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Gullible Romance
I met a woman here today.
I didn’t know what I should say.
“Hi there, darling. Let’s have a date!
We must leave now or we’ll be late.”
Or maybe I should be real slick.
I’ll use my head and not my d**k.

“I have a job. I pay the bills.
I can afford to have some thrills.
And if you wish to come along,
I’ll not resist, though I’m quite strong.
‘Cause I want you right by my side.
And one day soon, you’ll be my bride.”

Instead of speaking words of grace,
I sipped my drink and stood in place.
I watched her dance all on the floor.
I never felt this way before.
My breathing quickened like her feet.
My chest thumped hard with each heartbeat.

My eyes could never leave her side.
I had to act, but not with pride.
I found her sitting down with drink.
I did my best to calmly think.
“Hey there, uh… My name is Lee…
Would you like to go with me?”

“Sure, big boy. What time and place?”
“How ‘bout right now? My place on base….”
“A soldier boy…? This could be fun.
Let’s grab our things and make trails, hon.”
At first I thought I found the one.
I thought she could outshine the sun.

Her laugh was deep, but full of life.
I planned to take her as my wife.
We found ourselves inside my room,
filled with the scent of her perfume.
Her slender fingers summoned me.
We then made love accordingly.

Hot and sweaty. Out of breath.
I felt as though I were near death.
“Okay, babe. Our time is up.
How much you got? Pay up. Pay up!”
“Money? Huh? Come back! Let’s talk.”
“I think I rather dress, then walk.”

“Please don’t leave. We can’t be through!
Not when I want to marry you….”
“Look here, pal, you’ve not a dime.
You have to pay me for my time.”

And then she left me, hurt and sore.
I wish I knew she was a whore…

Entwined Thoughts
Today was the last day of
Working on a holiday? That’s crazy
Talk to her man. She misses your
Voice your opinions! Get out and
Vote for me. I’ll change this
Place your ballots in the
Box him out! Don’t let him
Score! This lotto ticket is a
Winner? You? Don’t make me
Laughter is the best medicine. Do you
A greedy man wants everything, but will appreciate
Nothing, honey. Go back to
Sleeping still? Come on, get up! We have people to
Meat is delicious. I love the taste of cooked
Flesh and blood! My own flesh and
Blood all over the place... Never seen such a
Messy, messy, MESSY! Oh my…! What happened to your
Hand it over. Stop stalling for
Time out! What the ******** did you just call
Mean head! All you do is bully us into giving you our
Shiiiiiit… I missed the bus again. My boss is gonna rip me a new
One, two, three! Well done, ladies. Now switch over to the other
…siding with him? With HIM!? How could you!? Just
Leaving so soon? The party is far from
Over here! Another one… Poor girl, she never had a
Chance, what a beautiful name. Almost as beautiful as your
Eyes are fine… your throat has a healthy colour. Why did you come
Today brings a glimmer of hope.

Punch Lines
“Yes, everyone’s eaten.”
“In that case, do you have any grapes?”
The smallest ones.
Because they come in bunches.

Better traction in the mud.
It gives them one extra reason to moan.
It most certainly does. He sleeps with the cat.
"Man who goes to sleep with sex on mind wakes up with solution in hand."
He was caught drinking on the job.
Make like a tree and leave.
“… the Czech is in the male.”

He was full of sheet.
Because he was told to stay undercover.
He lied down on the beach.
“Shut up and stop squirming!”

“Cover me; I’m going in!”
His d**k was in the chicken.
It let out a little wine.
A fowl smell.

He stayed up all night really wondering if there was a dog.
“But on the other hand, he thinks I’m God.”

He kneaded the dough.
To get to the other side.
“People like you really piss me off. You ARE on the other side!”

“Some people just can’t tell a joke.”

Biding Our Time
Are we doomed to wait for life?
How much patience do we need?
Why must some days be an eternity while others pass by in seconds?
We’re all waiting for something to happen.
Only the ever-changing sky will bear witness to our end.
High and mighty, they peer down at us with scornful frowns.
I speak of the clouds and mountains that remain far above my human understanding.
We’re like ants, moving in paths predetermined by the ones who march in front us.
This death march’s end remains out of sight, but we still go on, blind to the answers which stand before us, vying for our attention.
We remain deaf to their earnest pleas and continue down this road of repetitious road of attrition and despair.

Why is it that we dream?
Why do we always look up to the sky for an answer, as if the solution will suddenly appear to us as a white script willingly displayed by the heavens?
During the final breaths we take, why do our hands curl up into a fist?
Even in death, do we still desperately try to hold on to our waning lives?

Time, silent and indiscriminate, slowly wraps its long claws around our throat.
Its grip patiently hardens with a sense of finality with every passing day, until the body goes limp with a lifeless glaze peacefully settling on the eyes.
Know that every life on Earth has an expiration date, but don’t let worry overwhelm your being. Enjoy life as much as you can within the time you are given.

Unlike the ancient formations that endured the test of time, we cannot wait forever, especially when time itself waits for no one.
Eternity can easily swallow us whole, like the jaws of a voracious wolf who greedily feeds upon his prey.
Do we even have the slightest chance to succeed with the odds stacked so high against us that our eyes fail to see the top?

For what reason do you wait?
Perhaps, it’s your lover or a lover.
Or maybe you’re loitering around in your own house as you anxiously await the arrival of your package with the online merchandise you carelessly bought.
Possibly you lost your job and are now praying for the last paycheck to arrive safely in your trembling hands.
Our reasons are varied, but we all share one common trait.
We’re all biding our time until that day arrives, the day where every dream comes true. Leave your nightmares far behind you and don’t ever look back.

Then there’s the prickly sensation which inevitably invades the body when staying put for too long.
It’s strangely similar to the sensation of tossing and turning on a bed of nails.
How long must we linger here in this constant state of nervous anticipation?
If the body does not rot away quickly, then it is the mind which decomposes first.
Your mental processes slow down and become dull as knives that can longer cut into a person’s flesh.
Soon, your thoughts gradually fade into nothingness, a lethargic state of mental decay with your body next in line.
Now your muscles begin to deteriorate, leaving you unable to stand or walk. Eventually, your organs stop functioning; then, Death quietly whisks you away without saying a single word.
Perhaps words are no longer necessary at that point in your life.

Stay alert and do not waste time waiting for a train which makes no stops.
Leave and look elsewhere.
Sometimes it’s best to seek instead of waiting to be found.

