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The Good Pussy Jun 2015
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                                Work
                         aholic Work
                       aholic Workah
                       olic Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic    
                       ­   Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
                          Workaholic
               Workaholic      Workaholic
          WorkaholicWork aholic Workaho
            Workaholic Wo rkaholic Worka
               Workaholic          Workaholic
                    Worka                 holic
Miss Saitwal Jul 2018
That workaholic lady who's always on call,
keeping up with the market fall.
That newly married lady with chunky red bangles,
returning to her father's big castles.

That person who's scared to get lapse,
so stays active on the google maps.
That person who swings like a kid at the back door,
Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor.

That next door girl with a red lipstick,
flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique,

That dreamer gazing outside the window,
That overworked soul dozing on his elbow.

That 21st century kid,
listening to Eminem & playing video games.
Or That 90’s kid,
listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games.

That banker with a big fat stomach,
filled with his beautiful wife’s love.
That lady who eats like a thief,
in her big fat bag hiding a beef.

That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns.
That granny spotting & criticing  every fashion trends.
That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns,
thinking & chanting for earns & returns.

Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield,
in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field.

That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial,
than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central,
& tryna stay sane listening to George Michael.

That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy,
when the masses flee into the scenery.
That trader crunching numbers so rapidly,
when the stock prices go down hourly.

That person on the last seat,
diagressing from work & gazing around,
soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.
Michelle Brunet Mar 2019
How do you decide?
Decide what to do,
What the future holds for you?
I don’t understand, one goal,
One goal that somehow
Supersedes them all.

How do you choose?
When passion flows through you,
For not just one, nor two,
But many life paths, careers,
It all means something to you?

I feel lost, thinking of the future.
I’m floating by, trying to find,
Something that could spark
More than mere interest,
Something that could captivate,
Hypnotize me for long enough.

Because you see, I flit from one
Passion to the next, one minute
I am drawing, the next sewing,
The next it’s animals I love,
Or how about teaching children?

And I sit here empty, not sure
Which path to take, which goal
To make, to work towards,
Because right now, I’m in
The inbetween, no job,
Not in school, what do I do?

But the reality is, I’m trying to find
That one magic passion,
That somehow works with my
Disable body, since almost everything,
I find it all exhausting.
And my mind is spinning circles,
A dog chasing its tail.

Why can’t I do it all?
Why can’t I just enjoy life, enjoy
All of the things it brings,
And take my time, because I’m
So tired, of trying to figure it all out.
Tired of planning, I’ve never been
Too good at planning, when there’s
So many things occupying my mind,
So many things that I desire.

But even then, even then, if I could find
A goal to work towards, a dream job
For right now, well that takes work
And it takes time, because it
Turns out it’s all a ladder that
We all have to climb and being disabled,
Well I feel left behind, not sure
How to move forward when
I also have to go up, and going
Up has always been so draining.

I must work now, to somehow
Get somewhere I would rather be,
But what do you do when most jobs
Require me to be on my feet,
With my level of experience,
And education, limiting me?
It’s like I have to hurt myself
In order to hopefully some day,
Live a better life, I guess that’s why
So many say, ‘suffer now, and
You’ll get your reward later’

I tried university, tried college,
But you see, being disabled,
Has made them  difficult for me.
At least, in the ways that I was pursuing.
And now I’m stuck, trying to find my way,
How to get out of this rut, this mess,
All around me while being limited
By my own body, when I’m so used
To trying so hard to keep up
With the rest of them, charging
At how much money they can earn.

Money, it always comes back to money.
And money stresses me out,
Makes me more sick, gives me more
Pain that I would ever like to be in.
Well, apparently, money is
Supposed to be the solution.

Not so easy when the job market is crap,
I didn’t come from money, so I had to
Start off with nothing, and make my own way.
But where do you start, when
All your ‘now’ prospects seem
Rather lackluster and all you can do
Is prepare for a future.

Strange to think that we’re told to
Live each and every day like
It’s the last one we may ever live,
When we have to spend our beginnings
Stuck in preparing, deciding, and striving
For a future, so hard to make,
When all you started with was
A journal to write in.

I just want to live now,
I want to live everyday,
I want to spend more time
Cultivating all this passion inside
Of me, it’s bursting inside of me.

But there’s this rut, this anxiety,
This fear, of having to build a life,
No, a career. So that I can live
In the future, instead of now,
So that hopefully, we can get by,
Scrape by, by the skins of our teeth.

Tired of working crap jobs,
That I don’t really like, where we’re
Unappreciated, and paid to barely live.
Overworked, underpaid, I’m in so much pain.
My body, can’t stand in this pain,
But that’s all I can do is stand.
In pain, at a cash register,
Or making drinks, no consideration,
Of the struggle it is of being disabled.

Because we all have to able.
Able to stand, to push, to work
Your ***** off, until there’s nothing left,
You’ve given all you’ve got, and then
Some. Soul *******, career bent,
Work too hard, to fit in.
You got to be a workaholic to fit in.

Well I can’t keep up with that pace,
And I see it wearing people thin,
People that have more strength,
More drive than I ever did.
How are we supposed to live,
When you have to work to live,
And, in turn, live to work.
It’s extremely exhausting.

All of this jumbles inside me,
I can’t breathe, can’t decide,
How I’m supposed to live my life
When everything screams
On all sides, that I’m supposed to be
Running, supposed to be rushing,
And that all seems so wrong.

I just want to live a life that has meaning.
Something meaningful to me, that I can
Actually enjoy each moment as it passes
Us all by, I don’t want to rush life
Before it all ends, I’m so tired
Of trying to run in this ‘rat race’
It’s not a race, I need a slower pace.
I demand a slower place.
No more running, no more racing,
It’s time to live in the now,
No fear.
© Michelle Brunet 2019
fugyadzi Jan 2012
and maybe i really am

but i'd like to believe it isn't true
but everything's been a race
and my eyes blur
and i'm waiting for the crack of dawn
for the justification
and not the crack of a soul dead tired
i don't want to be tired

in my waking moments i move
someday i'll take a break
Kara MacLean Jan 2012
You are entitled, they say
I asked for too much on christmas.
I asked for time, and wished for difference.

She stands on stilts and judges outsiders
This is all for you, she claims
From behind the shattered window pain.

I gave birth to you, she says.
You are an adult.
Scratch that.
You are a child.
Strikethrough.
You are a burden.

I am crippled without her
I am broken when she's near
She doesn't want to hear

She's too far gone.
Harsh unyielding sunset, buries me against the page.
I won't be lazing on a couch, left to rot and waste away.
Wormy plush Berber carpet soft against the afternoon.
Debts are pile high and the company picnic is this June.

The pages are vellum paper covered in ancient Egyptian script.
I've loved you methodically ever since we met inside that crypt.
The dregs brings me solemn hope that one day we'll breakthrough.
Works calling in on Sunday for some overtime that's overdue.

Its a 5 past 4 the glass lays arrhythmic, shattered at my feet.
We found each other down beside the casket of the diseased.
Heartfelt words never came out of a mouth that were so pure.
How could you take me for interesting, in life I'm just a bore.

Down. I've already ruined the letter meant from me to you.
Life is not a fairy tale to broker marriage for us two.
Bloodletting's an aphrodisiac to keep me at the brink.
Why'd I write this silly thing when I spilled my drink.
um. written with a friend. This poem is her fault.
Geetha Jayakumar Mar 2015
I am not praising you,
With any unwanted words.
Whatever I come across,
I just write in few words.
My pen cannot remain idle,
It just feel like writing down few verses, which I cannot tell on ones face directly.

