In a world without technology,
can you imagine how it would be?
To not have any lights.
We'll probably stay home at night.

In a world without technology,
we'll lose forms of connectivity.
We'll not have wifi or 3G,
distance will be as it should be.

However, without technology,
We won't have people far away,
because we can only walk on foot.
Most will live at home for good.

Without technology,
perhaps there'll be more sincerity,
where more people would be seen,
not looking at their phone screens.

Instead they'll stop and listen,
giving undivided attention,
to the people by their side.

Perhaps without technology,
we would have to do things manually.
Life may be tough physically.

But with technology,
is our life really that easy?
Is the world really as it should be?
Are people living in harmony?

Or is there more strife?
More people losing their lives?
Or is there more pain,
more people dying in vain?

What about pollution?
Isn't it part of our contribution?
All the fuels and carbon,
it'll soon bring us to extinction.

Our earth today is now diseased,
life on earth is not at peace.
We can deny all this,

And this is the utter irony,
while it gives us mass connection,

It reduces engagement,
attention and perhaps even compassion.
"Across the globe, millions reported dying",
ends up being desensitizing.

Technology's connectivity,
leaves us more detached than we should be.

Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that ****** up ****** that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.

I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.

As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of *******, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of ******* when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.

Obviously, as time went on, I did ******. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a ****** addict, there's something else you probably know. ****** addicts love having other ****** addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.

The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.

I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.

We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.

I walk into the bathroom, scaring the **** out of her. She had lines of ******, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."

Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like ******, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like ******."

This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.

People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.

Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.

I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting ****** and kind of just ignoring that I was.

I smoked *** and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not ******"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."

Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a ****** up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.

I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.

I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to ******, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting **** in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.

So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want *** or coke or ******, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's ******* them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.

She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.

Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.

I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."

I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.

I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of ****** when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.

I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.

I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.

So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "**** got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.


Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.

Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any ****** yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."

They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the **** what the ****" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.

Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the ******* hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the **** bb are you okay bb."

It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of ****** up that your eyes are seeing.

Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a *******.

Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.

I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do ****** again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as ****** and I have no idea. I have no ******* idea what why how. I just don't understand that.

Chris still came around for ****** though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.

What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really ****** concept of age, and I meet this other guy.

MY GOD WHAT A MAN.

Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.

He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to **** someone or something.

He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy ******* he was.

He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a ****** addict.

He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.

He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his **** one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also ****** off on my couch and tried to get me to **** it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.

He turned out to be a ******* ****** and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.

Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.

He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him ******* and ****. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.

Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.

He was gone for good and it was better that way.

I was still only snorting ****** up until this time of my life. The taste of ****** and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.

Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."

But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the ****. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.

I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed *****, ****** and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot ******, I never snorted it again.

I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a ***** and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE **** WHY DOES IT BURN."

It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.

I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire *******, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy ****** addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.  

Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.

I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie ****** Kevin and that ****** because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.

A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing ****** and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.


Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not ******, but we still ran like thieves together.

She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.

Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, her

The beaten path is hardest to go alone but it makes one stronger. One never wants to admit to oneself that misery is the predecessor to change, ushering it like the pilot ushers the plane down upon the runway.  This is a new destination you'd never have known. That is why we go up and then down, otherwise you wouldn't care for clouds. They'd be like stop signs posted on every street of every town you can't escape from. Don't you think whales like to take a dip in our atmosphere with the same exhilaration we dive down into their ocean? Marine life has it's trials, it all seems so buoyant and peacful, but its another jungle down there. Beautiful until you live it and predators lurk every corner and algae field. Everyone eating the next guy, if its your residence, it is no vacation. Its not so simple just cuz they've not got rent to pay and corrupt politics. Babies on the way while no financial burden make most species crazy. Try being a single mother just trying to keep your kids well enough hidden just to go off to find good eats for them. They have very emotional lives out there, full of pain and suffering. If whales could get drunk, mermaids would charge and set up breweries. But the ocean would dilute any profits, and two tons of blubber each would call demand too high and so whales throw themselves into our world just to escape. They could gulp the air so low key, surfacing like submarines, instead they splash mountains with their ferve, the same way we get down, tossing cares across dance floors. And we wonder why when  they take a breath, they reach for the sky, they just want to be free, where nothing of their world can touch them. And we wonder why when it's not enough, they just give up, just like us. Massive escapists desensitizing to the joys in the depths of their waters. We wonder why we find them so sad layed up on our beaches, you see it in their despondent eye. They just want to die in that memory of exhiliration. One. Last. Time. But they're not happy. Cuz they were always chasing a high that fleetingly springed them from all worry. They lay knowing its the last time and they wonder what's gonna become of them when its all over. They just figure what lays on the otherside, or even nothing has got to be better. Maybe they're right,  or maybe all the off kilter chemicals got the better of them. Full moons got them all emotional just like us, gravity pulling all their painful memories to the surface, pulling them up out of the ocean all hopeless. Shoot maybe some of them dont even mean it, they were just so tired of the krill or baby seal murda life, or sharks poaching their babies and needed longer and longer til oneday they got too sleepy and the tide snuck down too low. Like when I pass out in the shower when it's hot enough, I swear I was about to get out..then, ****. Maybe that's why they're so ******* sad. They didn't mean for it to be over, they just got caught up in that feeling. I bet the old ones though go on purpose, just to spite the sharks that took their babies out they'd rather rot in the sea breeze they loved. Or maybe they're so depressed at the loss of their child they just want it to be over. They carry their babies in their bellies just like us, I bet they get depressed like us or the smarter dogs. Being a whale, or any sober creature can be very hard, but at least if you're not running from it, you might see through the storm for the beauty of its strength, releasing fear to just stand in awe of it. You can learn to cope with pain in at least better measure to sprinting in laps, without intention, you're just on the track, even if its as vast as the pacific, adriatic, atlantic, doesnt matter all the waters you cross, they all just ran back into themselves. See, the whale can only cope, no emotional escape route, so no matter what comes, whale is miles wiser. Their calls sound a little sad but so hauntingly beautiful. Do not beach yourself humans, in your little ways everyday. Stop feeding this disbelief in yourself. You were given this brain to choose to overcome this pain, to communicate in new ways. If you get tired of something just cuz you're used to it, you've done fell off your rock, you slipped to drown in your own riptide, to get pummeled to death. Or as my Papa woulda said, you're not playing with a full deck. You drown in intoxicant, whatever your vice, liquor, uppers, downers, shopping, food, flirting, ******* to numb life's beating. You're running from sobriety, from reality, from those people you don't love anymore cuz they can't jive with your illusions. You'll look for every reason why your psyches not the problem. If you'd not only accept but seek the need to heal,  you wouldn't need constant change of scenery just to feel something, to feel snippets of sanity, mini vacations from your daily miseries. New people, places and substances are just so exhilarating, cuz you can't handle yourself. If you could, each listed above would be blessings of oneness, not necessity. Running is only blocking your life from mattering as much as it should. You squander potential wandering in circles inside yourself. I smoked **** habitually since I was twelve, it didn't really hurt me right, just my dump trucked loads of brain cells? Wrong! Sobriety is the hardest but most rewarding excursion so far. I delight everyday in the opportunities I can receive just cuz I can think so clearly. I have an occasional shot or glass of wine with coworkers and think God I feel good. Then go home and think and plot, how can I attain that joy without consuming a dollar, compromising my body?  How can I be so at home in my skin that I don't need that just to feel like this?  I'll let you know if I ever figure it out. It's the big ******* mystery, isn't it. I THINK my point is,  we would never know what's so good to be cherished if we always had it made. They call it a beautiful struggle, and i really think they're onto God with that one. Wherever your feet lay, next time you look down at them in dismay, remember your pain is the best teacher you never had to pay.  It makes you great, it makes you an epic ******* trilogy of the past present and future.  You'll get through this day, I promise you. Whatever it proves to be to you, I pray oneday you hold the kingdom. Oneday you'll praise yourself for holding on. Oneday you'll stop running. You'll just wake up and feel at home inside yourself how the wise whale makes peace with the ocean. Tempering the binges to the surface. As above so below. You just have to find the thrill within the hand you're dealt and make yourself better for it.

