Can Never Quite Understand

It was about three forty five in the morning when I got the call.

The past couple nights were restless because it had become more of a when, not an if.

When she told me I was half awake.

I couldn't quite process the information, but knew I had to leave to see him.

My partner woke up, aware that something wasn't quite right.

I broke the news, completely closed off from him.

We were moving at the end of the week, so we had been sleeping on a mattress on the cold carpeted floor.

All of our belongings had been packed up in a portable storage unit outside the building in his parking spot.

I called work to tell them I wouldn't be in.

I threw on an old flannel and jeans.

I brushed my teeth and put my contacts in.

Rolled some deodorant on and poured a shots worth of vodka into an empty glass.

It stinged a little but helped pull me from disbelief.

My partner was the first to express his condolences.

The first of many.

I left about four-o-five, and lit a cigarette in the hallway of my apartment.

When I exited the building I noticed the moon still in the sky.

The sky had begun to lighten up but it remained dark outside.

I inhaled my cigarette down to the filter and lit another as I hopped in my Mazda.

A mixed CD began to play the tail end of No Doubts "Happy Now."

I punched the seek button and put the car in drive.

There was no traffic since it was so early.

"Cornflake Girl" by Tori Amos began to play.

For some reason it hit a nerve, but I couldn't turn it off.

I turned it up as memories of my childhood flooded my mind.

Those memories began to fade as the music played and melted into a flash of current thoughts.

The surgeries, my mom crying, my sister closing herself off, the tubes, the doctors, the nurses, the coughing.

I fucking hated it all.

Second cigarette down.

I threw that fucker out the window and lit my third.

As I got off the highway toward the house, I began to think of God.

My first communion.

Going to church every Sunday with my family.

The sympathy cards littering my parents house already, with thoughtful expressions about religion and God.

I hated it all.

I hated God.

Even before he got sick, I wondered why a God would be so ignorant and let half the shit that happens, happen.

I pulled up outside and finished my smoke.

There were four cars there already.

My sisters, my aunt and uncles, my grandmas and a mystery vehicle.

I was hoping for a minute alone with the family before I had to face the jury, but there was no courtesy when it came to things like this.

I exited the car and walked toward the house in what felt like slow motion.

The door was already open, save the storm door.

As I entered I could hear crying.

The dog didn't bark like he always does.

To my right was my sister comforted by grandma.

To my left was my mom, dad and the pastor of my church.

I hadn't turned toward them, but could tell from the corner of my eye.

My mom ran to me and embraced me.

I promised I would be strong and refused to break down.

All I could hear was Tori Amos screaming at me "this is not real, this is not really happening. You bet your life it is."

Jukebox Jamboree

Just when I've reached my limit of bad bourbon and whiskey shooters sent over by obese Indians and drunken gardeners, I start to feel the itch again.

The Jukebox is wearing down, and I've just begun to have some fun.

I dig in my pocket for loose change and feel a hole in the right pocket.

Fuck.

All the change must have fallen out on my way over to this shit hole.

I light a cigarette and wiggle toward this cowboy whose had his eye on me all night.

I do my best Marilyn in exchange for a few dollars.

Like every man, he falls for it twice.

I force the crumpled bills into the machine and scroll through the scarce selection.

I look over my shoulder and notice all eyes on me.

That's when I see you.

Near the end of the bar.

The only eyes not fucking me right now.

So I hit number 25.

Your favorite.

And wait.

The hard guitar begins to play and I can't control myself.

First the hips begin to sway, as I run my fingers down my frayed, holey jeans with grass stains on the knees.

I toss my head back, allowing my hair to fall down my lower back.

The bartender turns the song up and screams last call.

Patrons fire their drinks back.

Others stumble their way toward the exit.

There's a stand off between the cowboy who gave me money, and you.

My arms reach for the sky as I continue dancing and swaying to the song on the box.

I start to feel your eyes on me as I sweat, but continue to dance to my song.

Bar backs and waitresses tiptoe around me as the cowboy makes his move.

He takes me by the wrist and leads me toward the door, but I don't want to leave.

He begins to get aggressive, taking my other wrist and throwing me over his shoulder.

I try to resist but the drinks have made me weak, and I can't help but play the innocent victim.

You are now dead locked in my eyes, but continue sipping your lo-ball, scratching at your stubble.

None of the staff give a shit whether I'm taken home  and raped, so long as the bar is empty by 3:00 A.M.