Some people spend their whole lives tarrying in one place, not wanting to miss their chance.
Looking out their open windows, the people eagerly await a messiah, a message of hope, a sign that life will surely change for the better, or the setting of the sun.
Sometimes their faith goes unrewarded as their dreams are forcefully pushed aside by the unyielding will of other people, fueled by the fires of their own powerful desires.

As for me, I have my own, many desires, but right now, I wait for an answer.
Maybe you’d call it a reply, but once I hear her say, “I do.” the colour of my world will return in long, solid strokes while painting my life with never-ending joy.
And the feeling of this dead eternity, which looms over the chapel while casting a blinding shadow over the nave, will gently evanesce.
Until then, we kneel in front of the altar, almost frozen in time.
Each second of her hesitation seems to pass without end.
“Good things come to those who wait.” they say, but what if I’m yearning for an answer that may never come?
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

An Everlasting Love

The sky, the earth, and even time
split us both apart,
but now I’ll tell you via rhyme
why I’ve kept you in my heart.

Those memories I have of you
now give me company.
A few of them still hurt. It’s true,
but it’s our history.

Even if you leave me here,
or if you throw me out,
or even if you act real queer,
I’ll love you without doubt.

You could marry other men
and have their children too.
Just make sure to comprehend
I’ll still be loving you.

These feelings are forever.
They’re here to stay, my friend.
I know you’re gone; however,
I’ll not let this be the end.

For Cupid pierced my lonely heart!
His arrow rests inside.
I didn’t think that you’d depart,
my once future bride.

My heart will ache, but worry not,
for I can cope, my dear.
Although I wish we tied the knot,
instead of stopping here.

I’m still enchanted by your voice.
I’m entangled in your web.
Even if I had a choice,
my love would never ebb.

And now I must bid you adieu,
my time’s expired now.
I left this message just for you.
Consider it a vow.

Training Day

I sat here on this bench, my friend,
waiting for my wait to end.
I played some games to pass the time
and even threw things at a mime,
but my train was still not here.
The reason why remained unclear.
I asked around, but no one knew.
What was an old man left to do?
I pranced all day and lurked all night,
hoping that I’d end my plight.
Alas, the tracks were silent yet,
causing me to grow upset.
Suddenly, I saw a light.
Seems I’m heading home tonight.
I grabbed my things and stood up straight.
I checked the time, ‘twas half past eight.
Then soft tremors shook the ground,
urging me to look around.
The train’s horn made a mighty sound.
My wizened ears began to pound.
Screech! Kabloom! Ker-blam! KAPLOW!
The train just crashed! I don’t know how.
My ears rang ‘til they bleed in streams,
but even then I heard the screams.
The blazing fire engulfed the cars.
Their bodies burned as bright as stars.
The smell of burning flesh, my friend,
is something I can’t comprehend.
Think of hair that’s been ablaze.
That smell would leave most in a daze,
but the scent that burnt flesh leaves
made my stomach react in heaves.
I heard the blaring sirens’ call
as I leaned against this wall.
I closed my eyes and prayed to God
to end this surreal façade,
but here I am, talking to you
of a tale that I know is true.
My eyes have seen the flames of Hell,
but it’s time to go. I say, “Farewell.”
I’ve got a flight to catch, you know.
I hope I make it, since I’m slow.
I’ll let you know that you’re quite smart.
Here we can’t be blown apart.
It’s safer now, they check your shoes.
With their caution, we cannot lose.
Now I’ll never take the train.
Instead, I’ll stick to riding planes.

The Sidewalk's End
Lead me to where the sidewalk ends,
where children play and dance.
Let me be young once again,
just give me one more chance.

Let me leave this concrete park
to frolic in the grass.
Where the mood is never dark
with no one being last.

I wish to laugh and smile
as we tell stories amongst the trees.
We’ll have fun in colourful style
since we can do what we please.

We’ll jump around and dig up dirt
and find bugs under rocks.
We’ll never worry about being hurt
as we run without our socks.

I’ll perform songs and sing those tunes
that children love so much.
I’ll teach them how to play the spoons
after some double dutch.

One day, Shel, you’ll surely see
that we’ll all be living there.
Mother Nature cares for thee,
so let’s go show her that we care.

Self-Doubt

Why should I bother caring?
If I packed my mental bags and left for the airport, where would I end up?
Would I find true happiness, without the struggle?
Would my life be less stressful?
Or would I turn into a golem made of flesh and blood, indifferent to the world around me
while mindlessly going through the motions of each day I live.
Could I call that living? Maybe existing is a better word, eh?
It’s not enough to exist, I need a purpose:
a goal to strive for in this life of mine.

Hey, maybe I should leave it to chance?
Then nothing would be my fault.
Heads, I pull the trigger.
Tails, I pull the trigger on someone else.
If the coin lands on its edge, I’ll attend Sunday Mass more often.
I could use the free coffee.

My head feels funny.
It’s swelling up with more problems, making my skin feel tight.
If I look at the mirror, I can see my frown.
And my frown sees me.
An awkward silence fills the room as we say nothing to each other.
Then I remember frowns can’t talk.

My headaches don’t start out sharp.
Like the tide of the ocean, the pain gradually rises.
Slow and steady.
It rises ‘til it washes each and every grain of thought away.
My mind can only think of the sensations I’m going through.
Have you ever seen the colour of pain?
I have and it hurts my eyes. Pun intended.
It’s okay if you laughed.
In fact, I hope you did.
One of us needs to be cheerful around here.

I remember when this house seemed so full of life.
The memories of smiles and laughter still echo through the halls.
Why do I refer to them as memories?
Because memories are what they’ve become.

One day, I’ll let myself cry without holding back.
I’ll feel better then.
Until that day arrives, I shall remain here.
Probably alone…
Probably forgotten…

A Silent Crush

Every time I see you.
Your smile warms my heart.
Your hair is long and flowing.
Your mind is quick and smart.

We talk of life and other things.
We joke around a lot.
Sometimes you’d make an angry face,
but you’d still be looking hot.

You greet me with such vigor,
such energy. All right!
And with those big, green eyes of yours,
you make me lose my bite.

Your skin has a nice shade.
I love the way it glows.
Always stay a kind of brown,
for it’s lovely and it shows.

Don’t be bothered by your braces,
smile proud and strong.
And if you ask me nicely,
I’ll write you up a song.

“Oh how radiant is our Lady.
Her teeth are straight and clean.
She’s graceful and so caring.
To us, she’s never mean.”

I’ll take this time to ease your fears
because I’m not a stalker.
I may keep track of certain things,
but I’m mostly a sweet talker.

Know that you are pretty.
Know that you are cute.
Know that you are drop dead gorgeous
while donned in a striped suit.