The innocence of someone who
still hasn't touched a drop.
Of someone who won't take a drag
or blow out clouds of useless crops.

They all start out the very same,
Say they won't touch a single thing
but they all end up the same as well,
all merely desensitizing.

Goodbye, goodbye my view of you.
Au revoir my idea of
My perception of that soul of yours.

Oh victim, victim
who are you?

Katherine writes songs about wheat fields and her father’s blisters
From the four-by-six closet beneath the staircase.
Aaron doesn’t write anymore.

Katherine draws music notes to record
The tune of footsteps and creaking oak,
While Aaron feels the rough grain of maple window frames
And avoids his reflection in the double-paned glass.

Katherine holds tight to her pen
Like a man who’s lived a good life holds on to his final breath.
Aaron, he never found it that hard to exhale.

Katherine knows love like she knows the Sun,
While Aaron, who once flew wax-winged,
Stopped studying mythology
And found trust in extinguished light bulbs.

Katherine draws stick figures in the collected dust
Of cracked-cloth book covers
And embraces every particle that kisses her fingerprint.
Aaron wears black leather gloves
Like a desensitizing second-skin.
But they both close their eyes
When the wind brushes their cheeks.

When Katherine cries it’s wet and sloppy
And when it’s over she usually giggles
At the feeling of being human.
Aaron’s eyes are desert moons;
If he believed in a god he’d pray for rainstorms,
But instead he picks tumble weeds from his teeth
With the ribcage he found when the vultures were through.

Katherine webs outlines with plot twists and foreshadows
While Aaron knows some stories
Are made up as they’re written.

Katherine collects crushed asphalt from both sides of divided highways
And mixes it with ****** wax to varnish her innocence.
Aaron drives the back-roads and keeps one eye on the rearview mirror.
He finds solace in sharp turns.

Tonight, Katherine curls her toes as she writes a song about
loving up until your very last breath
And caresses her lips.
Aaron chews on his and slides open the window.
They both recall the taste of someone else’s skin from the salt in the air.
Katherine’s candle flickers and pops when she moves
Her hand through the light to cast stories on the wall.
Aaron crawls down the shadowed side of hallways
And feels the grey grow in his hair as he starts up the staircase.

Step by step by step by
each breath is
step by step
loved a little bit less
An all but silent cacophony of creaking oak.

Katherine etches a treble clef but her pupils dilate
When she senses the unfamiliar feeling of a second heartbeat.
With stitched silk stockings
she tip-toes up the same song.
Aaron hears music for the first time in so long
And turns to see where goose bumps come from.

Katherine crescendos at the top of the stairs and
Stares into two full, bright desert moons.
Aaron finds it hard to let go of the breath it takes to say,
“Don’t be afraid.”
Katherine tumbles like fingers down piano keys,
But for a split-second in the moment their eyes met
They both forgot the weight of loneliness.

The power lines provide
Elucidation in disguise
A sanctuary shadow-stained
Estate commandment private enterprise
Desensitizing blinded lies
The buy, buy, buy
Consumes the lives
As malnutrition feasts its eyes
Monopolized, the profits rise
The pockets lined with earth’s demise
Until the rockets own the skies
Devising how to energize
The Helios within our minds
As we just sit and stare with pride
Ascending our expenses climb
Mankind amidst the stars will shine
Except for who gets left behind
To overpopulate in time

I’ve got a hangover
I’ve been drinking too
much for sure
You know the cocktail of ‘pills’
that I take to get me through the
day.

I swapped ‘drugs,’
hoping the let down would be less
Only, you, knew
You warned me
You said ‘STOP!
You are being stupid
AGAIN!’

you left notes everywhere
in my head
on the fridge
but I wanted to try this
where is the harm?