I kick and scream, but it does no good because we're already outside and the music is now a muffled echo behind the red door of the bar.

The cowboy throws me on a blanket in the cab of his El Camino parked in the empty parking lot and pins me down with all his weight.

My pants are ripped to shreds, as is my snap buttoned shirt.

His rough lips slither across my neck.

He bites my earlobe and runs his scaly hands down my cold wet back.

I continue to fight, but it only excites him more.

The cowboy tugs my hair so hard my head tilts back.

He unzips his pants and scuffles a little before something hits him from behind and knocks him out.

Like a Marlboro man, you grasp a tire iron, offering an extended hand out to me.

I make sure to slap the cowboy as hard as I can and spit on his face before leaving with you.

You gentlemanly turn away as I try to dress myself with what little clothing is salvageable.

You offer me a brown leather jacket that smells of burnt wood and wet dog before waving down a cab.

I try to thank you and refuse the ride, but you insist.

Before I can hand you your jacket the cab door is slammed shut and the cab drives away.

I rattle off an address and watch out the back window.

The orange glow from your cigarette tip slowly extinguishes, before I'm all alone again.

Wondering if I'll ever know your name.

Race To Heaven

As I tossed and turned in a drug induced coma, I felt myself drift further and further from my bed.

My body had sunk into the matress and parachuted with the bed sheets into a dark underworld.

It wasn't hell, but it certainly wasn't heaven.

People often speak of a netherworld.

A world in between our world and the afterlife.

It was there I had met ten strangers.

The first and second, a set of twin boys.

No more than eight years old.

The third, an old Victorian woman, dressed in black.

The fourth was a quiet man, with blood soaked clothes and a guilty smile.

The fifth, a british soldier, who seemed plagued by fear and confusion.

Sixth and seventh, was an asian couple. Mid thirties who appeared to have been in some sort of accident. The woman burned horribly, while the man had a broken neck.

The eighth an old indian man dressed in a hospital gown.

And the ninth...

A black infant.

No one seemed to mind much attention to it as it tried to crawl and began to cry.

None of us knew what brought us together.

Nor, knew what to do from here.

Each individual, kept their distance.

The sky began to open up as a man made of crystals appeared.

His voice was thunderous and had caused us to fall to our knees as he spoke.

He had explained that we had passed on, but were far from moving on.

Each infinitias, both heaven and hell contributed in a game.

A game, where five players destined for heaven, and five from hell are pitted against one another and placed in a mind bending race to the afterlife.

Those who do not reach the end will cease to exist.

A life worse than hell.

Only one person could pass on and decide whether to return to their previous lives on earth or to move on to heaven or hell.

With that, the crystalized man clapped his hands together and shattered into a million pieces, seeping into the ground we stood on.

A cobbletoned road opened up in front of us and led to a series of labyrinth like bridges and mazes, with a beaming light in the distance.

We all shivered as the light consumed us and welcomed one another.

There could only be one winner.

Quickly, the nine of us had raced toward our destiny, leaving the crying infant behind.

Something inside of me couldn't shake it as I watched the twins fall prey to their surroundings first.

A land of pillowy pancakes and rain dropped syrup.

They had gone off the stoned path and begun to devour the giant pancakes that had continued to regenerate.

The syrup rained down harder, sticking them to the spongy flapjack.

Both kids squealed as it pulled them under the surface and swallowed them whole.

Everyone remained oblivious, but it was I who watched them in horror.

I returned for the infant who had happened to make it a few feet since we had left it.

I craddled it, as we both look on at our challenge.

The great, white aura everyone was dying to reach.

Skate Land

I remember it like it was yesterday. Talk Show Host by Radiohead was playing as we drove in silence.

My 98 Ford Probe bumbled and grumbled down the silent street as you stared out the passenger side window.

I told you this song reminded me of middle school when an old friend and I used to watch Romeo and Juliet and wish our lives were more like theirs.

You smiled to be nice and resumed your spot at the window.

My palms kept sticking to the steering wheel because you made me nervous.

And tonight was our first date.

Maybe.

You hadn't really been clear on what this night meant to you.

You had just agreed to hang out with me, to get away from your ex.

Until this moment you always snuck away from her at parties to hang out with me.

That was thing about you, I loved.

Spontaneity.

I wished I could have been more like that.

A rain drop splattered my windshield.

I turned my wipers on to do away with the others that followed.

The sun went down on what was one of my favorite fall days.