He is a man with a passion for his work, so dedicated to his work.
With flattery words one cannot win him ever.
Send him birthday wishes, he will never love.
But with what dedication you do the work, only pleases him ever.
There cannot be any explanations for the excuses if any.
Just in plain words speak the truth.
His eyes are too sharp to judge you perfectly.
His memory is too sharp and
Blessed with great sense of humor.

Shaking hands meeting eyes to eyes,
His eyes speak of boldness.
Blended with beautiful qualities of,
Self Disciplined and inner strength.
He can sail through any storms,
which he had proved many times.
His strictness may not be liked,
as a man of disciplines.

He is a man full of life and charms.
A man, who has the courage to do the right thing.
But I will never tell,
Who you are.
I love to praise the qualities,
Whatever my eyes see,
What ever I hear,
For I know the person.
It's the plain truth I am writing,
Regarding him in my verse.
He may not read my verses,
so boldly I can write regarding him.
If someone asks who is he,
For, I will never tell.
For it can be you
or anyone who comes with
these qualities ever.

I have never seen a man, just took few hours of leave for his surgery.
Surprise it was that he directly he went to office the moment he was discharged.
So dedicated to work.
All I can tell is,
He is a rare person with so many qualities I have ever met.
Yes, I do respect him and his qualities, which he owns.
He is a unique man of rare with lots of achievements.
God Bless Him with best of health and happiness always!

Thank You!
Aira Malit Jan 2015
This is the promise that I'll keep,
I will try to have a long sleep,
A long sleep that would be so deep,
That I can't hear my cellphone's beep.

Oh, I'm so tired of all this work,
I am trying to do my best,
But my boss is a one big dork,
He thinks I'm just one of the rest.

I never thought that earning money,
Could be as hard as raising child,
But please remember this honey,
All things in the world could turn wild.

I just want to embrace my bed,
Forget all my problems and sleep,
'Cause in my dreams I would have fled,
This is the promise that I'll keep.
Imma newbie
Larzipan Sep 2014
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.

The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.

I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."

Out.

Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.

The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the *******
your throne.

Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.

My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
ZL Aug 2016
busy
busy
busy
so I can keep from dealing with me

me
me
me
I'm a mess you see

busy me
me busy
this life of mine is not easy
CH Gorrie Oct 2012
So...there's this girl who's rather smart
that, when her lips begin to part,
drives me up the wall in a good way.
I sort of want to see her everyday.
She's usually busy though,
so I occupy
time with one constant sigh
until she calls and then I go.

I don't really know too much about her ---
she's Aphrodite's caricature! ---
no,no, that's a bit rash and inflated,
but in my stomach butterflies've congregated
each time her face comes to mind.
Severely interesting,
her hands are often clean
and she's never proved less than kind.

I think it might be good to write her a song
(I should've been writing this all along)
so that she'll feel sublimely delighted
and is happy, though consistently derided
by the upkeep of her garden's flora.
She could use a lot
of things uncommonly wrought,
like poems stuffed with anaphora.

      In time all the snowflakes will evaporate.
      In time the sun will sleep under an iron leaf.
      In time acetylene darkens human hate.
      In time all time will seem quite brief.


So, in honor of her I have created
this mediocre song so dominated
by use of the Yeats-stanza's rhythmic-rhyme,
offering it to her as ends to the crime
of my deplorable mannerisms.
I hope it's well-received,
being arduously conceived,
but I'll openly accept criticisms.

Coral, though you must (and do) work a lot,
work harder at those things which can't be bought
(i.e. relationships, love, and empathy)
for even the natural workaholic bee
requires mutual love.
Even while working
find a small moment to sing
this song. I hope it's enough.
Raphael Uzor Mar 2014
She wins...
She always does

After a long busy stay
From missing her all day
I go home to her
And she's there, she's always there,
Patient, soothing and tender
Luring me to bed...
As I fight her charms,
Trying to stay up; workaholic impulse raging!

I win...
For a moment or so

Daring to focus
For a couple more hours
Desperate not to give in
At least not without a fight.
She peeks out from our bedroom
Sneaking up from behind,
As I snooze momentarily
But I can't win this fight, there's no use trying!

Accepting defeat, I embrace her
Letting her caress me

She entraps me all night
I'm lost, against my will
I know I'll wake up guilty,
Wishing I could send her away
But I'm stuck with her for life
And she takes so much of my time
Time I could use for work
But no, she won't let go; not when I always yield!

And no, she's not my wife
She's not even my girlfriend
Not some girl from across the street
Just a nobody, named Sleep!


© Raphael Uzor
What were you thinking?
SUDHANSHU KUMAR Jun 2021
Once there was a man
Neither rich nor very poor
He was a workaholic
But also a habitual drinker!

He used to drink regularly
Mostly at night
Sometimes, in a bar
Sometimes, at his home
Sometimes, with his friends
And sometimes alone

He was a father, husband and a son
But he never showed them affection, love and emotion

At one bad day
He drank throughout the night
Returned home very late
And with his wife, he had an ugly fight

He abused and slapped her too
His kids tried to give her a shed(protection)
And pushed that man away
But by that push, he got a wound on his forehead

He became more angry
And picked a sharp knife
Stabbed his own little kids
And ended their lives

Stepped out from his own home
But fell down at door
He slept that night, very relaxed
In the morning till four

Woke up and entered inside
He called his wife and kids
Saw dead bodies of his kids and wife
And he realized his yesterday's deeds

Then he cried loud and thought to end his life
Cut his own artery with that same blooded knife

That night, an alcoholic ended a family
But, by his deeds, humanity declined
Like, every single moment in our society
Alcohol is murdering the mankind. . .
Whitney Aug 2013
If I could ask for one thing in my life
One thing only
I would wish
that one day I will fall in love
with someone who loves me back

whether it is born from the darkest
coldest depths of sorrow
when winter is every where
and trees hang above you like a
bad oman

whether it is when you least expect it
in your favorite coffee shop
or the one you've never been to before
hunched over a computer screen like
the workaholic you know you are

whether it is in the most romantic place
in the world
on top of the Eiffel Tower
arguing over an engagement or
a birthday

it doesn't matter
as long as we both
love deeply and strongly
as long as we are best friends
partners in crime
as long as every moment together is
cherished

no matter how long we have.
Please, let us love unconditionally.
Computer
A loving father and husband
To provide for your family
Heading to office
When birds greet
Dawn with chorus
Hark, hark and hark
Back home, sitting
Over a computer till
It gets pitch dark
Bearing a workload
That could cause
ED if not a heart attack,
You make sure luxuries
Your wife and
Off springs never lack,
To indirectly ram home
Your love for
Your better half
As a broad day light
Is stark.

But when your marriage
Lost its ****** spark
Her resolution shattered
She sought love
Behind your back.

You failed to sensitize
Her about her beauty
Your number one duty,
Also sometimes making
A paradigm shift
You were not
A bit naughty.
Out of line from a
Henpecked husband,
You failed to defamiliarize
That do not you realize?

You should have made her
Feel an object of desire
That was what could have
Rekindled the flame
And the fire.

When you make
Love to her
Think not what
Makes you buckle
Under depression
Such as lack of promotion,
Ego-rocking feelings
Must not distract
Your attention.

You should ever try
To scale ****** new height
Every night.

Workaholic, unless
You jog, jog and jog
When you go to bed
For her you will be
No better than a log.