Every time you make a face,
you still manage to knock me out.
Because you always look so stunning!
Of that there is no doubt.

Those compliments I give you.
Each one is the truth.
Believe me when I say them
and let’s enjoy our youth.

Oh how I wish to tickle you
to hear your laughs of glee.
I’d stop only when I see tears
or if I make you pee.

Or maybe I’ll use a bear hug
and trap you with my arms.
I’ll rub my face against your stomach
and deftly use my charms.

I can’t wait ‘til your older.
Well, yes I can, but man….
I shall not break those sacred laws.
I’ll wait. I understand.

“If you were to be candy,
you’d be a Now ‘N Later
because I know I want you now,
and girl, I’ll want you later.”

All those innuendos....
Were they only jests?
I’d make them all the time with you,
despite your cute protests.

Sometimes I act real creepy
and make you nervous, Dear.
Just know I’m always here for you.
Of that I’m quite sincere.

Sometimes I act real cheesy
and make you shake your head.
The message I’ve been sending
is one that you have read.

“If you were to become a star,
I’d be an astronaut to chase
you all across the sky so that
between us there’d be no space.”

Your attitude and demeanor
are both pleasant and quite fun.
Stay cheerful when the clouds are grey
and smile when you hear my pun.

You’re tolerant of my little jokes.
You make me feel so warm and fuzzy.
I’m glad you haven’t ran away
or left me with a mind that’s muzzy.

I know that we’re the best of friends.
Not one thing more or less.
But if you give me just one chance,
your soft skin, I’d caress.

You ask me to be open.
That’s frightening for me.
I’m proud of all the walls I built,
but I think you don’t agree.

You really are persistent,
despite my stubborn ways.
You’ll come in with your wrecking ball
and leave me in a daze.

I still can fend you off,
but I’m becoming lax.
You found some keys to my locked doors.
Oh how can I relax!?

My feelings are kept in a box.
No light can make it through.
I prevent my own two lips
from saying, “I love you.”

You call me an enigma,
Mr. Enigmatic, to be clear.
For I have many hidden things,
especially in here.

My heart is where I’m pointing.
It pounds within my chest.
Can you hear it beating?
If so, I am impressed.

I feel that never telling
would be the better choice.
For if you knew my feelings,
I doubt you would rejoice.

What am I to do?
A lonely guy like me….
Across the lands, you live.
So far away, you see….

I’ll love you from afar,
pretending all is well.
You’ll ask me how I’m doing.
I’ll smile and say, “Swell!”

I struggle to be happy.
Not every day, but some.
You know when I am down.
You know when I am glum.

Please never leave me all alone.
I’ll miss you as the days pass by.
I need you like the waves need wind.
You know me, girl. I never lie.

Although I rarely hear your voice,
your words still speak to me with grace.
I’m left with dreams of happy days
where we’re talking, face to face.

So often do I daydream
about you and “our” life.
I’ve composed long epic tales
where happiness stays rife.

And even when I’m not awake,
you manage to invade my mind.
Not by using guns and soldiers,
but by being girly and refined.

Please know that all of you, I want.
Your womb is precious to us both.
Keep it inside of you, my Dear.
It’s vital to your babies’ growth.

You say you don’t want children now,
but hey, you’re young. You’re life will change.
Decisions will be made by you
and sometimes they will turn out strange.

Funny how I said this much,
yet, these words I cannot say.
“I love you more than just a friend.”
I’m sorry that I’m so cliché.

Why is it do I hesitate?
Why does my heart beat so?
How can I overcome myself
and finally let her know?

Someday I’ll have the courage.
Someday I’ll be a man.
That day is not today.
I hope you understand.

Maybe you’ll read this poem
and that’s okay with me.
‘Til now, it was a silent crush,
a quiet love for thee.

There’s one last thing I must declare
to this brown-skinned queen of mine.
No matter what happens to you,
you’ll always look divine.

And so now my confession ends.
My typing hands are done.
May this poem bring you pleasant joy
for you’re my only one.

Education
Let us practice the forms.
This is how you smile.
This is how you wave.
This is how you write.

Keep up with us, the swarms.
This might take awhile.
Make sure you behave.
We know we are right.

Look at how he conforms.
No longer with style,
our uniformed slave
stays extremely polite.

Oh how well he performs.
It’s all in his file.
A new road he’ll pave,
much to our delight.

The Homebody
Just another day….
I woke up in the afternoon again.
The sun has risen far into the sky,
but I wouldn’t know.
My eyes aren’t open yet.
They’re shut tightly, aching for more sleep
because of the night before.
Now I’m up.
I lounge around for an hour
before I even consider brushing my teeth.
My computer is on.
What’s this?
A new message! Oh, wait…
just another advertisement.
More junk mail overflowing inside my inbox.
When will they know I don’t need a bigger p***s?
I don’t.
Now I’m bored.
There’s nothing to do around here.
I look at my phone expecting a call from anyone,
especially her…. Just her.
But there’s no ring, only emptiness and silence.
Solitude.
I saved the old text messages so I can read them again.
I guess there’s no call today.
Lying down once again, I take my laptop with me.
Together we surf on top of the waves of information and entertainment.
The keys are a little worn out from the endless tapping of my fingers.
I can hear the shift key cry out every time I strike it.
I pause and look at a corner of my room.
The webs I never clean hang free.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe never.
I wonder if I should go through those old letters of mine.
Want to hear something funny?
I keep the letters I receive in a large envelope.
Irony and I laugh together at the jokes I play on myself.
I’d like to go out, but with who?
Anyone there…?
Are you going to answer me?
The phone says nothing.
Traitor. I trusted you to bring me closer to others,
but what do you do besides serving as a constant reminder that I’m alone?
Maybe not completely, but enough to make me sad.
Sadness and I cry together at the jokes I play on myself.
There’s a lack of communication between us.
Us being me and the world.
I haven’t left the house.
Actually, I haven’t even left my room.
Downstairs feels farther away than ever now.
Dare I descend down the stairs in an attempt to have a life?
Nay, not today.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe never.
Who needs people when I have you?
The keys I strike respond to every whim and fancy.
Your face always changes, but stays familiar and friendly.
The window to your heart is as easy to open as a programs folder.
Two clicks.
Enough!
Even I, the computer addict, have my limits.
But when I press the power button,
why do I feel sad as the green lights fade away?
I have yet to put on a pair of pants,
but that doesn’t matter anymore.
My eyelids feel heavy with that feeling of sleep I know so well.
Maybe it’s time for a nap.
I look over to my desk.
The phone is still silent.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Just Friends

I remember where we parted,
along with when our problems started.
Our love was stretched thin by our fights
which lasted late into the nights.