Rainy, cold, and dark.

Not the kind of cold that requires me to blast the heat, but the kind that demands a hat, scarf or sweatshirt.

You wore that dingy green army jacket that belonged to your grandpa and a pair of worn brown corduroys.

It was hard to focus on driving, because all I wanted to do was stare at you.

That was the thing I loved about you.

No matter how annoyed you were with me, you seemed to be fine with the way I looked at you.

Even if you hadn't felt the same way.

I flipped up my headlights to brighten the road, but only one had come up.

I didn't make much of a fuss, but inside I was cursing this car.

I hated looking poor.

You had asked me to take you somewhere people wouldn't see us.

A place you could escape.

I could think of only one place.

And I wasn't sure you'd like it.

I nearly lost my grip from the steering wheel when we finally pulled into the parking lot.

I parked underneath the neon Skate Land sign, and turned to gage your reaction.

Somehow you hadn't mind, but you were empty.

A shell.

I couldn't tell if you were annoyed, or angry with me.

You removed a half empty bottle of E & J Brandy you swiped from your parents and knocked it back like it was nothing.

I'd never drank alcohol before, except for the shots of wine they had at communion.

You insisted, and I didn't want to disappoint.

Somehow I debated the consequences of driving, drinking and skating, but knew if we were going to get through this night, I would need some liquid courage.

We finished the bottle before eight and stumbled into Skate Land.

You paid our way in.

I got the skates.

I hadn't been here since I was a kid, but I remember it being vastly different.

It had an innocence to it, which was no longer there.

Kids used to shuffle across the floor with their plastic Playschool training wheels.

Parents held the hands of their children as they scooted in the practice area.

There were limbo challenges, speed skating races, and oldies that brought a nostalgic feel this place.

Skate Land had become a worn down ghost town playing top 40's that were mostly hip hop, explicit rap songs, and bad 90's dance songs.

You didn't seem to notice or care and began lacing up.

Before I was secured in my skates, you had rolled away and occupied the floor.

I watched as you skated around interracial couples dragging their kids across the floor and screaming at them.

You were a natural, but what had bothered me was the blank expression on your face.

You lit up a cigarette without a care in the world and made a lap to The Power by Snap!

An old man with custom skates reliving his glory days, zoomed around you doing fancy skate tricks while dancing.

Suddenly I was aware at how terrible this idea was.

You had left the floor and crossed the stained 3-d carpet toward the bathroom.

I followed to make sure you were okay.

Wet paper towels, littered the floors, sticking to my skate as I entered.

There was graffiti on the cracked tiled walls and most of the sinks rusted pipes leaked water on the floor.

All of the stall doors were open, except the handicapped stall, where I heard you sniffling and coughing.

I made sure you were okay, but you didn't answer.

There was more sniffling, followed by a heavy cough.

I began to worry, but the door flung open and you pulled me inside.

You slammed me against the wall and kissed me hard.

I nearly fell from the skates, but you held me up cracking a smile.

I asked you if you were okay, but you kissed me again.

You nearly screamed "lets skate!" before disappearing from the bathroom.

I had to catch my breath.

This wasn't the first time you kissed me but usually you were really drunk.

I noticed a rolled up piece of paper drowning in the dingy toilet of the stall.

When I finally left the bathroom you were enthusiastically skating to a song that kept repeating the words Silly Ho and sounded like TLC.

You spotted me and waved me over.

I met you at the wall, me on the carpet side, you still on the floor.

You were sweating and wearing a curious smile.

"Request something!" you screamed.

"What?" I asked, but before you could answer you were skating again.

I rolled to the DJ, booth and climbed the carpeted stairs.

The DJ was wearing rose colored glasses and flipping through CD books while bobbing his head.

I asked if I could request a song.

He continued flipping through his books.

"As long as it's something funky!" He exclaimed.

I asked him for Lovesong by The Cure.

"What?" He screamed, turning up TLC.

"Lovesong!" I yelled back at him.

"Love, got it. It's up next." He cackled, tearing through his books.

As I descended the DJ mountain, I noticed you had ditched the army jacket.

You were like a rock n roll James Dean in a plain white tee and rolled up jeans.

Another cigarette dangled from your lips as you skated to the music.

I finally caught up to you and said my song was next.

My anxiety from trying to impress you had flared up.

I second guessed my decision and hoped you didn't think I was pretentious for choosing The Cure.

As the TLC song ended, my heart began to race.