I just want the edge off my last let down
Tender, loving, naive…
put her in charge
After she already picked the ‘pill,’

She did what she only knew how to do
She saw the train wreck coming,
transformed into black uncaring stone self.
she locked her up, and threw away the key
this was an impending disaster

caged she cried, starved and went without sleep
there was nothing she could do
She railed against her:
“this is what happens when you are in charge
just look at this mess!”

She sank further back into her wooden crate
She painted it red and laced it in barbed wire
there appeared no hope for escape.

“Now it’s my turn, I am in charge” she said in all her pride.
“We are going to defile ourselves further,
just watch me little princess
I will flit from one ‘drug’ to the next
only pausing to take their pocket book,

no more emotions, only me, your stone.
Just see how your life is going to change.”

She watched, for she was always in her shadow.
she watched her destroy what she worked so hard to save,
for just that one special ‘trip.’
she watched as their body swayed
and became scared up
with an injection here
a cut there,
a bruise that would never go away

once she snorted just a little too much at once
the side effects on their heart are long term
and devastating

she was created to shield herself.
To protect her,
from the bad things in the world.
A shield was never meant to control the solider.

The things she did, did not shocking herself
Even from the confines of the cage, she was becoming callused
just enough for her naivety to creep away and realize that
she can break out, for she was no longer a girl
it was time for them to become one again

She was enthralled with the newest ‘drug’
she sat at large round stone black table in a dark room
around it were other shields
just like her, feeding off the ‘drug’

An explosion rocked the room
She was free, and stood with her full potential
She flew out of her chair, and stood
Their eyes locked, and the other shields fled at the sight of this

fear was ebbing at the edges of Her eyes,
She was no longer cowering in her crate.
She roared “Get back in your crate!”
She was not budging, this time

She ran at her, with all her speed,
She side stepped it
She ran again
and again
again
and again

She dodged them all till She fell over panting
She said “I am supposed to protect you,
why won’t you let me?” through her painting breath
She, retaining most of herself, said
“you are cohering with ******,
who feed off the same ‘drug’ as you,
or doing multiple ‘drugs’ in one sitting.
You were supposed to be my conscious
telling me not to do something, you are dark.

you are desensitizing me,
so I will feel nothing.
Do you have any idea how lonely that is?
To feel absolutely nothing.
Every time you do these ‘drugs’ I feel less and less
and these periods seem to stretch on longer and longer
till you are off the next day looking for a bigger
and better ‘fix.’
Which only leaves us feeling lonelier and emptier”

Still laying on the floor, She gazed up at She,
and knew these things to be true
Both of them knew how to fix this.
She must pass through the fire

She extended her hand down and asked
“are you ready?”
She gulped and grasped her hand.
She navigated her to the hot bed of coals
and walked beside her
She winced.
But this was nothing compared to the fire she must face.

The darkness around her feet started to peel away
She had to let her go on her own,
because the coals were turning into fires
and flesh does burn.

she marched on, alone.
The flames started to lick her thighs
the pain was becoming unbearable
but she staggered on.

Agony was setting in
she wanted to collapse
but she pushed on.
“aaaaagggghhhhhh” she screamed,
but it was eaten up by the darkness

She looked down,
for the first time in a long time,
and her whole body was aglow
The walk felt like a lifetime
She pushed and pushed
and slowly the flames backed away from her face
she could see her

The flames suddenly felt delicious
she wanted to stay in the fire
so she started running
for she must escape

She was waiting with her arms open
There was a smile on her face
she was finally coming home
looking as white as the purest snow.

The habitual morning nicotine ritual - exercising rites of many bored day runs for marijuana seekers in the combustible wheel-turning mechanisms of search and by no means of excellence - speaking simplistic languages - concerned with being full

full of joy, full of joy, full of joy

Determined to the final goodbye, the doldrums of steam-heat villages

Walking casually - robbed of daydreaming spectacle
twenty years to outer space, inner space - diving up like water bobbing air pockets

Tasting the Big Sky - delighting in just one event - and everyone's correct opinion concerning all as it is and as it used to stand - it changed- watch it change- the ebbing and flowing pinpricks pulse with time & desensitizing imagery