To the dump yard
She could throw you
A broken toy
Unless you afford her
A joy
Cuckolded by a man
On the wrong side of a boy.

With someone else
When a woman gets into bed
She deletes you
Out of her soul, heart and head
That is why,
As her husband, she denied
You a go ahead!

Mindful of this fact
It is not too late
To fix a date
Stop your
Fate to lament!
(A piece of advice from a cougar to a cuckold husband, contemplating/also facing a divorce)
SøułSurvivør Sep 2017
little pills
to cure your ills
prescription fills
the bottle spills...

not to be catty
you're being bratty
rolling a fatty
and getting chatty...

you are crunchy
getting the munchies
getting chunky
like a monkey!

how's your wallet?
workaholic?
did i call it?

get the gold
you were once bold
now you're old...

don't get huffed
but
have you enough

STUFF???

losing vision
reclined position

TELEVISION

always scheming
never doing
you're pretty boring
there daydreaming...

see her bopping
'til she's dropping
out there shopping

the door is shutting
you're alone
to the bone
while you're cutting

what's YOUR thing?
will it bring
you
everything?

it's SO nice!
any vice
will entice

TAKE MY ADVICE!

don't be idle!
take the BRIDLE!

IT'S AN IDOL!

there's an award
when you've scored
with the LORD!

don't applaud.
we're all sod

HE IS GOD!


SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/2017
I've been writing... in my imagination. I have been (austensibly) writing a novel. I've been "working" on Star Child. But it turned out to be a daydreaming ADDICTION. I just talked to another lady today Who has the EXACT SAME THING! As a Christian she advised me strongly against it. Because it steals something very precious... TIME. I've been spending HOURS doing this. DAYS. WEEKS! On something that in the final analysis won't get me anywhere godly! So I've stopped. You're going to see more of me now. Sorry I've been AWOL so long! I really appreciate and love you all!

<♡>
My eyes were watery
you did not see
and turned blind.
I kept expecting
care and love
that you never showed
and kept yourself busy
in your so- called office works.
Today I stand
somewhere beyond
that you ever thought of
and now you seek for
my closest attention
to focus on you
rather on my tasks.
You pretend to be the key person
but your are not
for you never cared
for your family
and kept yourself aloof.
I- a compassionate
an amorous-
woman.
You- a ****
a lackadaisical-
a workaholic man.
I was born to be a child that planted seeds of
happiness in whoever I met, so my parents have told me.
I don't think I have ever had the leading role in
this play. I've never been that girl who everyone fawns
over with the spot light shining on her all the time.
I was meant to help others like the backstage hands.
My biggest accomplishment was teaching my mom
how to laugh at herself. She has always been that
busy workaholic type.
At this point in my life, it is only Act III Scene II and there
hasn't been a visible plot yet. My soul is chameleon, and
it is indecisive as to what color it should be. My ideas
of what I want to give to this world change all the
time. But soon if I don't pick, I will be thrown into
a ****** without any heading. My most secret dream
is to become a painter, but nobody has ever understood
that part of me. When I paint, I lose all consciousness of
the outside world and there is no incentive to paint
besides the love of  looking at a finished piece. Maybe
one day I'll be a starving artist who gets a break and then
I will get my spotlight on stage.
Barton D Smock Mar 2014
I lift baby onto my back.  baby is twenty nine years of outsider atmosphere.  baby swallows and my stomach becomes the pecking in my stomach.  baby is distracted by the attention eternity demands.  baby drops and my mind enters a snowball disappearing centermost of a dark summer pond.  baby’s mother rafts workaholic to where work suffers to invent for the harmless

today this trap door
for an unfinished
fly.
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
My neck hurts from the curves that come when I exert,
enough energy to network with these nerds and increase my net worth,
she’s an alcoholic hanging out at the bar I’m a workaholic raising the bar,
so take a guess at who’s efforts are worth more,

anyways here we are,
or rather there we were,
since I’m with another girl now,
and no longer with her,

I’m with a girl I met on Venice Beach,
who wears tattoos on both arms like sleeves,
which is ironic since that’s also where she wears her heart,
at any rate I’m with a girl I met on Venice Beach,

we had dinner then had ***,
a typical set of activities on any given night in this city,
and after she finished she said I’d crossed a line,
and she proceeded to tell me a story,

of how she’d been gang ***** a few years ago,
and how she still carries what had been done to her around,
about how she’d been drugged up then **** fckt,
then left alone bruise faced ****** assed on the ground,

no reason to sugar coat it,
men can be fcking disgusting,
that’s why if I was a woman I’d be a lesbian,
and I don’t mean that in any way that’s funny,

we spoke in our awkward line crossed post *** sweat,
laying there exhausted on my bed,
we talked about how men are such conflicted creatures,
how they can be so nice on the surface but so mean with ***,

how most of them are just looking for a place to stick it in,
and how sickening that fact is especially since I’m one of those *******,
and she left my house soon after but I didn’t expect her to stay,
especially since everything we’d begun to make had already turned into a disaster,

and as she disappeared into the night,
on a bike as black as the sky,
I thought about how she reminded me,
of the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and why…

∆ LaLux ∆
Mathew P Nangolo Apr 2019
I live at work
and visit home sometimes
Adesumbo Jul 2013
Oh! What a pity!!
The mighty man of memory
A earth to be looked up at, to recollect
A coffin that lives for Billion generations

He started like any other Egg
What a Workaholic being of history
No pin he ever got bears his name
From many arms, he leave to mouth

Here comes promotion, the word of life
A week for him to climb the stairs
He started preparing like a Serious dead would do
Burnt candles like Bare-footed garment men would do

Organised personal vigil like Oyedepo would choose
Just to climb a bit higher
And all went a six days
On the day to Hecky-Torky

Prepares like a chef would have chosen to cook for the Lords
Spares just a little hour to answer the nature

At the end of the day lays to take a rest
So that it could come just the day

Before the Clock crows
...
    ...
        ... He wakes no more

His sweat with him now rules, but six foot below here
Like a Moses, he never saw the Paradise he longed for
A peace rest, the world bid him
Even when he could not wake to say No
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
I’m lying in bed
******* on an electronic cigarette
After having a nice glass of absinthe
Which has left me with a warmth in my face

My father lied about “going down the shore to help Jimmy
Pal-Park install cabinets”
Instead he’s somewhere with I think Jimmy the Hook snorting seven hundred bucks of my dad’s retirement money up their noses

Coke

I’m not surprised
This happens every so often
Always has
For the past fifteen years of my life

He wouldn’t come home
My mom would freak out
He would answer the phone
Then he’d come home all ****** up, exhausted, strung out

Apologizing and begging us to take him back in
And we would


Mom would have me and my sister decide
We we’re ******* kids!
I was nine she was four
And my dad would be sobbing and sitting on the edge of his bed facing us with his inflamed nostrils
We couldn’t throw our dad away
So we’d let him back into our lives and allow ourselves to be hurt again

Not only did he betray our trust and our mom’s trust
But he used money we didn’t have to feed his addiction
We had to put a second mortgage on the house
My mom pushed to get promoted, knowing all the stress and hair ripping frustration that came with it
Even though she’s amazing at what she does, we all know she can’t handle the pressure
But she still carries on
My father is a hard worker
Worked all his life
But that mother ******* coke habit
******* it
******* him

When he went to rehab for twenty eight days
That’s when I tried *** for the first time
That’s when I cut myself for the first time
That’s when I knew I couldn’t trust anyone
That's when i tried to **** myself for the first time
Not even my own father

When we visited him
He looked red, puffy, eyes bulging, wrinkled and long haired
But he spoke of hopeful sobriety and God
What **** that was, he was back at again in a year
That’s when I stopped caring
I went into a reclusive state
I hated him
I hated every one
I hated myself

I began to take a good look at myself and my life
I distanced myself emotionally form my family
I couldn’t take it anymore, the wasted tears and wasted time
I became a mere guest in my own house
I only lived there

My mom always said she’d divorce him when I and my sister were done with college

She only stayed for the money
I think he stayed for the roof, the food and the medical benefits my mom got

And I don’t get it
My dad isn’t well
He’s diabetic
He’s got blood pressure problems
He’s got arthritis
He’s got bad knees
He’s got psychological issus
Rage
Mother issues
He’s a workaholic
He had ******* cancer!