Your Love by Nicki Minaj had started thumping through the speakers.

My anxiety had flipped to embarrassment as we skated.

"I said The Cure."

You started to laugh.

The laugh turned into uncontrollable laughter that made me self conscious, until I realized it was genuine.

The first genuine emotion I had seen from you other than depression.

You took my hand and pulled me along, forcing me to laugh and have a good time.

Skating to Your Love.

No worries.

Or anxiety.

Yesterday

Yesterday was one of those misty filled Seattle like days where the rain lightly dusts the earth.

The streets were littered with wet leaves,
the trees were a mix of green, gold, auburn and red.

The air was cool,
and gentle.

Everything was perfect,
and yet as I stared out my picture window,
and witnessed the season change,
I started to cry.

It began as a series of happy tears,
slowly dripping from both eyes,
like when a hint of peppermint
or even vapor rub brings a sting to the eye.

I hadn't understood why or where they came from,
but this slow misting,
had slowly transformed into a thicker tear.

The drops began to run down my cheeks
and stain my new white Hanes t-shirt I had just removed from its plastic wrapping that morning.

I dabbed at my eyes with a Kleenex,
but it wouldn't stop the emotion and fears from tearing through my mind.

Tears for all the people I've wronged,
the friends and family lost,
the inevitability of life,
the happiness in my dogs face, even as she consoles me in perfect health,
the feelings love brings,
the scorned heart from lovers past,
a beautiful song,
a beautiful voice,
the things we were all meant to do, but never would,
dreams long passed,
dreams long lost,
loneliness,
and most of all happiness.

Even there and then, as I cried my eyes out
alone,
scared,
happy,
and confused,
I wondered.

Is this the first time I've experienced all of these things,
or was my mind repressing memories long forgotten,
and erased from my mind with each rebirth and new form I've taken?

Is there a better life after death?
Or is this the true identify of our existence?

Living life, after life,
wandering the earth,
a new decade,
new rules,
but the same ideal principles, that we never quite get right.

I suppose this misty clouded day did trigger a repressed memory,
but all I can do is sit back and appreciate the beauty that most people never truly understand,
or question,
in such a mundane, yet, brief existence.

Rippling Pools.

Like a clock winding in reverse
and a maiden running slowly down a white hall
I feel the creativity slowly coming to an end

My brain is swelled with regret
and images of horror
that lead to angered thoughts.

To be young,
careless,
and naive again.

Last night I dreamt of days spent at the local swimming complex.
The high dive threatening me with a challenge
and the fear I felt as I climbed those infinite stairs.

Walking to the edge,
and thinking the world was watching me,
expecting a significant show.

I would always stand stiff,
arms at my side,
as my body cut through the chlorine bleached water,
and sunk to the bottom of the endless pool.

Fear crippled me as I swam to the surface for air,
except this time I couldn't reach it,
and I drowned,
watching the splashing kicks from my peers around me,
and the older man who had been watching me from a distance diving in to save me.

He hadn't taken an interest or a liking to any of the other children that day,
and back then I took him as a kind friend.

A savior.

The first person I had kissed,
and felt unnatural feelings for,
that would only later be explained to me in an unorthodox way,
and change my life forever.

Drowning

I drift weightlessly in a body of water that's so warm and comforting
as I hear my mothers voice.

Outside the world is cold and unpleasant,
but in here I can be and say anything.

I take a drink of red wine,
while my favorite song plays.

My heart soaks in the warm water,
and nearly stops as I reach a level of utopia
one reserved for those with a distaste for reality.

Right here,
this feeling,
reminds me of when I fell in love for the first time.

The warm blanket
on a cold winter night syndrome.

The smell of frost and snow,
cinnamon and peppermint.

It's my favorite part of the day,
when I can rinse my anxieties
sing, smile, and reflect on the coming days,
getting lost in an unsuccessful and scared mind.

These are the memories I will always take with me.

Even when all of those familiar faces are gone,
my loved one is departed,
my anxieties are cooled by the thought that death is near,
and my body no longer runs the same,
I'll always turn to this body of water,
it's refreshing warmth,
and sensory smells.

A Nymph returning to the sea.

Scatter Brained

To the ones who shove us away,

for the greatness that dissolves,

the innocence lost,

and forget-me-nots.


Ultimately the ground will shake,

eruptions within the sheets,

while bodies sway and streak.


This is my religion,

not a falsified rejection,

curved by appetite and destruction.