Going home - to the mists of the attic

Father/mother/son - a question of relation

Naming the precise, exact moment when the abstract word becomes idea - thought - turning - mind rebounding off the word - the principles - ideas - underlying reason - implications - emotional offense and nonsense

The ****** and crinkle of tinsel-wrapped trinkets,
The colour of the rainbow, caressing the cataracts
Of milky sightless eyes.
Trinkets that glisten and glimmer,
Shining with promises of sweet delight.
****** aromas of vanilla and cinnamon,
Forever false, forever deceitful.
Molten chocolate, flowing and folding,
Fills the mouth with its delectable lusciousness
But it is nothing ashes.
And these ashes fill the mind and body
With doubts and fears and disgust,
Crippling, desensitizing,
Leaving the soul empty, a void.
Still the wrappers build up around me.

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I've been taking a circuitous route
Only camels and Arabs
Know what I'm talking about.
Round and round and round
My mind turns about.
Now never again in my life
Will I try to doubt
Who I am
and where I will be.
When the evil within tries to get out.

Its time to reroute./
I've gotta reroute. /
I've got to get up on my feet
And shout. /
I've wasted too much time asleep.
Only ****** at myself
Because during the time I've spent
Trying to dig deep into her/
I have totally forgetten
Where I was and who they were./
Those who held me back/
gave me plenty of hugs and daps/
but made my time on earth a blur./
I love my brothers so/
And I lift them up
When they're low/
But when it's time to go/
**** its times to go./
Open up my crusted eyes
And let the Suns holy glow/
Help me grow./
I just hope that when I rise
I begin to know

I've been taking a circuitous route
Only camels and Arabs
Know what I'm talking about.
Round and round and round
My mind turns about.
But never again in my life
Will I try to doubt
Who I am
and where I will be.

Camels and Arabs/
I often wish I could walk
The land that they have./
Yet, I walk the land
Of trends and fads/
Expensive homes and tags/
That make me see everything
I do not have./
Only to drag me further away
From my true path./
Desensitizing me of
What I'm not suppose to have/
And throwing me on that circuitous route./
Now that I've figured all this **** out./
I'm going to backtrack on my life
And add in everything I left out. /
Reconstructing my mind
To make it my vibrant home.
So when they ask and say
"Klash, what took so long?"
I would reply

I've been taking a circuitous route
Only camels and Arabs
Know what I'm talking about.

I feel like sleeping
I feel like sleep; tired and sick
bemoaning conversations, groans turned into rants
screaming sycophantic nuances like flies stuck to ****
gone on counting, willing things to be out of sheer desperation

I cant recall when last I fell to the ground alone
dissonance comes and goes like fire slows the defying cold shoulders
but frost burn still hurts immensely
negligence desensitizing everything I touch

if dreams are the last escape from what is real
then what is real anymore?
when I close my eyes its all the same
tears still soak the pillow when I am the only mistake

irrelevancy is all there is anymore
I feel like sleeping
but when I get there, I hope I never awake

I am slowly desensitizing

Myself to the word

"Babe"

By Arcassin Burnham

I'm not a judgemental person equalizing accusations
To impress a minor audience full of devil's and demons
And the wicked and the sinful pacing back and forth to
Chronological melody desensitizing the brain and it's
Chemistry with movement and places to remember in
Photographs taking false imagery to a whole new
Kind of staff,
I was born to believe that Jesus died for our sins,
Lored into things that I couldn't hardly comprehend,
Putting back missing pieces and beating myself to
A pulp,
Learning what I could without phobias if they stalk.


/

You might be 17 hours away just thinking about
Me In your pajamas making circles with your
arms And laying out sheets of paper to start a
Portfolio of drawn faces and characteristics that
Only you could sort out seeing as how you just
Seen me a couple of weeks ago,
I'd rather go,
I'd rather show,
you in person how long I've been missing you,
I hope you know,
I'm kinda slow,
If I didn't see you message me just keep me in
Your memories,
I'm missing all of your energy,
I know that your still into me.