Yet, he still continues to put ******* into his body
Completely disregarding his health, he’s family and his own life and dignity

I hate him
My mom hates him
My sister hates him

I promise, all of you, my family, my life and whatever God or spirit created us all and keeps us here on this strange trip we call life
I will never, ever, ever become my father
I will never forsake those I love for an idiotic, immature addiction

We tried to help him
We did what we could
And still do
I just don’t know anymore

I really don’t
Michael Ambrosio Aug 2024
The current day is May 1st, 2024. I believe I might have found Brianna. And she’s gone. . .

About eight years ago from this date, I would have my first encounter with this mysterious girl. With all of this having taken course over such a long amount of time, a lot of the details are blurry compared to how solidified they used to be to me. But, back to the first encounter, although encounter sounds more like a passive aggressive frightening experience, I’m not sure what other word I might use to describe it. Maybe it was a chance meeting or divine intervention, but encounter gets the meaning across a bit more fluently, as every time I would find this girl I would be in total shock, utter disarray, and my heart would beat so fast I’d feel as though a heart attack was right around the corner.

The first time I ever met her was through a dream. . .

I can’t remember what this particular dream was. I’m not exactly sure what happened in it, why I found it so profound, or how it even got me to begin thinking about this girl. All I know was that it got my attention and I began to pay attention to this idea, this one night miracle where I first met this mysterious woman.

The night I had that dream, I’m pretty sure I thought nothing of it. Who doesn’t have a dream every so often where they’ve met their true love, their other half, their once in a lifetime love of their life? I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic and I’ve always known that this was one of my deeply ingrained character traits. From my first ever year in school in first grade, I had a very large crush on this girl, Ashley Amaya, and I remember wanting so badly to be her crush as well. I even remember a moment from school when I saw a spider crawling towards her and me while walking across a paved walkway to get to our next class, and I leapt towards it and crushed it, despite having a massive fear of the little demons at the time. But, I did it to impress her!

All that to say, the first dream wasn’t extraordinary, and instead it was just another more than usual somber morning when I woke up only to realize the beautiful woman I had just met was probably a mixture of something I ate and some tv show I’d probably seen the afternoon before. Time would go by, the memory of that first dream fading to the farthest recess of my mind with only a hint of any remote recognition still reminiscing in the deepest abyss of my head.

But, this is when what started out as a dream began to become a bit more substantial. This is when Brianna began to plague my mind.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I began to have recurring dreams of being in love with this mysterious woman. She began to become more familiar in a very inconvenient and unreliable way which was of course through the remembering of my dreams. In the beginning stages, I’d only ever catch glimpses of her face and the reset was usually a silhouette or a very rushed moment. The rushed moments were hard to describe but they were full of light, always this wonderful warm yellow light and though they were rushed, time also slowed down significantly in a perplexing way that I still can’t really understand to this day.

I’d see her dark brown hair flowing and filtering the light into these tiny and magnificent rays making a twinkling in what was usually a dark atmosphere. I’d catch the corner of her mouth turning ever so slightly into a warm beautiful smile as she looked away, something else in the vicinity stealing her attention for the moment. There were intense feelings of joy and tranquility and there was a warmth about the situation I could only hope to ever feel in the true cold and lightless world we all collectively call home. Something about her was so intensely special, and the fact that I even got to share a dream with her was the highest privilege I could’ve ever received.

As time would go on, I’d continue to have these dreams. She always stayed the same, with her long dark brownish red hair flowing ever so gracefully. It got to the point that when I would have these dreams, I would’ve preferred to not wake up, just so I could spend more time with her.

Over a year would go by. At this point in life I was still just in high school and still brand new to learning life in the real world compared to the sheltered view I used to have. I had just gotten a job at the local Home Depot as a cashier, literally a few weeks after I got my license since my parents were unwilling to pay for gas for me (as good parents should do!) I was still figuring out life with my friend groups and trying to balance the reality of starting to become more mature and take on more responsibilities while still trying to cling to my childhood of digging holes and bashing legos against the wall with my brothers! It was an odd time, which I guess many can easily familiarize themselves with the timeframe as we’ve all at one point been teenagers.

One of the biggest things in my life I remember being a bit troublesome though, was all my friends I had made and my groups of people I had become so entangled with. With going through these changes, I had some friends that were still absolute children at heart and some friends who were practically ready for college! I had loads of moments through those years where these friends I had grown up with would start to feel like strangers and I’d begin to not really feel as though I had a social place to call my own.

Work was a new outlet, and I actually used to love talking to people as a cashier, ringing up their items, and learning the social norm of small talk that would amount to nothing less than an afterthought. I made a lot of friends with people who were retired and with college kids who seemed to be the coolest bunch around, who knew how to live life and have fun doing it. It was such a variety of friends where I’d talk to Tina about her granddaughter or Jim about his retirement and stock options and then I’d go up to Isaiah and he’d tell me about all the dates he’d been on or all the party stories of him and his friends living life to the fullest. It was a pretty great time in my life though, because one thing especially it taught me was how to be social, though this process would still take years and years to fully develop until I was in my early 20’s to be fully confident in my ability to put it on and be charismatic if need be. The reason I mention so much about this job though, was there was still a deep  and unrecognized subconsciously aware desire in me to meet the one.

Home Depot of all places was the first time I saw her. In person. . .

I remember it was a day much like the rest of them. After having struck up some conversation with our customers and being a little groggy from waking up at the crack of dawn for the early shift, it was time for me to finally get some lunch. While taking my usually route from the front of the hardware store I stopped at my usual coworkers stations to say hi or make a passive joke as I strolled happily on my way.

I can’t exactly remember why, but I had the need to talk to one of my managers, and it was something I needed a response for by the end of the day, so I figured before I clocked out for lunch, I’d get that little task out of the way. But, on the way back to my manager’s office, which was this little 10 foot hallway with doors on either side, one leading to a bank of sorts, and the other side hosting two doorways to offices, I was stopped in my tracks. Right next to the old clock-in machine were two seats where you’d usually sit and wait if the manager’s doors were closed so you could catch them as they walked out. They were also the seats I had sat in when waiting to get an interview for this first job of mine, where I nervously and anxiously awaited the outcome so many years ago.

In one of those broken down, flat cushioned little seats was a girl so beautiful, I literally lost my breath at the sight of her. I knew immediately who she was. She was the girl from my dreams I had been having over the course of that past year or so. Recently through my dreams, I had learned a very crucial detail about her and that was that her name was Brianna, and there sitting right before me within a few steps walk was the girl.

I froze. I made eye contact. And I immediately turned around and walked away. How I wish beyond wishing I would’ve said hi now. . .