Girls weep,

while the men clean themselves of regrets.


The idea is to love,

but sometimes the horrors we imagine,

feed the destruction we desire.


Nothings more powerful than the mind

of an ambitious love scorn dreamer.

Mandolin

I can't get the music out of my head.

It began late last night.

A mandolin strumming it's haunting melody.

A far off cry.

Beckoning for someone to respond.

The further I travel, the weaker it becomes.

So I lie motionless in my bed.

Accepting its cruel gift.

Feeling my palms sweat.

The tips of my eye lashes sandy.

Dream a little dream, I can't.

My heart begins to thunder.

My brain swell.

All I can remember of the tune, is my mother.

The Queen with a hundred heads.

Now, defeated.

Headless.

Destined to play that tune.

Never to become herself.

Or any of the personalities she had captured.

So long ago.

Letter

Z,
      I'm writing for I fear we might not get another chance encounter as it was last summer. 

I had been looking forward to seeing you all fall, and winter had come and gone so horribly I worried of frostbite and all other horrible plans mother nature tested on me.

Luckily I had avoided these sicknesses and carried on my monthly hibernation per usual.

Not without catching a horrible cough.

Z, I know I said some things I cannot take back.

And some argumentable remarks that corrupted my reputation, but I wanted you to know that I don't honestly spite you, or your wife. 

If you would please have me back, not for selfish reasons, but to unite that duality we play so well off one another.

I feel my time is coming soon, for this cough has not diminished.

I'm no where near as vibrant as I was in childhood, and my penitence is running short.

Please offer this letter of gratitude, condolences for your loss, and apologies for my petty after thoughts.

Sometimes our thoughts can take hold of our voices and ruin an absolutely perfect thing.

For this, Z, I am sorry.

And love thee.

Forever and always.

-E

Inside His Mind

 I had been training my mind and exercising my will power for this very moment.

About a month ago, a shady government agency had contacted me regarding a free survey I filled out online after I bought a pair of Ugg boots from shoedazzle.com.

They had told me I was chosen to take part in a project that was top secret and open to other candidates.

Should I accept I would have to leave then and there, without further contact to anyone in the outside world.

Naturally I accepted, following the most exciting event since the day I inherited ten thousand dollars from a sexual harassment law suit.

They placed a burlap sack over my head, careful not to mess up my hair, and carted me off to their dank, underground facility.

It was there I was introduced to the other ten blonde's who all looked identical to me.

Each of us were forbidden from sharing personal information and were given a number that was to be a place hold for our actual names.

Ten girls, and I was number 9.

I learned that there was a sadistic killer that preyed on whores and prostitutes similar to Jack the Ripper, but instead of killing them, he left them alive.

He would torture them in front of one another so they could witness his assaults.

We had volunteered to help find a pattern to his madness by entering his mind using new technology that would allow us to bind with his thoughts.

Others had tried to penetrate his lobe but were unsuccessful because they were not the right kind of test subjects.

What happened to these subjects was never fully explained, but there were talks amongst us girls that their minds had become scrambled and their bodies placed in a comatose state. 

More victims to feed this maniacal ego.

The scientists and agents briefing us didn't say it, but one through ten could tell that each of these mind scrambles had somehow increased the Rippers intelligence.

You might be wondering why any of us numbers would continue taking on such a terrifying task?

None of us had a choice at this point.

We had been lead this far and were no longer given a choice,

All the girls were imprinted with a mind tracker to monitor our dreams and nightmares.

The weak were monitored heavily and tested the least.

It wasn't until graduation day, that we were fed into the brain scan machine like a piece of paper.

Each one of us were rounded from our quarters where we had been studying and practicing our own mind control.

Ten slabs, ten girls.

Mechanics tested the software, while doctors gave us physicals before allowing us to take our places.

The agency had called this machine the Russian Roulette.

Since all of us were hooked up to the machine, we were selected by random, similar to a gun chamber with one bullet.

They spun us around the brain scan that lied in the middle of the slabs and punched in a code.

All of us could tell who was selected, because the transfer was a violent unpleasant site that took a while for each body to get used to.

Most of us prayed for it to be over with quickly.

I had hoped for success from my successor.

In an instant I felt the rotary of slabs spin around the cold, metal, brain scan that hooked into my circuit and caused me to seizure.

My eyes lit up like diamonds, as my flesh began to melt.

It was a side effect we were warned about.