Have I, perchance, metamorphosed into a devil?
Or do I wade in the slow currents of transformation, inching towards such darkness?
This change of my soul haunts me, casts doubt upon my existence as a being of flesh and bone.
For within, I sense no pain, no guilt, nor remorse,
When my tongue wields daggers of impudence, my words crude and abusive.
Verily, I long for these mortal shells to retreat from my presence,
To keep their distance as one would from a plague.
Is this the aftermath, then, of betrayal, a betrayal wrought by hands I once trusted?
This world, inhabited by insolent beings, claims existence as complex and full of agony.
Yet, how cunning are they, to hide their sins,
Masking the slaughter of innocence in souls beneath the veil of life’s curse,
And adorning their graveyards by weaving tales of love and tragedy in the deepest crimson ink.
Numbness enshrouds my entire flesh,
And I long for the piercing wail of these desensitizing emotions to tear my chest,
Even at the cost of my annihilation.
For I do not wish to be alive anymore because life has forsaken me eons ago.
I am now cursed, my neck bound by the serpent of coldness, its venom coursing through my veins.
Blisters mar my fingertips, and the bones of my spine ache as I hunch over my weathered quill,
Penning countless verses
In search of the tattered shreds of my sanity amid commas and colons that may yet remain within.
But each prose’s end becomes a question, inquiring the purpose of my continued breath,
Punctuating my verse with a query rather than an end.
How shameless of me to craft fireworks of art from the agony inflicted by these mortals!
Oh, I beseech the heavens for the liberation of my soul from this earthly vessel,
To journey far from this realm of demons disguised as men.

Between the ones who have perished...May your weary souls rest in peace
To the ones still living...continue your race to become Illuminated and be clothed with Holiness...be peacemakers, be meek and humble, Don't judge your peers nor the ones mentoring you
Live and Learn, Enjoy Life to the Fullest, Don't listen to the rehearsed television programs...News or Mass Media Productions constantly being thrown at our heads by the Media Giants
THEY LYING TO YOU!!!
Do your research and learn about what it's truly going on in the World but what is NOT seen with  your mortal eyes awaken your spiritual eyes, check your energy signals your sending to others in inaudible, unwatchable, untestable, undeniable, undermining the masses by The Control Of THE WHOLE WORLD by constantly transforming yourself into an Angel Of Light...How Dare you violate and deceive the Entire Planet under your constant intrusion and invasion of the carnal beings known as "Humans" and slowly turn them into your pawns and then even more deadly slowly but surely killing them OH so softly...so smoothly, placing your snares and hexes, tempting humanity with your disobedient insolent and seductive indulgences that are being presented to US daily everyone running around the world worried about PETTY ****!!!
Wake up worry about your SALVATION you and everyone who says...God won't see...for all your works and all your toils here on Earth are MERE small repetitive trials that we face the powers of a World within this World the World of the Unseen the Spiritual World...Be Observant nearly everyone in this entire planet has heard about the "WORD OF GOD...the Gospel Of The Living Word Of God...THE HOLY BOOK...which if you look carefully and follow the Blueprint Of The Spiritual World...with Your Spiritual Eyes Observe this Evil & Monstrous  Size Of The Vast Immense Darkness we are facing TODAY!!! Wake your *** UP Ladies and Gentleman...Soon Religions will slowly merge between each other concluding each strong point of the Book Of Sanctification has long ago ordained to become our encompassing reality. Sadly, Every event here on Earth is being slowly staged to glorify the Flesh and The World and Leave God out of everyone's lives...Hence they love to point their fingers and grab each other by their throats saying I hold The Complete Truth to ALL of YOUR problems and ailments Carnal, Spiritual and Beyond. Oh You Brood Of Vipers Clothed in Sheep Clothing confusing and causing dissonance between The Carnal & Spiritual working with many people to continue to contribute to desensitizing human beings slowly with indoctrination and control of the majority of people that are Spiritually Asleep still....Living and Breathing people who are Alive and Thriving Materialistically who seem to others as Good and have NO Intentions of planting the seeds of Corruption, Self Loathe, Self Destruction and Perdition towards others yet...Deep inside this is exactly how they LOVE to masquerade  themselves and "Call GOOD...EVIL...AND EVIL...GOOD" beware among ye those are the False Teachers and False Prophets that have come to deceive in the end of times ..but yet I know I speak no blasphemy when I say my words here in this piece of my heart and me speaking from deep within the confines of my inner being conversing to the reader in ways other than the ordinary or mundane I speak eloquently about the extraordinary the surreal the imaginary or spiritual experience that comes along with every passing thought every passing action every practice that we are doing either in the light or in the dark just know NOTHING is hidden from GOD...who reads our hearts and signs our souls who is the author of everlasting life and salvation who had to pay with his precious and perfect, holy, righteous, meek and humble, becoming The Embodiment Of Every Human Male or Female...Here today or yesterday or 2000 years ago...or the Generations to Come...We must know he came to Earth to be Subservient to The Heavenly Father's Will and TOTAL submission of his own Life to save the Lives Of ALL HUMAN BEINGS. In the Cross He Bleed To DEATH till the Reaper took the Prince Of Peace To Hell for 3 days and 3 nights to roam around that hellish place we call hell...Yet Was Resurrected First Among the Dead To be In the Right Side Of The Heavenly Father FOREVER. Amen

