'They're just a teen' gets dropped on the daily.
Like the added couple of letters at the end
determine whether our feelings are valued
or not.
They only ever tell us they're here for us
when someone offs themselves on the train
tracks next to the school. Call this number
if you feel down.
Teenage years are the time to find out who
you are, and maybe I am a depressed mess,
but us Gen Z kids are doing our best to make
sure us sad'ens feel alright.
Sometimes we don't feel alright, and, so what,
if it is just down to hormones and periods,
and Max's muscly shoulders or Louise's
brown eyes.
We are allowed to feel like ****. Cos Teenage
years are the time where we find out life isn't
like animated movies;
that bad guys are defeated and the hero wins;
cos, in the end, sometimes we're our own saboteurs.
And we find out,
sometimes that's okay;  to knock ourselves down will
make us build ourselves up in the grand scheme of
things; I sure as hell know I hate how I feel most days,
and I'm sure most teenagers do.

I'm just a teen;
but I have a loud voice, terrible jokes and
a **** economy to grow into,
and I'm allowed to be mad and cry
and I'm allowed to feel like ****
and want to die
because in the end, I know it'll all
be fine.
Married or alone with wine.
Sometimes life is ****,
and that's okay;
and to me,
that is the teenage dream.

I walk into my office/abode, closing the door behind me. It's 9:00 PM. Well, 9:03 PM. I sit down at my desk and open my laptop, placing a tall glass of diet cola on the mouse pad next to the computer as a make-shift coaster. Three ice cubes float in the bubbling blackness. I've found two ice cubes won't make your beverage cold quickly enough, while four ice cubes will overpower it — water it down. You can't have that. It's got to be three ice cubes.

I open up my word processor to a new document. I've got to write something — this blank rectangular expanse has haunted me for long enough. I type some gibberish, then delete it. What do I want to write? I remember reading somewhere you're supposed to write what you like.

I minimize the page and open the Internet. No new emails. I could watch **** for a bit. I've always preferred the "amateur" videos because the people in them resemble actual people. You know, the guy's a little overweight, and the girl's got excessive arm hair, or a weird mole. He mounts her from behind, sweating profusely. Their bodies jiggle for ten or fifteen minutes. There's no eye contact, but you can tell they're in love. The TV's on. The guy looks up at it sporadically. Maybe makes a face at the cell phone he's filming his ******* on. The picture quality is low, and the audio is pretty tinny, but you can usually make it out all right. I saw this one video of a guy and a girl getting it on and some other dude was there filming it. You could tell it was an amateur video because she was kind of weird-looking. But, like, did he ask his buddy to come back to the motel with this chick he picked up and film them *******?

No, I can't get behind all that glossy, glamourous, professional ****. There's too much Botox and plastic surgery. They look too good. And it's all fake, too. These people have *** for a living. Watching them go at it, it just feels empty. They're not really into it. And I don't know if seeing guys with twelve-packs and ten inch ***** invokes a certain inferiority complex in me or what it is, but I know I just don't care for it.

Okay. Back to the writing. Now, what do I like to write? I like action movies, so... how about... a serial killer. No, a contract killer. So it's a serial, contract killer who... but there has to be some sort of conflict. Okay, a serial contract killer who falls in love with... but there needs to be something that makes it unique. Something unique that sets it apart. So how about he... or she?... she falls in love with...

I wonder if I have any new messages on Plenty of Fish. Maybe that cute brown-haired Asian-looking girl responded to me. What does "D2F" mean?

No, she hasn't. Well, when did I send the message? Yesterday night? Let's see when she was last online...

Today, at 4:13 PM.

Ah.

Well, maybe she just didn't notice it.

Yeah. That's it.