The trust between us slowly died.
I never cursed, I never lied,
but still we grew further apart.
I truly tried to not lose heart.

I struggled hard to end our plight.
Why couldn’t I become your knight?
My armor, stained. My horse, deceased.
The spats between us never ceased.

Your tears caused me to shed my own.
What man would want to be alone?
Now here I am, in front of you,
expressing thoughts, not one untrue.

Even if you find another,
I'll still love you like a brother.
But if you can love me once more,
I'll hug you 'til my arms are sore.

That’s wishful thinking, yes, I know.
Just listen, girl. I miss you so!
The wounds have healed, but they still hurt.
Those tears you cried … adorn my shirt.

“Our love was never meant to be.”
Well, with those words I disagree,
but even though we’ve made amends,
I know that we’ll remain “Just friends.”

Sheath Your Sword

By order of our King, we went.
Our bodies, drained. Our spirit, spent.
With shields and swords, we charged at thee.
Why did we fight? The King's decree!

By order of our King, we marched.
Our vision, lost. Our sore throats, parched.
With bows and arrows, we attacked.
Why did we fight? We made a pact.

By order of our King, we died.
Our lives were used for regal pride.
With fears and woes, we fell down hard.
"Why did we fight?" soon sang the bard.

I've fought in lands immersed in blood.
Those rotting corpses caked in mud,
they fought for glory, gold, and land,
but what they found was not so grand.

No longer do I wish to fight
or hear the screams throughout the night.
I'm tired of the stench of death.
I watched my friend take his last breath.

Returning home is my true quest.
Once there, I'll hug my wife. She's blessed.
I’ll watch my children play and sing.
I’ll tend my garden during spring.

I’ll love my neighbors ‘til the end.
I’ll take great care to not descend
into the ugly depths of war.
I beg you, God. No more! No more....

My blade shall cease to sing its song.
I cannot kill you when it’s wrong.
Please, my friend, of your own accord,
will you peacefully sheath your sword?

Quiet Shout
Hush! Be quiet. Make some noise!
Don’t be loud. Go play with toys!
Silence! Thank you. Shrills and shrieks.
Mellowed out... Have wild weeks!

Serenity… Raucous crew.
Calm down, man. Hullabaloo!
Peace be with you. Thunder’s roar!
Tranquil paths. The screams of war.

Now here’s a question for the end.
How loud is utter silence, friend?

My Room
My broken clock, it ticks and tocks.
My splintered door, it’s filled with locks.

I feel each minute passing by.
I have no keys. I don’t know why.

The hours soon turn into days.
Feeling hungry… Left in a daze…

I think,”What’s on the other side?”
But I know better. Run and hide!

I’m tired now, I just might fall.
What’s with this yellow on the wall?

My sanity begins to wane.
The walls speak lies… Am I insane?

I just can’t stay here all my life.
There’s no escape except by knife.

My eyes look up and see the door.
I understand I crave for more.

More than what this cold prison has.
More than what people see me as.

I slowly take the time to stand.
I steady myself with my hand.

I take soft steps towards my goal.
Here’s my chance to redeem my soul.

I hear the tick. I hear the tock.
I raise my fist to make a knock.

My knuckles bang against the door.
The blood drips down. My hand is sore.

I hear the tarnished locks unwind.
They all scream loudly as they grind.

Then a creak as the door swings wide.
There’s just another room inside…

About to cry, I follow through.
I have to know if this is true.

The light is dim, but I can see
the only one here isn’t me.

Other people have found their way
into this room of night, not day.

The walls are endless halls of black.
I’d count the doors, but I’d lose track.

In the center, a door shines bright,
a very lonely source of light.

No one dares to venture close
‘cause fear sets in when no one knows

what’s waiting on the other side.
Depart or stay, I must decide.

I hate this place. It’s dark and cold.
I choose to leave. What will unfold?

My eyes are closed, my breath is still,
I feel such warmth upon this… Hill?

I see! I can see where I am!
I gladly shout, “No longer damned!”

The grass, its scent so strong and pure,
leaves me speechless. I’m not unsure

that here, this place, is my reward.
The sky’s so blue. I thank the Lord.

Don’t drown yourself with blackened thought.
Instead, my friend, seek what you sought.

Your hopes and dreams deliver joy.
This life you live, you must enjoy.

Missing You
I could not sleep… No, not this night.
Not when you vanished out of sight.
You left me here upon this bed,
with nothing left, but words you said.

“You’ll always be within my heart.
I’ll love you ‘til death do us part.
These wedding bands depict our love.
You are my man, and I, your dove.”

Her loving words filled me with pride.
I stepped in close and kissed my bride.
And at that time I know I cried.
I hugged her twice. Then I replied,

“I’m glad I can give you my trust
and that we share true love, not lust.
Now hug me close. Don’t ever leave.
No longer will I be naïve.”

She gently cooed into my ear…
A message that I thought was clear,
“I’ll never leave, of that I’m sure.
I know that our love shall endure.

No matter what gets in our way,
you, my love, I’ll not betray.”
And I believed you, every word.
Every. Fictitious. Word I heard.

You have been gone for two years now.
Yet, just for you I hunger. How?
I can’t move on. I need you still.
With every step, I fall downhill.

I know the future is unknown,
But why must I be here alone.
I’m angry that with me you lied.
But it’s not your fault, since you died…

You lied… but you still have a pure heart
You died… Why were we the ones to part?
I cry… Your absence still gives me pain.
Denied… to ever see you again.

First Love
The trembling clouds grew heavy and cried cold tears of sadness.
Here a woman walked alone carrying no umbrella.
I immediately knew I had to save her from the madness.
I transformed into a prince and made her my Cinderella.

On the way to her humble home, amidst the drops of rain,
we masterfully exchanged words of pure, awkward silence.
With her head resting on my shoulder, the sweet smell of her hair drove me insane.
Our journey ended at her front door where she thanked me for my benevolence.

She forced the grey, rumbling clouds to retreat with a radiant smile.
And after swapping phone numbers, I went home to dream of tomorrow’s date.
Morning’s whispers gently nudged me awake after a long while.
And with my eyes finally opened, I saw myself entwined in this lovers’ fate.

We were both shy at first, with our stuttering words and nervous smiles.
My clammy hands quivered whenever she drew near.
I suffered countless amounts of dreadful and embarrassing trials,
but now I know more than ever that I have nothing to fear…

Her love for me grows vaster than the endless oceans,
filled with crystal white shores that guard the echoes of my beating heart.
With just one touch she gently stirs my emotions,
while her soft lips tell me, “We’ll never be apart.”