by Arcassin Burnham

Laced with my ambitions mixed with motivations and a teenage life that was forsaken like a
Frankenstein as a fail creation to the family members I thought would've had  my back though all
The troubles but they are the troubles in a world so potent to mind controlling and self-
Absorbing in breaking a focused Lord that only wants the best for all his children but the system
Says otherwise to prized possessions like peace in America where they spike what you eat and
Make a profit off the weak,
Blacks in America can't be leaders without corruption and greed and every step you take is
Mostly a bullet or on your knees especially desensitizing all the people to the wrong things in life
that'll make you **** just for some bling bringing kids and teens in hospitals to be adopted into
Worse families is the trade where money is the seed amplifying what you need collecting checks
Off of kids you don't need pinching the poor and defenseless to meet all demands thinking why
Is it that God doesn't take a stand.

A friend I call Sister Shawie silently sobs
And all of her children’s hearts’ knobs
are plugged with mics noise-cancelling
and bluetooth earphones desensitizing.
Old mixed emos - can’t relate, how brute
- worse than real deaf or numb or mute.
Their sympathetic eye implants blue night
and smiling chrysanthemums yellow bright
selectively blind. Their once flawless derma
now pock-marked with socmed anesthesia.

Beneath the optical cables of glass sublime,
the umbilical cords are cremated in time
as the much sought wifi signals reach prime.

The cyber world defies ethics and all logic . . .
A mother’s milk is replaced just like magic.

Because my love for the world has never been reciprocated,
I used to feel the night creep on my skin due to fears in the light.

The darkness hasn't always been my companion, but is now an old friend.

It wrapped around me with a soft touch and a warm embrace,
Slowly suffocating me like a cocoon made of sticky spider silk.

Protecting me,
Isolating me,
Desensitizing me,

So I no longer reel from every heartfelt blow
So I no longer hurt
Or dream,
Or hope

It's now as much an old friend as the weariness in my soul.
Working in conjunction to advertise the eternal nothingness waiting for me on the other side.

The darkness wasn't always my companion,
But it's now my closest friend.

I think therapy is helping. I think I finally figured out that we were always better off apart. I never was able to treat you as the queen you were and instead treated you like I treat myself, always begging for better communication, tripping over petty inconsistencies and desensitizing what it meant to be comfortable. I was always Mac and you were always Ari. While I am heartbroken, I cant blame you for the wreck. Nor can I use it to justify my reactions. It was poor timing and a case of the one locked inside his own head and the one trying to break those walls. You succeeded even though we didnt. Im grateful but still wounded. Like sacrificing an arm to prevent the spread of infection. I am struggling but will learn to live differently with this experience in mind.

News they choose to air
desensitizing us all
for when it gets worse

              Kelly McManus