Seeing that my manager was currently in the process of onboarding her as a new employee, I decided to take up my little question with my manager a bit later and I went to lunch. While walking into our break room, I ran into one of my new co-workers who I had become pretty good friends with. His name was Brad Brad.

At this point in time, I had more of an idea and more of a recognition of the fact that these recurring dreams of mine were something special, though I hardly let anyone know because of how embarrassing and odd it was. I mean, who would go around blindly telling people about some chick that they’d been dreaming of that they were totally in love with?? (Definitely not me eight years late. . . ) But with Brad Brad, I trusted him and had told him about the story a few days prior to running into her.

Not knowing her name and only having seen her face, I walked up to my friend and asked him about the new possible employee. He immediately knew who I was referring to her as he had seen her just a bit ago and apparently gotten to know her slightly! I asked him if her name was Brianna, being almost definitively sure that that was her name, and just wanting to check to see if I was either certifiably insane, or possibly blessed with this odder than life knowledge.

Brad immediately confirmed her name was Brianna and asked if I had spoken with her, and this immediately had me out of breath, terrified of how the girl from my dreams was truly true and realer than life. I don’t remember exactly how the rest of the conversation went down, though I can safely assume I was blabbering like a lunatic and telling him every single detail of every single dream I had had of her before. I walked out to get lunch knowing that I’d finally become acquainted with Brianna over time in the work atmosphere which was a relief to me, knowing how social I was at work while in comparison to how introverted and quiet I was at school. Life was looking to good to be true.

Brianna, didn’t get the job.

A few days would go by and my excitement to go to work was through the roof. Never before had I had so eagerly gotten in my car, driven to work, and immediately clocked in in hopes of seeing this new girl around the work place. A week would go by and my thoughts of her were still as excited as ever, but I began to realize that there was still training, a full on hiring process, and that it would most likely take time for things to get in motion. A few weeks would go by and then a month and an unsettling worry began to haunt me as I started to wonder if she didn’t actually get the job.

I started going around asking all of my fellow co-workers if they knew her or if they had any ideas of if we were hiring anyone new. I became obsessed with what we called the, “war board,” which was a schedule of all cashiers’ schedules for the day, what departments they would work in and so forth so on. But, I never saw Brianna’s name pop up, and I began to realize that I might have missed my one and only chance of getting to talk to Brianna.

As time progressed I finally decided it was time to talk to Brad about this new girl since he had been the only one I had talked to about her, and this is when the strangest thing ever happened. Brad had absolutely no idea who I was talking about. He could tell I was obsessed with the idea though and he saw how persistent I was that I had had the conversation with him before, and he even sympathetically lied to me about knowing her just to appease my insanity by saying,

“Ohhhh yeahhhhhhhhh! I remember who you’re talking about!”

I was crushed that the only person who knew her didn’t remember her and at the time I’m unsure of why I didn’t ask my manager to see if they knew who I was talking about. Maybe it was embarrassment or the thought of not being able to see other potential employee’s information that scared me. Either way, I wish I had asked more and been more determined in finding information on what had happened to Brianna.

Months and months on end would go by and the fascination with work would disappear as I got older. I’d check the war board on a pretty consistent basis always hoping that by some miracle, Brianna would show up to work for the day! And even though we eventually would go on to hire an incredible Brianna that I’d become such dear friends with, she wasn’t the same one.

I remember how I used to day dream about Brianna walking into the store and how I would recognize her and how we’d instantly fall in love. Especially on those hot hot Summer days when I was stuck in the garden department with nothing but my thoughts and a dream. As life began to progress though, I realized I didn’t want to only dream about Brianna. . . but I wanted to find her! What good was all my wallowing around if I didn’t make any active attempts to find her!

Thus began, the searching for Brianna. What might just be an everlasting one. . .

I began to take a reality check on this recurring girl who haunted my every thought and when wondering on how I would find a girl from my literal dreams, I thought maybe the first best place to look would be there! Literally in my dreams. I took on an idea I had borrowed from the movie Inception where first thing in the morning, if you try to remember your dreams you’d have a better chance of seeing more details.

Doing more research into this line of thought, I read about dream journals and how some people keep entries of their nightly subconscious activities in order to become better at what’s called lucid dreaming, where basically, you have full and utter control of the dream and realize that you’re in it while still sleeping. My dream journal over time would start to slowly fill and fill with some pretty crazy stories and hilarious dreams. Actually, I wonder if I still have it. If I can find it, I’ll drought down one of my entries here for you to read. . . whoever “you” might be.

I won’t lie when I say I found it in about one minute. It was sitting on my desk right next to me. Oddly enough, my first journal entry is far further in this story than I thought as it was written on October 9th, 2022 (thank God I wrote down dates!) Here goes my first entry.

10-09-22 (#1)

My first dream, I remember being at Home Depot, working while pushing carts. I was very sick and delusional and the atmosphere was rainy and dark. All I could feel was gloom and sadness. There was no one to help me which added to the exhaustion. A customer managed to break 3 carts in half and I had to try and fix them, but I couldn’t. The feeling of wanting to go home was very strong.

10-09-22 (#2)

This time I was in a small class with two other men. It was our first day and our professor was already making us write books worth of homework. But, she soon assigned us Minecraft assignments and the rest of the class was devoted to playing Minecraft. A mixture of falling while playing the game repeatedly occurred and was frightening, yet exhilarating and fun.

Though my timeline of the dream journal and me beginning to write it might be skewed in this story I’ve been telling, as you can see from October 9th’s dreams of the year 2022, it was in fact something I started to do. There were quite a few pages from this journal missing and I can’t recall if they were pages of old homework from school and the notebook was one I self-recycled or not. But, I thought I had started writing these way earlier in my life. Maybe one day, I’ll write up all of these dreams into some sort of official funny document, but as of right now, they’ll all stay in that book. It might honestly be for the better!

Either way, it’s obviously apparent that I became obsessed with this idea of Brianna and I began to play my life events in my head over and over again, and this might have been harmful to me later on, but at the early stages of these occurrences, I was very much into reading. Being the introvert that I was in school, and having no access to a smart device, I used to read so so so many books all the time! My best friend in high school wasn’t any other student really but the faculty and staff, specifically our school librarian Mrs. Hogue.

Every time I’d walk into that library which was probably like twice a week, she’d see me and know it was time for me to become obsessed with a new story or spend the next however many months of my life engrossed in a series. I absolutely loved Mrs. Hogue and while she was very strict with all the other obnoxious kids, she loved me too. We used to talk about life and such and the day I graduated, she was one of the people I made sure of to talk to her and wish her a goodbye to.

Anyways, this obsession with writing and reading of mine was one that really flourished during high school due to these circumstances. It feels rather odd writing now when I haven’t gone about it aside from formal essays and school work since specifically 2018.

2018 was the year that I decided to run with a lot of these creative concepts my mind had created over Brianna and turn them into an actual book with full on character development, a family for Brianna, a place to live and friendships and occupations of all sorts! This is why I mentioned just earlier that this might’ve been more harmful to me, because, sometimes I can’t remember with Brianna what’s memories and what’s a figment of my imagination developed by a creative and passionate former younger writer of myself.

Either way, at this point in my life you could tell I was so devoted to the idea of Brianna being a real person, and this one specific idea plagued me like no other.

The idea was that Brianna was also dreaming of me and that we could only communicate through our collective dreams.

This idea for a young hopeless romantic was intensely alluring and from this idea became the now published and only book of mine, “The Fracture of Reality.” In this book, there’s two main characters named Ian and Brianna. Ian oddly enough matches almost identically all my physical and intellectual traits, some of the only differences being him having a place of his own, a pretty successful job and a bit more muscle, almost as though he were a version of myself I hope to one day be.