Her fragile kisses rain lovingly upon my face,
each one forcing me to succumb to her intoxicating allure.
I cherish her strong spirit, her curvaceous form, her wonderful taste…
And with every warm embrace, I’m sure our love will endure.

Our future together easily outshines even the most resplendent stars.
The laughter of our expected children sounds frighteningly real.
And even though the love we share bears a few grisly scars,
our undying affection for each other makes life seem wonderfully surreal.

Now I’m lying down here on this warm, comfy bed,
blanketed with the affection of my beloved.
Remembering all the tender words she said,
I know I’m truly loved.

Our Sacred Cow
Bought, sold, and bartered.
Taken to the backroom to be mercilessly slaughtered,
for their flesh and bones.
Packed in foam and plastic, sold to the masses, prone
to be wasted.
Meat gone rotten before ever being tasted,
by those who care
and know of the cow’s sacrifice. Who say a prayer,
thanking the cow,
for the life it gives to those that take it. For it’s not mere chow,
for us to just swallow.
but life that begets life so that we may see tomorrow.
So when you leave,
to go to the kitchen to cook the meat that’s been cleaved,
just say thank you,
to show the cow’s spirit and sacrifice gratitude. Now chew.

Pursuit of the Truth
Truth is ever fleeting.
Fluttering away, always retreating,
never sharing its old stories with me.
Wisely ignoring my passionate plea,

it remains elusive to my earnest ears,
still hidden underneath the shrouds of deceit after all these years.
My body aches for just one lucid reply,
but I doubt I’ll find the revelations before I die.

Seeking my answers, to the questions inside,
I hear their desires being pushed aside.
Why do you force us to struggle so hard?
What secrets do you so cautiously guard?

If you were to rain your wisdom upon our fertile minds,
we would build a brighter future destined to be all of mankind’s.
Yet I stand here, feeling you pass me by once again,
deftly avoiding the hand that I strain to extend.

I’ll never surrender to my feelings of despair,
for I know within time, you’ll be in my care.
Although I fear that my quest may be perpetually repeating…
For the majestic Truth dutifully remains ever fleeting.

My Sex Life

“Will you help me lady dear?
There are some things that are not clear.
I looked around this timid town
and what I lost cannot be found.

Jolly good! You said you’ll help.
Please quiet down, no need to yelp.
Great, let’s go, be quick, pip-pip!
Make sure to hold my hand, don’t slip.”

We crossed the streets with eager eyes,
but even with our skills, no prize.
Her face curled up into a frown,
“What is it that we seek in town?”

The answer which she sought was strange,
but here is my reply unchanged,
“I’m searching for my sex life here.
I’m sure I dropped it somewhere near.

Now I know you think I’m mad,
but with your help I’ll become glad.
As soon as it returns to me,
I’ll give you money happily.”

She looked at me and stared some more,
and then she said, “I’m not a whore.”

Mein Kampf
I love cake, I really do.
I eat it every single day.
My love for cake remains true.
It doesn’t matter what I weigh.

My family said, “You need to stop.”
I think they want to starve me more.
Give me cake before I drop.
I better buy some from the store.

I quickly put on my pants,
and soon I find myself outside.
In this place I have no chance.
So I should find myself a ride.

I make some calls and wait more.
The scrumptious cake will soon be mine.
I waited until ‘twas four.
You know I’m forever thine.

Come to me my lovely cake.
I need you more now than before.
I want cake, not juicy steak.
You’re the love I’ll never ignore.

I wish I knew how to bake.
For I still linger on the street.
Cake, cake, cake, cake, cake, cake, cake.
I fear today we’ll never meet.

Now I think I’ll go insane,
for I just want one last snuggle,
with the cake. Oh how I strain!
Listen to Mein Kampf, My Struggle.

My name is Bob
My name is Bob.
I have a job.
I’m quite sincere
after a beer.

I love to eat.
I’m very neat.
I have a wife
who’s full of life.

I have a son
who’s lots of fun.
We’d sing and dance
without our pants.

My life is great.
There’s no debate.
But change soon came.
I’m not the same.

My lovely wife
just gives me strife.
She works real late,
comes home past eight.

She likes them young
and well, well hung.
Those men she meets
under the sheets…

That’s fine with me
Because, you see
I followed well
Here’s the hotel.

I found her room,
my future tomb.
I step right in
aware of sin.

I reach inside,
swallow my pride,
pull out my gun,
she doesn’t run.

I see her tears
and all her fears.
The man shields her,
that filthy cur…

The bullet flies,
and someone dies.
I’m on the floor.
I’m here no more.

I see my life,
my kid, my wife.
No longer here,
I disappear…

Sorcha
A stranger who became my friend,
she greeted me by pressing “SEND”
and from that day we formed a bond
which over time grew truly strong.

We talked online or on the phone,
and on occasion I’d hear a moan.
We shared some laughs, she shed some tears.
We shared our dreams, along with fears.

She brought me joy and happiness.
Time spent with her just felt like bliss.
Her heart is kind and means me well.
I find myself caught in her spell.

Her hair is brown, her eyes are green,
her face shows love, no sign of mean.
She stands quite tall, as tall as me.
We both need specs to help us see.

The distance spans over the land,
a barrier that stops my hand
from ever touching her soft skin,
and stretches my hopeless hope thin.

Yet, we remain, in contact still.
A promise made that we’ll fulfill.
I’ll win that bet, you bet I will,
for Sorcha… Dear, I’m trained to kill.

How I wonder what we could be.
Would we make a family?
Would our kids be here with us?
Deeds which need to be discussed…

O’ happy joy, the joy of life,
will this woman be my wife?
The future is not mine to know,
yet here I wait for her “Hello.”

Perhaps when I can become deft
at life, I will not be just left
forever waiting for whom I long.
Pencil moving, the tale goes on….

Clubbed to Death

I just killed my best friend… Here’s how it happened. We were planning to go out tonight to check out The Shaft. Yeah I know, it’s a bad name for a nightclub, probably thought up by a bunch of boys who giggled whenever someone said, “p***s.” You just giggled too didn’t you? Anyway, it’s a hot, new club that just had its grand opening last week. He told me he’ll come over to my place so we could help each other out with our “looks”. We both wanted to make a great impression on the supple, young men we were bound to meet. Don’t give me that look. With a name like “The Shaft”, it’s obviously a gay nightclub. I hope that doesn’t bother you.

