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.