Maybe the target falls in love with the killer. Maybe they meet early on and they hit it off or something at some swanky soirée. And then... she's hired to **** him. Or her. Yeah, that could be interesting: a lesbian contract killer. Never seen that before. But she's got to be hot. Yeah. Not like the monster Cameron Diaz played in that movie... Monster. But who hires her? Her husband? Yeah, that might work. But would he **** her for being a *****? Or maybe... she stole something from him. Some money. Or she found out he's a criminal, and she's gonna squeal.

Lesbian **** is interesting. Especially when they use the strap-on thing. But I don't know why they **** on it first. I mean, it's just plastic. Maybe they know it's mostly going to be guys watching it. Who knows.

But seriously, why would that cute Asian girl not respond to my message? Her profile did say "msg me :)", after all. Her profile said her favourite book is Fight Club. I think she meant the movie. I wrote "haha ya brad pitt is the shiiit". I don't know. I never know what to write in those messages. I always feel obligated to say something about their profile so they know I didn't just look at their pictures.

I'm good-looking, aren't I? I've had girlfriends. I've had *** a bunch of times. I haven't had *** in a while, but... okay, so I don't have a six-pack, but I go to the gym. I just get so anxious with all those muscly dudes walking around. Maybe I should get a private trainer.

I need more diet cola. No, wait — no more soda. Maybe all that aspartame is messing with my head. Anyway. Back to the contract killer. How many pages do I have? Six. Well, the average movie is about a hundred minutes, and if one page equals one minute in screen time, I'm only... oh look, I got a new email.

Stef341 has responded to your message.

"not my type, sorry"

Huh.

Well, whatever. Fight Club is a stupid movie anyway. How are Brad Pitt and that other guy supposed to be the same guy? That doesn't make any sense.

Back to the script. I need a title. Every good movie has a good title. How about The Lesbian Killer? No, that's too risqué. Nothing with lesbians in the title. This is a serious movie. With a lot of passion. Maybe a *** scene or two. Whatever, I'll just call it The Contract Killer. Starring Cameron Diaz.

The kidnapping of Brian Allan and Ryan Clark


You see this masked bandit was roaming around the streets of Sydney trying to catch Ryan Clark cause he had this obsession sign he surfer dude, Sam Marahall, and he pulled up on Bondi beach and grabbed Ryan Clark and tied him up and put him in the back bad then decided to go to Canberra to catch Brian Allan who tried to be like Sam in the sports boy bit, ya see Brian Allan started the phantom league and as he left this masked bandit put his hand around Brian Allan's mouth and pulled him in his can and for Brian it felt like being in the back with his brother but now he is with Ryan Clark and this masked bandit has it in his mind to lock these two boys in his bedroom as he goes our avid gets more little cool kids, so he can get rid of thst nonsense of the streets, and get the days back to the dinosaurs years, you see Ryan Clark was very scared and for the first time in his life, he showed his big muscly legs and they were ****** white and Brian Allan showed his muscle legs too and the bandit wanted to chop both these sportswatchers heads off
And he will do it now, and then Mark Marlor went past him and said, your a ******* mate, and he grabbed Mark and threw him in the bedroom as well, yes Brian and Ryan and Mark were trapped forever and ever,
And you all will never escape