The doorbell rang… I rushed over to let him in. He stepped onto the tiled floor with his five hundred fifty dollar black, Gucci moccasins. Finally, after a dramatic two seconds, he brought the rest of himself inside of my house and greeted me with a “Hey babe.”
“Hey yourself.” I replied. My eyes realized that the rest of him was covered in sweats and my forehead wrinkled as I began to frown. “I thought we were—“
“Sshhh…” he said as he put a finger to my lips to silence me. He held up his mahogany, leather suitcase. “The clothes I’m going to wear are inside here, and you can help me pick them out.” He gave me a wink as he finished his sentence which made me sigh and roll my eyes.

Let me tell you a little bit more about my friend. He was just a little over six feet tall, his auburn hair was always gelled, his hands were incredibly soft, his tanned skin seemed to glisten for no apparent reason, he enjoyed wearing the biggest brands, and had a smile that could disarm a platoon. He was also gay, but not just the normal kind of gay, he was really gay. I mean, if you took all the stereotypes of gay men and mixed them together, you’d end up creating my best friend. He’s the kind of gay man who could send shivers down your spine if he said, “Mississippi.”
We both went to my room. I walked. He skipped. He placed his suitcase on my bed and opened it up. I peered inside and much to my surprise, I saw clothes. “Who keeps clothes in their suitcase?” I asked.
“I do, you silly goose.” He replied.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have a suit in there.” I said in jest.
“Ha ha. Very funny Mr. Jokerpants and why would I keep a suit in a suitcase?”
“Well, you’re known to put strange things in dark places.”
“…”
I knew I went too far this time. I didn’t hear the usual sarcastic retort. “Are you okay? I didn’t really mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Just forget about it Mr. Meanhead. Help me pick out some clothes for The Shaft.”
“Err... Right, let’s get started then.”

We spent half an hour selecting our gear and gadgets. I say gear and gadgets because this night, we were going to be hunting for handsome men we could feast upon. Not cannibalistically of course, metaphorically I meant. Anyway, we got into my friend’s car, a sand dune coloured Corolla, and were well on our way to party. Excitement started creeping up my pants legs and decided to rest in my heart. I looked over to my friend with a wide smile splitting my face in two. He couldn’t help himself either and had to grin back. The road became a blur and the lights became streaks as we sped down the poorly lit streets to our destination. Suddenly, we came upon the neon sign. I mean… We arrived at the brightly lit club, The Shaft.

“Strange” I said, “Where’s the line? There’s no one outside.”
“You’re right, not even a sweaty, muscley bouncer is here to pat me down for weapons.” said my now horny gay friend.
“Weapons?” I ask, well knowing his horrible reply.
“Yeah, you know, the ones I keep in my pants.”
“Ugh… Let’s go inside.”

I opened the door to let my friend go inside, but instead of heading to the fun and games, he faced the sky and started sniffing vigorously. “What is it? What do you smell?” I cautiously inquired, secretly hoping my deodorant was enough.
“Manflesh.” he said with a sly smile.
“Wow… Can we go inside already?”

As we finally stepped inside, he already skipped off to find some hapless victim to sexualize. I found an empty table and sat myself down to survey my surroundings. The lighting was dark, and there was some strange dance music being played by the DJ. I couldn’t see anyone’s face, but I could tell where my friend was because he was the most animated person here. I didn’t feel safe here, but I thought I should try and enjoy myself. I headed to the bar for a thirst quenching drink. The bartender was not a happy man. He turned to me with his old and pale face and said nothing. Out of fear, and poverty, I asked him for a Coke. He poured me a glass without looking and set my drink on the counter. I reached inside my pocket to take out some money, but he walked away and left me to myself. I grew more apprehensive and started to look for my friend among the dancing people.

Dancing people… They looked more as if they were shuffling from side to side, swaying. I call out his name, but heard no reply. I walk over to one of the people dancing and ask, “Have you seen my friend, he’s around six feet tall, has tanned skin, and hair…” My words trailed off as I stared at some kind a creature that resembled a man. He shouldn’t have been able to stand, but he still managed to take some steps to face me.
His unnaturally huge eyes stared at me as his crusty mouth uttered one word, “Run.” His bony frame lurched towards the DJ in attempt to continue dancing.
“No…” I said in horror. I looked all around me and saw the creatures. My eyes were not fooled by the dark lighting now. They were all variations of thin, pale, and bony. Some thing was killing them, or at least draining them of their life. The dance floor was littered with these walking corpses and I knew I had to find my friend before he joined everyone else in being food. I started running towards the front, pushing people that should have been dead a long time ago, out of my way.
Then I saw the DJ. Then the DJ saw me. He smiled and changed the records. Instead of the strange music I heard before, I was now listening to a warped version of the Bee Gee’s “Staying Alive”. He beckoned me to come closer and I couldn’t resist. My body walked itself over to the DJ, whose features were becoming more apparent. His eyes were bloodshot, he had yellowed fangs, his skin looked similar to tree bark, and his beckoning hand resembled a claw. He asked me, “Why. Aren’t. You. Dancing. With. All. The. Others?”
I started to cry and I whispered between sobs, “I just want… to find my friend… and leave…”
“Your. Friend. Is. Gone. Leave. Now. Human, While. I. Still. Remain. In. Good. Humour. Today. Has. Been. Successful.”

And just like that, my body was mine again. I couldn’t do anything except run. I collided with the doors and fell into the outside world. The fresh air was a calming relief compared to the stale and moist air of The Shaft. Then I remembered my friend remained a prisoner to the DJ’s spell. I left him to a fate of prolonged decomposition. What kind of friend am I, to abandon him? I threw my head back and shouted to the sky, “WHY!? Why!? Why did it have to turn out like this…?” I closed my eyes and said, “I’m so sorry Bartholomew!”
“What?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For leaving you… to die?”
“I’m dead? I don’t feel dead. In fact, I feel quite gay.”
“But… What? How did you get out of The Shaft?”
“Oh, The Shaft just wasn’t for me, I found it to be so tasteless. Did you see how those people were dancing? They were just like zombies. I tried to talking with them, but they would just moan, and none of them were cute. They need to see their dermatologist and a couple of them could do with more sun. Hey, let’s go to the beach next time, I wanna-“
“Shut up. Let’s go home now. I’ll put on “The Sound of Music” for us to watch.”
“Sounds like a party! To the Gay-mobile!”
“Ugh…”

Fin



The Butterfly

Over the timid meadows, the sun awoke with a slow fury. Its light poured over the landscape as it were a great ocean ready to claim the life of one more sailor. The trees groaned as they felt the warmth of a fresh new day bathe them with strength. Birds could be heard chirping throughout the forest treetops. Their lively morning song gave rhythm to the lives of all who made their home in the woods.