Brianna, well, she was and is the Brianna that I know.

The premise of this book was, well how should I put it? Better yet, I’ll just plug in the summary from the back of the book I wrote many years ago!

“Dreams and reality are relatively similar terms. Dreams describe and amplify events that occur in reality whereas reality can capture what little glimpses of the dreams remain. But, it never occurred to me that the two could blur together. Only when it was too late did I start to realize that reality was fracturing…”

Although this summary doesn’t really expound on what the book was about, only now do I find it so profound that I established this saying, this line of thought while I was still younger. I’ll write to you now that the basic premise of the story was a bit of a thriller! Ian begins to have these dreams where he meets and speaks to this mysterious tranquil and beautiful girl. He starts to fall in love with her as he slowly begins to realize that she is in fact real and having dreams of him also. But, with his dreams comes the slow beginning of his down fall where his dreams start to predict horrific events that will occur relatively soon. Along with the dreams comes the mental breaking down of his sanity with a deadly progression exponentially on it’s way to happen far too soon. Through the connecting of his dreams, he needs to find Brianna who he hopes when finding her, will stop the terrifying decline of his conscious nature.

In the end, and [insert spoiler warning here hehe], Ian finally meets up with Brianna only to have one of his dreams predict a horrible event of him and her being hunted by some men that Brianna had gotten in bad with during her youthfully naïve years. The story ends with Brianna and Ian in a cottage after Ian in real life has been shot. The story ends with Ian being unsure as to whether or not his dream reality is real life, or if his reality with the pain of the bullet in him is the truth. Brianna tells him that it doesn’t matter, and tries to convince him that the current peaceful reality that they’re currently in? That that moment and that present feeling is real, and that’s what really truly matters.

Look at me, doing a synopsis of my own books six years later! Writing this book and creating my dream journal and doing research was really the first phase of my obsession with Brianna. The older I’d get though, the more it’d become real to me. I’m unsure as to whether the past eight years of my life has made this idea so authentically real to me, but now I see this all as fact rather than speculation and a possible decline in my sanity that I used to be subconsciously aware of.

More years would progress in my life and would lead to the graduation of my high school and the starting up of college at my community college. There, I’d me one of my best friends which will most likely be my best friend for life KJ, but it was also a time of maturing and shying away from the ideas of Brianna as much. Rather than focusing on the idea of her, instead I got so busy with work at Home Depot, balancing friendships at community college, and still trying to socialize with my family that I hardly thought of her.

But, circumstances would change and even though I went a while without thinking about her, she was always there. When I began my first semester at Columbia State and accidentally sat next to this absolutely beautiful girl named, you guessed it, “Brianna,” I thought that she was her! Only to find out like literally two days into the semesters that she was married, whoops! But I still became friends with her and weird stuff like that would occur every so often, but at this point in time, life was changing so rapidly and my mind was always so distracted that Brianna began to fade.

I’d still have my occasional dreams and when those hit, it’d be more difficult than it used to be. The feeling of wanting to stay in those dreams was so strong and so hard to swallow when I woke up and realized it’d only been in my head.

With school starting though, my priorities changed a lot in life! My job was the least of my concerns at Home Depot and I’d more often than not skip all of my shifts as it always drained me of all my energy having to socialize with a bunch of people I didn’t care for or care about. All the small talk became irritating and whenever I was there, I guess I had come to associate that little hardware store with the idea of loss and gloom. I mean, if my dream journal didn’t speak enough for itself, I think it’s because I missed out on my one and only chance to actually talk to Brianna.

My new priorities were to make as many friends as possible and to turn this new page in life and that’s exactly what I did! I was incredibly social and went out of my way to introduce myself to total strangers just to try and escape the old Mike and pursue a new version of him.

It wouldn’t take long for Brianna to come back to me though.

Nobody that tells you how quickly life goes by can truly explain the depths of what that means and you sort of need to experience it yourself, and with the pandemic of Covid-19 happening around 2020, those two years at community school and the two years at MTSU would go by like a wisp of air. Like a breath, **** the time went by. Sure there was quite a bit of stuff that happened throughout that time, like me beginning to fall in love with creating content through YouTube about Minecraft, getting internships and freelance work for my degree as a Graphic Designer where I won competitions and published my art in many places and had the opportunities to be in a crazy high end internship.

But the amount of time, was just literally gone. I was too busy. Brianna became an afterthought.

That is, until fairly recently. To drop some dates for you, I created my first official youtube channel on September 18th, 2019 and published my first video four years ago a day after I made the channel. At first, my channel of Minecraft specific content was created both to prove to my brothers that I could create content as incredible as the youtubers we watched, but it was also just in hopes of turning it into an actual career since it was something I genuinely was okay at. Having had architecture for for years in high school Minecraft felt like a more creative and liberating way to express those abilities and live them out in an actual environment I had created. But also, Minecraft was an excuse for me to turn off my mind.

Covid and the pandemic was sort of the greatest thing to ever happen to me, because it gave me so much time to think and play this wonderful game. I know I mentioned above how I didn’t think about Brianna that much, and that part is true, but when I had those dry moments of playing Minecraft and grinding out some simple tasks of literally just breaking and placing blocks, my mind would wander to her. I used to choose the most essentially mind numbing tasks of mining for hours upon hours which only consisted of holding down a button and occasionally moving your character around to mine some more. But though the task was completely and utterly boring, my mind was active as ever thinking and wondering about Brianna.

Finding these quiet moments in life were far and few between, but I began to cherish them. All the moments from day dreaming while mowing the lawn and sweating to death in the 100 degree sun, to sitting in my car after a long first four hours at Home Depot while staring at a semi-vacant parking lot, to even just the long walks across my enormous campus at MTSU or the long walk from parking spots I chose purposefully to be super far away from my campus at Columbia State. These moments while rare, gave me a chance to keep Brianna at least in the back light of all the real life moments I was constantly distracted and thrown around with.

But, going back to Minecraft when I got into youtube, this changed everything.

I went from having at least some spare moments to having literally no moments at all. The only time I would rest was when I had experienced such bad burn out from trying to do everything everywhere all at once, and between that and the occasional sleep I would get, my mind had no time to think. I still can easily get into that workaholic mind set sometimes and it’s a dangerous one to be in, but I’ve gotten better as I’ve figured out why I believe I fell into that mindset in the first place.

The reason was to escape Brianna’s grasp.

As I went through school hanging out with friends and making new one’s internationally through the development of an ever expanding youtube channel, I had just about no time for anything. The only time I had to stop and think was my 10 minute drive to get food and even in those moments, I had no time to think, because I was too busy driving trying not to get killed by crazy drivers.

Three years of school went by before I finally said that enough was enough. With school being as difficult as it was, I decided to “retire” from my newfound love of youtube because in all honesty, it was driving me mad. My retirement video from Minecraft came out on December 5th, 2022. I stepped away from the never ending grind and set out to enjoy life and the little moments that life offered.

The only problem with this was that my mind began to ponder Brianna once again.

At this time in my life, after retiring I was actually working for a famous youtuber named PrestonPlayz. It was a random freelance job and for the past year or so I had been jumping from freelance to freelance work with little regards to cost and payments real life had always waiting around the corner for me.