Sent from my iPhone

Captured in the psych ward 16


On the day of jeff paynter's psych review. Ron got up at 3 in the morning to try and figure out how he was going to do tips, he is always one to let the patient speak but all night he get texts explaining that he had violent outbursts which causes him to change his approach, no if he has anything to say that might help him be cured. Ron us in for that, but there is a lot of inappropriate language which can force the staff to postpone the review. So Ron searched the web especially YouTube and some great psychology websites and even read a bit of his old timer psychology papers and text books just to find some useful information, and Ron really wanted to help Jeff. Like he does for everyone and at 6 Ron had a shower and went to fran and dans and fran asked Ron how are you today and Ron said, I am doing great but I have this stupid psych test on a patient of mine and really this is looking weird, cause last night he had so many outbursts. I had to get up early to find out what the hell is wrong with him and Barry Allan said, well Ron
I think he has a lot of problems fitting into society and you need to make him understand that what he is doing is wrong, now, yeah it is hard for me to judge cause I hardly know him, but really you should try to get him to speak up about jest is really wrong with him and Ron said yeah mate yeah, jeff, yeah I know has something wrong him, but I am having a mighty hard time trying to point out what is wrong with him, like it could be schotzpgrenia or even bipolar or maybe multiple personalities but that is rare, all I can tell you guys that there is something wrong with him and after finishing his coffee and chinwag he went to the hospital and clocked in and as usual, the first thing he did was give out the morning medications to the HDU and then took their blood pressure and went in to talk to Bill to say that another member of staff will have to take you to TAFE today because I have to spend the day with Jeff, and bill said who will it be and Ron said well at the moment it looks like Tessa, but I will let you know when it happens and then Charlie came out to ask the nurses about leave to do a silent movie and jeff said. Why he **** should you get a job on a silent movie. You are so goofy and then Charlie do you know who I am and jeff said, no your not Charlie Chaplin, all you are is a insult to Charlie Chaplin fans and then jeff called him a big phoney and Charlie Chaplin threatened him with a I am going to bash you up, I am going to bash you up and suddenly Charlie and jeff were having a big punch up and Pete also became involved as well, Ron and a few nurses had to get into this fight and break it up and Ron took jeff away telling the nurse to make sure that bill gets to class at 10-30 and then took Jeff into his room and stayed there with him, to try and figure out jest is wrong and jeff said, you fucken doctors with your medical degrees don't know squat what I am dealing with and Ron said, ok I know I am getting paid for this. And to you I might look like I am helping you to pay the bills, but I am interested in what you have to say. And it stays in this room and Jeff then agreed to tell him the whole story of how a Catholic priest molested him as a child and that got him thinking that molesting kids was right. So then he went to shopping malls and chased every kid, making them very scared of me and then when I saw a kid waking with their parents showing their muscly white legs, I would go come here kid and if the kid came I would grab them and say I have you kidnapped you little rugrat, and then Ron asked, when you said I have you kidnapped, were you actually planning to actually kidnap this kid, or was that illness taking and jeff said, what the **** do you mean my illness, I ain't ill, I just take revenge on people who do harm to me Ron, it's called looking after yourself and Ron said yeah, but I am trylng to give a psych review cause there is something wrong with your brain, and with his hands in the air assuring that he just means he understands, you see to take our your anger on a poor innocent child
Is horrible just because it happened to you, now I know you are sick of the patients here like old blimie Charlie. But mate I can monitor you on medication and make you avoid jailtime and jeff said I don't know right, I don't know why I followed the kids around the mall, and I don't know why I grabbed one out in a public place, I just did it cause I did it and that is why I did it and Ron told Jeff, ok if you go to jail you could get bashed you see they bash people who do harm to kids in there, and if you do wrong things jeff, you have to realise that life stinks and it can be unfair but I am here to find out where are you going to go from here, you see if you stay here, we could get you leave to do courses at TAFE or rehabilitation courses so you don't reoffend, but you need to coopperate with me, I don't want to see you in jail for this. I am interested in letting you do a course, and yes we can help you get back on your feet, so how about I give you this paper and pen and you tell me what would you like to do and where you go from here, and tell us your future goals, be realistic though but don't be shy to say movie star, we can help you get through all this, but that will take time and Ron left Jeff in there and when it came to Jeff's psych review, well jeff was really organised, well he said yeah he believes in standing up for himself but doing it to a kid is wrong and he listed a whole lot of things but the main thing that Jeff wanted to do is learn a trade and he wanted an apprenticeship as a plumber, so Ron did some ringing around and found this plumber who is willing to have him, and he was professional and took him on two days a week, picking him up at the HDU and after having that organised Ron gave the nightly medication and then clocked off and went to the Chinese takeaway and sit in the park near the yarra river at 9-00 pm and Barry Allan came over with a longneck of beer and they spoke to each other and Ron said that he really has the knack for helping people find their feet as he told Barry everything about jeff except for his name, and
They were having great conversations as the yarra river continued to flow so peacefully in the back ground