The only cure was to perform our mind exercises to calm down while we adjusted to the painful transformation.

After what felt like my heart had stopped, I realized I was no longer on the operating floor, but in an alley digging thought the garbage.

The tracker in my head had buzzed as a voice from the professor explained my mission.

Over and over he yelled for me to focus, but I couldn't make out my own identity.

My arms were longer, and I smelled of piss and shit.

I had runs in my stockings and my pussy hurt.

Not like the good kind, but the kind that was infected.

Dirt lined my cuticles as I felt liquid drip out from a hole in the black garbage bag I was holding.

There was a shuffle of feet from the other end of the alley.

A sudden stench of singed hair and cigarettes alerted me as I focused my attention toward the silhouette that stared at me from a far.

I tried to let out a response, but my mind had not completely focused in on this particular projection.

Instead I choked out a gurgle and stumbled out of the dumpster, landing on my face.

The silhouette also made his move, slowly walking toward me.

As I faced him I noticed he had been in the same position as before but was walking toward me as if he were stuck in slow motion.

I flicked my hands and wrist to see if I had moved just as slow, but everything was in real time.

He continued to walk slowly, allowing me time to study his gruesome face.

Half burned, half scarred, with no whites in the eye and a wolf like grin.

His smile revealed his crooked, demented teeth that were hidden by the constant licking of his lips.

This was the Ripper, no doubt about it, and he was hungry for flesh.

I somehow managed to stumble to my feet but it was too late.

A clock had stroke midnight somewhere and he was set in real time.

He ran at me and twisted my head around while he began to rape me.

The pain from my neck and his well endowed, uncut penis, began to tear me open.

Again, I tried to push out a scream, but the mind was not kind, so I did what we were all trained to do.

Reboot.

My training and exercising had helped us learn how to shut down the current program we were in, similar to a computer and restart hopefully to a more pleasant outcome.

I felt my body collapse into his arms, before reopening my eyes to a horrific scene.

All around me were the other numbers, tied up, bleeding, tortured, raped, bruised and beaten.

None of us died, but were just close enough to death that we should have been.

We knew the consequences of our decisions and unfortunately had succumbed to the worst scenarios that were described to us in detail.

Currently I was shackled to a bathtub with both my arms broken and dangling behind my back.

The ripper had found three, who was apparently the last girl to be captured because he had brought her in completely unharmed.

He had taunted her with a knife, telling her to choose wisely as we all watched bound and gagged.

The ripper followed her carefully, occasionally pricking her back with the tip of his knife as she hesitated to choose a companion.

Lucky for me she had chosen five as he carted them off together.

He returned their bodies a few hours later.

Both girls had been split down the center and sewn back together with opposite body parts, like a demented doll created for his pleasure.

From then on it was a countdown as he played with all of us in his own sadistic way.

He kept us alive for days, occasionally granting us food and water, but most of the girls had decided to starve to death and go out humanely.

Eventually six and I were the only ones left to play with.

Ironically she had gone out the way she came into this mess by spinning a revolver and pulling the trigger.

She was lucky.

Since I was the last and most special I awaited extra torture, but instead he sat in a chair across from me and quietly stared.

He had started to get inside my mind and wanted me to explode but I wouldn't let him.

I tried to avoid eye contact but he would approach me and sit nose to nose smiling and licking at my lips.

Occasionally he would nibble on the dead skin that dangled at my mouth.

Enough was enough.

I had managed to let out a scream, followed by a another.

I finally found my voice but the screams only seemed to excite him.

He was like a ticking time bomb waiting to erupt, so I calmed my composure and locked eyes with him to settle the atmosphere.

Every time he got excited the ground would shake.

I knew he was settled once the floor felt like dirty silk again.

He approached me waiting for more screams, but instead I told him I loved him.

I told him I wanted him to chop off my head and fuck it while using my blood as lube.

This had struck an odd sense of trauma to him, so I decided to continue.

I told him I wanted to feel the steel from his knife blade inside me while I struggled to die.

Again, he shook and phased into the form of a little child.

I explained that all the death the destruction only made me more of a slut and that when I was gone he could do things to me he only wished he could have done to his mother.

That seemed to do it, triggering a repressed memory that changed him fulling into the child.

Helpless.

Scared.

And traumatized by his deathly surroundings.

I had started to feel strong.

The feeling in my arms began to come back as I cracked them back into place.