A little butterfly made her way to the succulent flowers located nearby. Her black wings had gold markings that would make the most talented artist feel shame for being so ordinary. They glowed in the daylight as she danced around, unable to choose which flower to feast upon. Finally her hungry gaze settled upon a red flower with petals that welcomed her with an inviting hug. The red flower emitted an alluring scent that drove the butterfly mad. Unable to resist her lust for the sweet nectar that lay hidden within the flower’s petals, she let herself down with a feverish dance and began to feed a drink so sweet, cavities would form in a person’s just from looking.

Full of drink and content, the butterfly lazily flew into unseen danger. Cold and calculating, the scientist waited for his prey. His mouth watered at the thought of capturing and documenting such a beautiful specimen. He stood in silent contemplation as he waited and waited and waited. She danced near him, heavy and unaware of his scientific intent. His net sang its low and deadly song as it came crashing down over the unsuspecting butterfly.

He caught her. The forest felt her pain. Her pain caused her fragile frame to crack. Any creature with ears could hear the songs of the birds change. The lively tune faded away, replaced by song created from the deepest depths of despair and sadness. Angels would weep hearing this heart wrenching melody of pain and torment created for the butterfly’s imminent end. The now salivating scientist, blind to this creature’s true beauty, took her to his lab to be killed and put on display. His ignorance kept him from knowing the butterfly’s elegant dance from flower to flower, the carefully timed and gentle flapping of her wings, the warm vitality and life that flowed through her body like a rushing river. Forever on display, the butterfly laid impaled to the wood, lifeless and cold.

Life went on. Forest life continued despite the loss of a valued member. Yes, there would be other butterflies to carry on her legacy, but her life had been cherished by all the residents of the old and ancient woods.

She will not be forgotten. The trees remember, the sky remembers, the earth remembers, everything remembers. Life goes on.

Futility of Truth
As I swim in this sea of lies,
I hope to find a pearl of truth.
I shan’t discover my demise
for I remain a crafty sleuth.

Deceit, deception, and much more,
try to lead me far astray,
but as I lead myself to shore,
I know I’ll live another day.

People talk, but no one hears,
except for me, I care.
I cut their words with sifting sheers,
but only found despair.

I thought of my days as a youth,
when the world seemed right.
For I could not accept the truth,
about our endless plight.

Now I live without a care,
as I’ve joined the swarm.
And though I live a life of lies,
at least my bed is warm.

Random Thoughts of a Sane Madman
I didn’t like the cherry on my Sunday
Morning Daddy! I definitely did not break the win-
Doe, she travels through the green forests, searching
Four answers to this question, but only one is
Write an essay children, please, be very neat with your
Letters, hundreds of them, unopened and unread, why did I
Dew collected itself on the torn and broken
Leaflets! Johnson, where did you put them? Up your
Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you
Candles illuminate my room with a friendly smile, I
New student huh? My name’s Rob, I’ll show you a-
Round of beers on me for the new dad! Ha ha
Hot and sticky, the shirt stung my sunburned
Back from the business trip honey? I love
You are the only one for me Jayne, my wife can never
No, no, and NO! You cannot leave the children for another
Tripped over your own two feet again? I can’t help you any
More? More!? That’s all your ever want from
Meaning what? A divorce? What about the
Kidding Johnson, just kidding. Here man, have a
Drink it all up, the pain, the torment, the way she
Looking for an exit, the doors are all walls, what in the
Helpful isn’t it? Just take a little at a time, too much can
Kill me, please.


California During the Summer
The sweltering heat rages,
as if it were a firestorm from the deepest depths of hell.
I am forced to withstand its white hot wrath,
in this hot and burning cell.


Rebellion of the Leg
There was a girly girl you see
whose origins make her an Aussie.
She went to sleep one tired night
and as she slept, there was a fight.

Her left leg wanted to be free
to frolic with a chimpanzee.
Her other limbs all disagreed
and told the leg to please concede.

The left leg then quieted down
and spent the night wrapped in a frown.
The left leg plotted evil schemes
to further realize all its dreams.

So when morning came and light shone bright
The girly girl thought all was right,
but little, too little, did she know
that she would lose all her control…

For her pain was great and she screamed aloud,
but her tired cries could not reach the crowd.
The evil leg thought it had won
but this Aussie girl was not yet done.

A sharp butter knife she pulled out
along with a gag to silence her shout
And then she began to cut away
for this she thought this the only way.

She sliced and sliced until she was
free from the leg, her only flaw.
The careful plans of the naughty limb,
were all destroyed by a mere trim.

And now the two of which were one
split in two, the girl has won.
And what did the leg do you ask?
Why, it hopped away to attend class.

My Projects Post

POETRY
Fickle
Ennui overlaps
The fresh and new.
The shudder of
Novel attraction
And its pulsing,
Heated hue.
Where it is
That thoughts sleep,
Daring dreams that
None possess,
There I am found,
There I keep
All that might have been
Love for you.


---


Numb
Does desire hibernate?
Flames wane and embers fade,
Mist caresses blackened coal
And all memory, all thought
Of what once lay among ashes
Is banished as some
Fallen king.

So we reach,
Toward stars that burn
But cannot warm
And matches, dead and drenched,
Searching for something forgot,
Lies spun to tantalize
Still but struggling hearts.
All dust and ruin
Immutable;
But gods know
We'll ever fight to change.


---


Details
I will render this a belief,
Call it faith and hold it dear.
I will clasp and cling
To minutiae and pretend,
Pretend, pretend I've found an answer.
To what? Who cares;
Who needs a proper question?
Who needs a thought
Beyond the barest minimum
Of precursory investigation?
Your necessity's my relativity
And I'm stubborn,
Stubborn, stubborn as hell.
But in the end, so what?
Who cares.
Oh well.


---


(And now...performance pieces, lol)

Conspicuous Consumption
Ready, and move!
Race, race, race to the bottom
Give it up,
Enter, file, sidle up and in,
Give it up.
Empty your pockets,
Your minds, your souls,
Find definition in lacking,
Race, race, give it up!

Ready, and...
Plastic harmony,
Levittown democracy,
CEO aristocracy,
Cascading into lethargy,
Race, race, give it up!
Pack your dreams
And let's...ready, set, move!
Into cubicles,
Boxes, cookie-cutter lives
On cookie-cutter streets
Sinking further, further,
Face painted like you're happy
Well, race, race,
Give it up!