This would make me end up ultimately getting a job back at Home Depot for a few months to pay off debts I had incurred from being financially stupid and buying stuff I didn’t really need. But, between all the financial problems and weird life situations I had so much more time to think about Brianna. The dreams of her still occurred every so often but the frequency at which they had started to occur was less and less. Maybe this was all due to me reaching a new level of maturity, but I’m still not entirely sure what caused it. Maybe it was the distraction of a busy workaholic life or the hopes to find someone, really anyone that was a girl that would love me that I could love back.

But, like I said my mind began to think about her more and more. I began to see her in my thoughts like I had years ago previously and it almost felt like I was back sliding into some weird territory I had just grown oblivious to with the amount of time that had passed. Either way, that was my life. A jumbled mess of thoughts and ideas all scattered in a brain far too busy to stop and breathe coming to the new age of silence and habit.

With my mind able to breathe, I thought of her again. . . and then I saw her again. . .

I can’t remember the exact day or time of year, but on one of these days of my “retirement” I was driving home after having just gotten some taco bell. (I was obsessed with the place back then) Driving up my street, I saw a girl with long dark curly hair and bright pink clothes, what might have even been pajama pants on her, walking up my street! I didn’t think much of it until I looked into my sider mirror and saw her face and saw that it was the one and only, Brianna.

Brianna was walking up my street right next to my house. In person. Alive and breathing.

I panicked and jumped out of my car with my taco bell nearly crashing to the ground as I roared into park in my driveway with my car. With bare feet, since I used to drive with no shoes when I went to fast food place, I dove onto an aggregate driveway and started running down it, knowing that there was no way on earth I was missing my chance to finally talk to her. I had nothing but time that day, and I was overly excited to finally introduce myself in person

But when I turned around, Brianna was gone. She’d simply vanished into thin air? I still don’t know how or why, but she was gone. . . possibly gone forever. . .

This experience drove my efforts to find her to another level of passion as I began to research through many google forums and sites and social media platforms praying to God that I’d be able to find her. It didn’t matter if I had to cross the entire ocean to get to her, I was going to find Brianna, no matter what.

I started to revisit old ground and went to the Home Depot I had worked at, asking the new manager there if he could search records and being able to find her that way. I found old coworkers I used to work with and asked around trying to find any trail or any lead and couldn’t find a single thing. I even managed to find Brad Brad’s Instagram and messaged him only for him to have literally no idea what I was talking about, go figure.

With nothing working and having literally no idea on what else I could do, I began to passionately work on a project called, “The Bri of My Dreams.” What this basically was was an ARG or alternate reality game which was a puzzle game I setup for my prior youtube community to solve and have fun with. But, it was more than that. It was the telling of the story of Brianna in a way that I could hopefully publicize and gain some popularity on so that maybe instead of me finding Brianna, she’d be able to rather find me! So, I started working on it behind the scenes unbeknownst to anyone in my community that I was going to use this new found passion project to hopefully find her, but also to bring me back to youtube content creation.

To this day, I’m still not sure why I wanted to go back to youtube. Well I know some underlying reasons, that being tied loosely to Brianna, but now many months later still being at it, I’m unsure as to the real reason why I still create stuff on there.

Either way, after creating an entire animated short film with a script and what I consider to be one of my greatest projects of all time, “The Bri of My Dreams” project was finalized and ready to publish. I put it out there hoping that it was only a matter of time before I finally heard from her.

Hardly anyone noticed I’d returned to youtube, let alone my project failing horribly as only close friends I knew even attempted the puzzles.

My final efforts produced literally no results, and well, this brings me to about right now, this moment that I’m actually writing this all down on May 1st 2024 at 4:21 p.m CDT. For the past few hours I’ve written down all of this while listening to The Caretaker album on youtube, a depressing soundtrack meant to represent the stages of alzheimer's.

This morning while sitting around doing nothing really, I looked up Brianna one last time, despite me telling myself I would be done with her after my ARG project. I found a girl, about the same age as me that matched the name and the description. Her father’s name was funnily enough the same as my own, Michael.

What I found about her and her father were obituary statements.

I’m unsure if it’s okay or morally right to even think that might’ve been her, but something I noticed when doing research about Brianna in my earlier days. . . For some odd reason there’s a lot of young beautiful Briannas who unfortunately die in their early 20’s. It’s an odd and horrifying fact I’ve come to know over the past few years through my odder than odd research.

But, this case I found today? Well the exact date this Brianna died on correlated almost exactly when my dreams stopped of her.

I don’t dream of Brianna anymore. I haven’t for years. . .

I think the reason I’m writing this, is my own way of finally saying goodbye. Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay. I hope she’s well. But as for me, life continues to go on and it’s finally time after these past eight years to finally say. . .

Goodbye Brianna. I’ll miss you. . .
sapphic girl Jul 2017
i think a lot
about the me before this all

i think a lot
about the rocky start
about the headstart the Universe gave
about the time i ghosted for 6 months straight
about how i ended up back in square one
about the space you occupied in my mind
about how you evaded my senses
about a chinese-esque boy

i think a lot about the Universe
about premonitions and gut feelings
about beliefs and signs
about how maybe we were supposed to be
about how we finally we became one
about how it seems that you were a gift a day before my birthday

i think a lot about Us
about how it was fleeting and fun
about how it all felt brand-new
about how it was to be in love
about how emotional i got
about how tumultuous it got
about how rocky it became

i think a lot about Abuse
about how it traumatizes you
about how it ingrains into your survival tactics
about how it invades you as a whole
about how it takes a dove and crush its feathers into limestone
about how i will corrode through and through people's soul
about how i got an epiphany
about how i shouldn't be emotionally abusing you
about how i want to become a better person
about how that even though i'm better now
you have been significantly affected by that abuse

i think a lot about the Me all before
about how a silent storm i was
about how guarded and angry i was
about how unpure and unwholesome
about how malevolent and whipped my mean streak
about how independant and unemotional
about how numb i was

i think a lot about the Me now
about how silent after the storm i am
about how guarded yet softened by your touch
about how i'm semi-pure and wholesome to you
about how i sheath out my mean streak when hurt
about how dependent and emotional
about how i feel all at once

i think a lot about the in-betweens
about our 4th to 6th months
about how we were happy content
about how we still bickered and slept it  out
about how good it was
about how much of a happy spot our relationship was
about our development together
about how maybe we were destined to be even more better in the future

i think a lot about Now
about how it feels like a void
about how there's a force so strong
about how it's separating us
about how we keep hurting each other
about how we keep stressing out
about how we keep breaking down
about how it doesn't feel like we're happy here
about how i wake up crying and still fall asleep at night crying
about how our differences keep pushing us apart
about how much i disregard your frequent drinking
about how you go to drink because your relationship has gone to ****
about how our-used-to-be-happy place is causing us so much pain
about how it doesn't feel the same anymore

i think a lot about the Future
about what we're supposed to do now
about how lost we both are
about how i need to find myself again
about how i need to rebuild myself
about how we both new a clean slate
about how we need each other so much more than before

i think a lot about You
about a Chinese boy
about a friendly, sweet and caring boy
about how reliable he is at work
about how witty and smart he can get
about how mentally stimulating he is
about how plain and dull he can be
about how unemotional he is
about how he is a man of few words
about how he shows his love
about how lousy of a texter he is
about how sweet he is
about how mad he can get when provoked
about how i always forget that he cares even though he doesn't show it
about how he always seems so wild and energetic when he drinks
about how he feels a buzz in alcohol that is pretty unhealthy in the long run
about how much potential he has in his art
about how he can scale higher feats
about how i want to watch him grow
about how much of a workaholic he is
about how distant he gets when he's working
about how sometimes i need you during your busy periods
about how much he loves dogs
about how much i'm not really an animal person
about how much he loves kids
about how much he wants to be a dad
about how much i hate kids
about how homophobic he gets
about how he understands me
about how he can read into my soul but doesn't do it often
about how sometimes it feels like he isn't putting effort because he's busy
about how sometimes i want to be validated and showered opnely and be treated like a Goddess
about how i know he wants me to smile more
about how i know sometimes he can't understand my depression but still puts in effort to calm me down
about how for the past 8 months i know every single inch of him
about how for the past 8 months he knows every single inch of me

i think a lot about Love
about how much i love you
about how my love for you can start up it's own universe
about how love is what keeping me with you
about how we both have our needs and wants in a relationship
about how we should be compromising with our differences
about how we should listen and respect each other
about how we should be kind and giving and freeing
about how we should always try and try and put in effort
about how we should always be there for each other
about how we should always support each other unless it raises concerns
about how we should always understand and put ourselves in each other's shoes
about how we should think before we speak
about how we knows each others flaws and cope with it
about how we will be better as a couple in the near future.

