies
Mistakes are still mistakes
And it wasn't till three years later that I wish I hadn't missed that class.
Countless used condoms found themselves on the side of abandoned roads/streets
with just as many left forgotten on dashboards
A miracle the tests came back negative


Chapter Three: Cross One

So call it superstition, but reminders are needed
nothing stains more than that of ink
Cross one (of four) finds itself now on my chest…
three nails intertwined. Tight.
You might as well as have crucified me then love
I introduced you to the life of falling stars
and you introduced me to fact
You get hurt! Deal with it (stop being a baby)
Tears meant nothing to you,
Even though you were my atlas we're free falling now
and glass shatters when it crashes down
We'll pick up the pieces later
if they matter…


Chapter Four: Snakes

Emotions became taboo.
I locked them away in the dark (lost in some circle of hell)
Praying light would never find them
A warning scrawled in blood-
This is Pandora's box
You would have thought that that was a euphoria of aphrodisiacs
A mess of mating hormones
because soon I had a line of woman (what is this? Wal-Mart?)
Promising me they could show me what love truly is
And I found myself trapped by snakes
(why was this so cool for Indiana Jones?)
Where's your whip? is the only thought coming to mind
Their promises sounding like hisses
"You willllssss lovessss meeessss…."
I wink back at them- keep on thinking that


Chapter Five: Spoiler

1 turned out to be multiple choice
A) Me
B) Me
C) Me
D) All the above
Were you able to make a decision?
Truth is that I'm still guessing…
Process of elimination
Ignorance was so much easier when we were young
Parents wrapped everything up in innocence
Such little angels but…
(where did our baby blankets go?)
the facts still remain-
we knew what we were doing
Still do…you whisper
Spoiler
Read on at your own risk-
At this point there is no more denial
((pay attention mother-
pay attention father!)
This one's for you…)
I have been asking what my biggest problem is?
Answer: ME!


Chapter Six: Denial

We look the other way, scream out in defiance
"There's no way!"
"This is not my fault!"
Where have we heard those words before?
Give it up-
This is a movie
And you are right on cue
Keep up the emotions
Maybe give me a little more
(yes daddy…)
The camera loves you
Even more than I do
I already knew that…
I can't take it anymore.
I know it’s my fault.
Will they catch the subtle differences
between drip drops?
Or will it be too late when they realize that the iron smell
Isn't me hitting another joint (thinking they don't know)
but a redecoration of scars…
Will they care?
I doubt it.
I can already hear my father's voice-
This'll be one hell of a cleaning bill
Thanks for the sincerity old man…


Chapter Seven: Cross 2

Ten years of absences-
Broken promises and empty "I love you"s
I've heard them all before!
I'll hear them all again.
Part one:
FIRE
"we'll go next week"
You lied like all the times before.
Wasn't long before Washington was in the rearview
and California filled the windshield
Like bird ****
at least that's how it made me feel
Not Alaska, just you
"I'll be back"
You don't need to lie, I know you won't
Just like all times before…
Part two:
ICE
You were less rewarding
and with all my problems
It was no surprise they were your favorites
Guess 2/3 isn't so bad when looking for angels
I must have been one hell of a devil
with how quick you downed that cocktail
(opiates and narcotics)
As if you were drowning yourself in pain relief
My soul shattered,
but you'd never see anyways
Frostbitten
Desolate
Goodbye was all I could manage
before your eyes glazed and the door slammed behind me


Chapter Eight: Zero

Always loved the term melting ***
Throw in:
tears,
lies,
fears,
blood,
hollow cries,
too late goodbyes
and my favorite of all
Refutation.
Call it what you will, but denial is still denial
You can tell where the pieces were jammed together
Picasso would be proud
Amazing what you can do with super glue
a shot of whiskey
and the promises of no more (you)
It was heaven at first
Each star blinking out like nightlight bulbs bursting
A sunflower affect across the skyline
Call me Tyler and
I'll forget you
with a 9mm to the throat
Steel tastes different then I imagined
Explosion
"goodbye…"
And when you add one to zero-nothing changes love


Chapter Nine: Devine

Let’s have a moment of peace
Or not…
wink wink*




Chapter Ten: Last Cross

And X marks spot
where cannons burst.
Flares ignite
and love ones die.
Call me Hawkins, Jim Hawkins
but we’re traveling in style now
the freighters of before give way to cruise lines
and instead of running from pirates
we’re the ones waving banners of
blackened skulls
"Never wanted to stay young anyways"
Now dig boy!
What's funny is that you never had to ask,
because I still have the key to oblivion
Atlantis/Pandora's been discovered
(Hell is escapable apparently)
And where you cut the flesh from my chest,
The cross solidifies
opportunity in its place
I'm still bleeding
You snicker. Insert. Twist.
Then…
Nothing…
"I'm sorry," there's a smile on my face.
"For bleeding on your white shirt"
WHERE IS IT? you ask
You'll never know though,
Nothing was ever there…


Chapter Eleven: One

From conception we were ******
innocence dies quick (what, at like nine?)
And if you knew then that I'd be a burden
I'm sure you would have wrapped that tool tighter
Don't worry, I feel bad for you too
Who wants disappointment?
but I am a poet
Can't you tell?
I wrap all of this sadness, self-deprivation into prose
where you laugh because of the wit
which is really nothing more than my-
Inability to articulate…


Chapter Twelve: Solution

Echo-
The guide doesn't show the way.
(where are the road signs?
did you forget to mention something boss?)
Only the end.
There's no math/maps to the number of ****-ups that led me here.
(I'm sure you lost count.
I know did.)
But I'll fill you in on a secret
You can scream it out if you'd like!
1 plus 0 equals 1
Do you understand my reasoning?
Of course you don't…


Epilogue

Clear as day,
the question is simple-
How do you **** up your life?
Answer is no new news.
It all starts with 1 (you)
add everything that amounted to nothing (0)
and you are left with 1 (you)
But don't worry, you were destined to fail from the start…
Alone…
but we aren't are we?
Why did you join me?
No answer.
Just the smile that started it all.
Original draft has notations for this to be spoke work.  Due to formatting issues, those feelings cannot be expressed properly, but I'm sure the point will come across just fine.

— The End —