I managed to slip my wrists out of the shackles that bound me, twisting the wrists back right.

The rest of the girls begun to rise from their graves and freakishly surround the young boy who had started to cry.

Each of us smiled taking turns against The Rippers new form.

Fulfilling our own hellish vendetta.

Finishing the mission.

Never to return from madness.

Vipers

As I opened my eyes, I realized my whole fucking world had been turned upside down.

Literally.

I had been strung upside down, over a pit of  hissing, slithering, vipers.

It was hard to push out any sort of thought or escape plan as the blood rushed to my head.

The veins and muscles bulged from my skull.

I must have been there for hours because I couldn't quite focus.

My eyes created a gloss, creating a mist that fell to the snakes who writhed at my pain.

I tried to focus on my surroundings.

I wriggled my feet and hands, giving myself rope burn around my wrists.

I had to sit up, before my head popped like a god damn balloon.

I tried to swing back and forth to give me some leverage, but the muscles in my stomach weren't tight enough to help.

I knew I should have fucking exercised more.

I did my best to remember previous events but the only thought in my head were these snakes that viciously pit themselves against one another.

For a moment I could swear one was staring at me.

Trying to connect.

My mouth was dry and swollen as a I choked on a balled up rag that tasted like gasoline.

I didn't imagine my life would end this way.

I also didn't imagine my life to begin the way it had either, so I suppose this was a fitting end.

My stomach screamed bloody murder, while my throat began to close up.

Anxiety was one of my strong suits, but somehow I had actually felt at peace.

Maybe it was the circumstance I was in.

Or the memory of my father telling me I needed to be stronger.

But I had made peace with the situation.

And had hoped, what was to follow, would not be prolonged.

That someone out there would be getting satisfaction from my pain and suffering.

That the vipers would be free.

That the venom would be a quick finish.

I heard a beam above me crack, as my body jerked closer to the pit.

A bomb must have gone off because the entire building shook and pounded.

The ceiling was definitely giving way.

My body swung like a pendulum until another crack of the beams shook me toward my death.

A glimpse of previous memories flashed before me but were interrupted by another rattle of the room.

Deathly screams filled the air, but I could not make out my location or theirs.

If I could cry blood, I would have.

My body, a flailing, useless artifact.

 Feeling the consequences of the last bomb and my body hanging by a thread from the ceiling, I tried to think of my greatest accomplishments.

Something to be remembered for.

The thing I was most proud of.

And all at once I remembered where I was and what had happened to me.

I was....

Fearopolis

The stars are aligned for a gruesome battle,
I fear this may be my last,
for ignorance doesn't come cheap,
but a bottle of absinthe does.

Death is not the immenent disaster,
but what follows is.

I often wonder what is worse,
living in a world in constant worriness,
an unpleasant aftermath,
or nothing at all,
just an empty shell buried far beneath the surface,
invaded by earth worms and dirt.

These things we never know,
except the last breaths and flashes before our light blows out.

These are not sad sayings,
they are a reflection.

One that pummels the dark thoughts,
and puts happiness back into the heart.

Fear is our greatest weapon,
and should be used sparingly,
for if you learn to control it,
you can out wit the universe.

Futuristic Utopia

I saw the future last night.

And it was something I had wished I hadn't.

I was me, but had a different life, because in the future everyone is reborn into a new life.

Another body added to the over populated planet which had become technologically advanced and metropolized, as you often see in futuristic films.

I was a high school boy with no recollection of my previous life.

All of his actions were out of my control, as if I was a guest in a host body, allowed only to view and not to contribute.

I was in school, walking down a bright white, shiny hall, that had two red details running along the center of the crowded hall.

Everyone wore different colored jump suits while trying to avoid one another.

No one carried books, but an electronic touch screen similar to an iPad.

The outside of these pads were metallic.

Everyone seemed to glide past my body fairly quickly.

It was as if my feet were weighed down.

I could tell that I was walking at a normal pace, but the ground beneath my futuristic Chuck Taylor's felt gritty and stiff.

Like the floor had been recently cleaned or waxed.

A sphere like robot passed by my feet, with a blinking red light.

My past self had seen something similar in the twentieth century.

They were automatic vacuum robots that cleaned the floors in my time.

Here they seemed to do the same, while also communicating with others around.

The cylinder robots zoomed ahead of me excreting a type of wet liquid that dried instantly creating the ground to become more stiff.

My body had decided to pick up speed, so it ran ahead and began sliding down the hallway at the same pace as the others.