i just think a lot
Andrew T Dec 2016
A White girl figure with a blank face and
a dress cropped over her knees lays
smeared flatly onto a restroom door;
a black star encrusted shoe kicks open the
Door.
In comes a knocking the delusions
of grandeur that stay suspended in the
Fragrance of workaholic soccermoms.
In one of the bathroom stalls
swims a ****** rosemary, teenage midlife-crisis
Averted. Theses tests were ironically
positive for the genesis of an unborn
Icon. I might have just used the wrong definition of irony.
Moving on. A hand flushes
the remanents of immortality down a sparkling, smiling toilet.
Rolled poems become unscrolled
when writeen on the pampered virgins paper.
In the next stall,
there lives substance for the homeless man
in the deep, brown soil
Of the marsh. A trash can is hunched over the sink,
attempting to dispense it’s
Apathy for a commercial world.
He turns the corner and sees writeen on the wall in
legible, abstract graffetti; “Ugliness is shrouded
under layers of positive
contradictions.” The words are engraved
deep into the cracked out, white tile wall.
Socialist Olympic torches blaze before ash
crumbles into communists tendencies.
The water is clear but the benches
are polluted with foreigner sea ****,
and
beneath the jangled sands
lie the zombies stuffed deep in the black body bags.
Ricknight Oct 2010
I m mightier than sword,
If my owner uses me right,
I can **** without a stab,
I can start a war,
Stop a war and a lot more,
I give light to all those who lost cause,
For all those who got something to say, But can't say it,
I help them make it,
I don't discriminate, by color, race or religion,
I help them write, I give them a vision,
I got you your first job,made your parents proud,
I help move crowds.

I m a workaholic,
I like to keep spitting ink, without a pause,
I m a writer's weapon of choice,
I m the silent voice,
If you use me right, I can make your girlfriend moist,

I m your Sunday solitude,
And Monday news,
I m the only thing you might own,
When you die broke,
I can help your last words,
In the form of a suicide note,
Or clog myself at your father's last breath,
Make your inheritance go to charity,
So make sure you use me right and not play with me,

I *******, leave the pages *****,
Leave stains hard to wash away,
For my owners who lost their way,
And don't know how to use me,
Call me moody, I can make your shirt pockets get noticed,
So I just pray, my next owner be a true writer,
Who has his mind aligned to me, and wouldn't lose focus,
I hope one day I will help him write an opus,

I can make you nostalgic, give you memories,
Help you remember things,
You can use to sketch,
If my cousin's lid breaks,
I don't have the same shades he has,
But it depends on the user's skill,
And if I ever run out you can refill,

My golden age has passed,
But I still got it,
I fight against 100 keys,
But then again I got it locked,
And the keys on the keyboard,
Are like Nas,
What would you be without me?
I gave you power
I gave you power
Inspired by Nas song- I gave you power
CrowesMuse Oct 2013
I come from a workaholic and an alcoholic
and maybe that's why I'm so **** sure
I'm just a little bit pyschotic.

We all have bad days
Where we want to curl up and cry
But somewhere
I'll remind you
The sun fought the clouds to shine.

And I come from screams and fighting and blame
So maybe that's why it feels like no day is my day.

But you, my darling,
Remind me of yellow.
Bright and beautiful
Blooming like petals.

I come from darkness and fire
But what I have realized is
In this life
We are all from something, that's not what makes us.

It's where we're going that counts.
Annie McLaughlin May 2016
We are constantly being defined by labels
As if that is all that matters
Oh you're a teenager, all you can do is wait tables
Im a wife, I'm a daughter
Until all that shatters
Widow and orphan, newlywed or divorcee
Freshman, gothic, black or white, king and queen.
Workaholic, hobo, immigrant, pale face
The only label that should matter
Is us -
The human race.
I am tired of being defined by labels. We are all human and we are all to be seen as equals and that is what should matter.
I feel very tired from ear to ear
And I feel like having a beer
To celebrate Christmas and new year
You see I will get drunk and disturb the peace
And the beer will make me fall down on my knees
I could party all over this town
With tooheys blue tooheys red
And XXXX too
And a bottle of champagne and at the end we'll spew
And I wake up at half past two
Ready to party and party we will
You see the drinking keeps me awake
Like a cup of a nice milk shake
Do the milk shake milk shake
Do the shake
And flap your hands after drinking a few
Yeah mate yeah
I am ready to spew
Your family yell at you and they say that your crazy
Just because you are a workaholic to some and
To others your lazy
You feel like drinking
Saying let's get drunk
You see if you do you will feel like that skunk
Showing your body odour
And not have a shower
You will stink longer than 2 hours
Beer beer beer we all drink beer
Getting drunk smelling and being sick yeah mate yeah
mark john junor Feb 2016
requiem for the immaterial man
his pauper pockets clean but empty
he stitches his threadbare life with a careful hand
this is the latter half of the twentieth century man
and his well spoken mind sees the writing on the wall
knows the disease of market minded wall street dreamers
and the throw away class of the poor stranded in jails

he watches with dismay the evening news
the tale told of hard times to come
he embraces his family unit with
courage and trepidation
this wife and child are his universe
love for them wells up from the center of his soul

requiem for the immaterial man
he is spread thin and feeling the pressure
but its for his loved ones so he will hang on
but its for the long haul so he will make due

will you please spare him some thought
when you go to the hallowed halls
when the republic calls you to cast your vote
for the fool who will sit in the oval office
for the king billionaire who holds our fate in his lunatic hands

the latter half of the twentieth century man
carrying his lunch in a pale
walks slowly home from his busy workaholic day
the burden on his shoulders plain
but he is a strong man after all
a better man
spare him a thought
for his loved ones
Like a flowing river
time flows over you and me.
As water erodes and smoothes,
time wrinkles and renders all aged.
Time, that fourth dimension,
rendering all to be measured by its flow.
The past, the present, the future.
The hourglass that perfect object,
the one item that allows us to see time passing.
Flowing from the future into now rendering the past.
Do we see this in watching a clock?
No, we see hands or digits ticking forward, there is never
the three stages of time to a clock, watch or sundial.
But, an hourglass? Time is there, not there and yet to come.
Would you like to know your time of death?
We get to know our time of birth/existence, but death?
That scythe wielding workaholic, do you want to know when he's due?
Like a train on a platform, would all those with tickets marked
-:-:---- please make their way to platform two and form an orderly queue?
© JLB
16/10/2014
15:03 BST

— The End —