Sent from my iPhone

god, i can't stop thinking about how it feels to be in your arms.
your big bear hugs. where your muscly arms wrap around my ribs. and my cheek rests against your chest. i'm so small, wrapped up in you. when you hold me it feels like a golden fire crackling.
like the warm buzzing in your chest after taking a  shot of spiced ***.
like rolling yourself up in a blanket and dozing off.
like the smell of rain.
like when the sun is at the edge of the horizon and bleeds fuchsia.
like the sound of fireworks popping in the black sky.
like the feeling of warm sand in between your toes.
like safety.
i wish i could stop craving that comfort.

Does this poem have *** appeal?
Oh don’t you know it.
It’s got green eyes, dark hair,
and a jawline that’s stoic.

It’s thickly bearded,
and has a good dress sense,
audaciously flirtatious,
and knows self-defence.

This poem’s got thick muscly arms
which look good holding babies,
and skilful, strong hands
which look soft for the ladies.

This poem smells good
even after the gym,
with a gorgeous deep voice
and gorgeous smooth skin.

It wears tight jeans
which show off its dic–
                                       tion is good,
so you can hear what it’s saying.
        But this poem has a boyfriend—
        I know, how dismaying.

Fat fleshy fingers,
Palpable prose,
Liquorice for hair,
Button for a nose,

Milky teeth,
Muscly tongue,
Wet *****,
but only one.

I am a cow,
I am a pig,
If it weren't for my blood
I would be a twig

Please cut me up,
or swallow me whole,
Do for me what I can't do
now I'm old

Forget that I'm in here
forget me all
I'm not really in here
empty glass bowl

Your heart beat is as steady as a snare
And your tattoos act as trace lines for my fingertips.
The rhythm of our inhales and exhales harmonize
As our naked limbs twist and tangle to intermix.

You gently snore into my hair
And your muscly biceps securely embrace me.
The sweet aroma of your skin floods my lungs
As I hopelessly gaze at you ever so lovingly.

My eyes moisten for I wasn't supposed to get attached.
And these feelings shred the strings of my fragile heart.
You saved me when I needed a savior and you
Appeared with an absorbent shoulder for support.

Inevitably, I collapsed into the abyss of unreturned love
And I long for a day where our feelings synchronize.
But, I admit that I'm fervidly in love with my "best friend."
As I fight tears, silently break, and wait for sleep to arrive.

She was provocative,
a slapper, all botox, **** and tats.
Lived life on the edge.
Never showed her nicer side
always wanting a bigger, better wedge!

She met her latest bloke on-line,
a bouncer from the pool.
Got a Phd in fighting *****…scrapping!
Never let ‘em see you’re rattled
just moody, muscly, strapping.

They make a handsome pair
she with her scraped back
Grimsby facelift; tight hair, nose ring, tongue stud.
Him? A tattooed tear on his cheek
straight back, full height, flex; thinks he’s looking good.

‘Cut along dotted line’…dot-dash inked around his neck.
If your name’s not down you’re not comin’ in
But if you’re a looker - well, what the heck?
I run the door - In fact I run the place,
always prepared to be persuaded by a pretty little face.

Wages don’t add up to much so, punters’ll oblige
got a nice line in scanning cards, cloning, fakin’
and spending other people’s money on ‘out’ that I can sell.
The job dun’t pay that much you see, so what the hell?
Claiming? What if I am? Any road - how could you tell?

We make a tidy sum, the two of us, just the same
and if we need some extra there’s allus 'the game'.
We love each other right enough a match that suits us both.
but we drift into ‘***** and fleece’ to score a few more quid.
It’s a sordid, morbid low, low life - when you lift the lid.

He turns..."You want some mate? Nah!… I didn’t think you did!"