I quickly realized the liquid the robots dumped was a foreign substance that appeared to wax the floors but also apply a slicker feature for people to get around faster.

My body began peddling down the hallway as if were were on a skateboard, but there was nothing between our feet and the floor.

Somehow the others in the hallway had figured out a system of navigating around one another and avoiding collisions.

Mine, had not.

We swerved to hit a straggler, as a blue light flashed.

Other students glided into their respectable classrooms, clearing the halls, but we were still picking our selves off the floor and playing with our iPad.

The screen seemed to short out, and all my other self could do was begin hitting it against a wall.

At the other end of the hallway I noticed two students giggling and laughing.

I myself had not met them, but my future self had.

He waved, but they did not see.

A few floor robots had begun circling them, lighting up while playing a congratulatory medley.

The students kicked the robot out of the way, but it returned with others.

The girl and boy had begun shouting at the cleaning crew, when an older gentlemen appeared and led them to his office.

My body followed and spied on the couple who were being told they won a contest to be put under hypnosis.

The gentlemen explained that this was a new experimental program that transported an individuals psychokinesis to another plain where you will experience complete and utter utopia.

Naturally both specimens were over joyed and expressed their hatred for the current lifetime.

I watched as these two were fastened onto a medical slab that fed into a type of cat scan machine, head first.

The gentlemen had begun typing on a touch screen in front of him that ignited a light from inside the machine.

The boy and girl cheered as they descended into the machine.

Their delight was cut off abruptly as the slabs dove farther into the machine.

It took me a minute to register what had happened, but my two classmates were no longer anything at all, but a pile of crushed up bones and muscle.

The machine was not a telekinetic device at all but a futuristic meat grinder that turned these two happy classmates into the magic liquid, the cleaning robots used for the floors.

The man had caught me spying.

Fear had overtaken both of us, but it was I that was lucky, because it was at that exact moment, that I woke from that horrible dream.

Drenched in my own sweat and urine.

Dancing

I swivel and sway to that old record on the player.

The stench of cigarettes and apples fill the air as my drink trickles down the lo-ball glass that is hard to balance when my arms are around her.

She has always been my safety.

Whenever things I can't control and life gets in the way I return.

Our connection is stronger than any physical love we have because we have always connected on a spiritual and emotional level.

I remember that feeling confusing me when I was young and immature.

Her hot breath blowing down my neck as she held my naked upper body.  The feeling of her cheap cotton bra pressing against my back.

At that moment of my youth, I became angry and scared at the possibility of us ruining the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Emotionally and spiritually I cut myself off from her affection, until we reached an age where we both understood each other better.

Now it's like no time has passed and although we kiss one another on the lips, it's more of a respectful move than a disrespectful one.

Our love is the kind every person should try and achieve, for that fictional love we all read and hear about from society does not exist.

And when we open ourselves up to that kind of manipulation, we become the most vulnerable.

Reversal

The ticking clock,
and stench of fear,
while lilies weep,
and children sneer.

The whites of your eyes,
smile that hideous disfigure,
while the rest of you decomposes,
blood between my fingers.

My hideous deformity,
has gotten the best of me,
yet I've never felt more alive.

Free to philander through the tall grass,
this heart pitters a soft beat,
while the blades of grass soften underneath.

A natural feeling would be to run for the hills,
but it's too late to run from these problems,
so I take a pill to drive away the doubt.

I drift out of sight,
out of mind,
out of willfulness.

Back to the place I came from.

Where the sun rises red,
and the moon is as black as my lungs.

There I can rest.

Beneath the ground.

Above the core.

Forever warm.

Spring

The long and lackluster winter is over,
but the weather does not soothe the soul.

It only demolishes those defenses,
and prepares for the scorching months that follow.

The time being is a lull.

The rain lightly patters across the rooftop,
while the dog silently sleeps.

The information highway,
creatively building in my brain,
is ready for release.

I feel spring coming,
and with that comes change.

The muscles in my body tighten,
as I grit my teeth.

Why do I fear the inevitable?

Why do I hate the unavoidable.

Sometimes silence is worse than noise,
but the challenging thoughts within a persons mind,
can be more maddening,
than a judgemental opinion.

Wash away these fears and anguish,
to be clean and born again.

Jesus will rise tomorrow,
so say some religious men.

While I ingest dead pig,
and hand picked earth.

I will be reveling in all of my failures.