Face painted like you're happy.
Yes, give it up,
Ready, and...
Face painted like you're happy.
Selling your humanity
For a bigger SUV
And you're painted like you're happy!

Racing to the bottom,
Consumed and consuming
And existing to consume
And becoming just so, just so,
Just so, yes,
Pretending that you're happy.

All racing, racing, racing.
Moving up and sinking down.
All racing, racing, racing.
Giving up and sinking down.


---


Blind
Ripped jeans, wrinkled shirts,
Vintage hats (supposedly),
Ink and cloth haphazard
With thick-stitch insincerity,
Playing all about
A collagen smile implanted
Stuck and dried out;
Expressionless expressions
That fade into
Singular streams of
Plastic consciousness,
Disconnected from anything
Approaching real thought,
Real pleasure, real happiness,
Impossible! for a
Life dictated by
Concoctions intended
To protect while preventing
Imperfection, already sewn
Into the very fabric
Of the height of a
Mindless vanity, swiftly
Consuming all hope left
For a revolution of
Transcendence if ever
It was even possible!

There's nothing, nothing,
To speak of potential.
What potential? In you?
I somehow doubt it so.
It's so fashionable
To pretend to believe
That you're only pretending
To be someone
Who's pretending to
Make you believe that
Who you are is a
Stage show or freak show,
Or whatever an illusion
Of an illusion of the
Mockery of an illusion
Is supposed to be.
What are we supposed to be?
No one knows, no one cares,
No one asks why...
Why? Why? WHY?
Must it be so easy
To be so very blind?






LYRICS
(I feel like lyrics never translate properly if they're not being sung, but oh well, here goes nothing)

All Things Primitive
Everybody's all up in arms,
Everybody's all ready to have a go, and
Every kid with an idea or two
Is off confusing hostility with reason.
Well, well,
She's got a motive,
He's got one too, he's going off now.
Here's a thought that don't mean nothin',
Nothin's got a hold, spinning, spinning 'round.

Oh, we're up there now
Got a handle on this.
Really, really above
All things primitive.
Oh, we're up there now
Check this intellectualism.
Vanity on a scale unmatched,
The new age wisdom.

Everybody's all got the answer,
Got a monopoly on our salvation, well,
Every kid who took Public Speaking's
Playing demagogue in a logic dry spell.
Oh, oh,
She's shut her ears,
He's closed his mind, he's spewing vitriol
In the name of a bit of liberty
Liberty, liberty's about holding the other guy down.

Oh, we're up there now
Got a handle on this.
Really, really above
All things primitive.
Oh, we're up there now
Check this intellectualism.
Vanity on a scale unmatched,
The new age wisdom.

Oh, this is the panacea,
This is the quick fix.
Pull you on, above
All things primitive.
Oh, we got it solved,
Check out this solipsism.
Me, my thoughts, my life, my way,
All the rage,
The new age wisdom.


---


Make Me Happy
Well, so, you're all I suppose
I should be running after.
Playing catch-up to the others,
Pretend to feel so I can feel.
I guess I've got a monopoly on perfect,
Or so they say...
Then why aren't I leaping, dancing?

Where's the passion?
Where's the meaning?

Okay, so this is going all right,
Everything's exactly right and so just so.
Okay, so I'm on a permanent cloud nine
Sort of perfected existence...
According to who and what?
What's this cartographer's secret?
Guess I should like you 'cause you like me,
Some kind of backwards bullshit like that.

Explain why I'm listless.
Explain why I'm just existing.
Where's the meaning?

How long can a girl force
Herself into another's standards?
How long can a girl force
The existence of someone's else's
Perfection; can life
Survive within a mason
Jar; can life survive
As bound and forced into submission
As it is, as it is...
Can I survive
What should make me happy?
What should make me happy?
Make me happy.


---


Progress
Seems we've got a problem
All that's given's forsaken.
Got a plan, I think, to take me over,
No no; back up, you're losing.

I've played that game before
And yeah, I know you have too.
We both know the end to this
So why not get off not halfway there?

Sure, I know you want me
To be everything
They're weren't
Before; oh god, why can't you see
That I'm not perfect?

So she broke your heart
He broke mine, what else is new?
Save your sob stories for
Someone who cares, 'cause I...well...

Guess I can stay a little more;
Go on, unload, whatever.
So I'm here and I'm listening,
Are you happy yet?

And sure, I know you want me
To be everything
They weren't
Before; oh god, why's it this way?
Can't I be perfect?

Why are you trying so goddamn hard?
Can't you see I'm not worth it?

Seems we've got a problem;
I think I might be breaking
Every promise I ever made
To this foolish broken-hearted girl.

Okay, let's do this; shut your eyes
And I'll shut mine and make believe.
Don't say it and I won't think it
But we're here now, let's just see it through.

And sure I know, you want me
To be everything
They weren't
Before; well would you mind
If I expect the same from you?

(That one's...very much written like someone would be talking, I guess. I don't think they're my best lyrics ever, but I really like playing it, that's for sure)


---


Scapegoat
You're a whitewashed dream,
And I'm all for losing my mind.
Go on, waste this day for me.

I'm sick of battling
Chances with excuses.
Can you help me break
The habit?

All that matters...

You've got a torch to light
And I've got a past to burn.
Go on, destroy my life for me.

I'm sick of hanging on,
I'm sick of caring.
School me in apathy.

All that matters...

Give me a reason to let go.
Give me a scapegoat.

And all that matters is this,
And all that matters is this,
And all that matters is this.

Cool!

I just need a way to make the author names more visually appealing aka sexy.

*thinks of different ways.... and poetry*

The sections are ordered thusly: Newest to oldest.

Poetry:

Lizard Lawyer


As I sat there in the courthouse
To heed the jury’s call,
I watched as in it sauntered,
A beast of eight feet tall.

Its tail did swish back to and fro,
Its scales did shimmer slickly,
And as I watched it flick its tongue
I leapt to take leave quickly.

But one glance from the rigid judge
Bid me to take my seat.
I drew a breath, fell on my chair,
And quaintly crossed my feet.

The lizard moved to take its place
Beside the pale defendant
Fighting with ex-wife for
A house oh so resplendent.

“A lawyer? It’s a lawyer?!”
I thought in utter shock
As it sifted through its papers
And prepped itself to talk.

It pushed up its thin glasses
Gently with a claw,
And straightened its Italian suit,
Then opened up its maw.

And out poured such cool logic,
And no points did it miss.
That case was good as done right there
Nailed with each calm hiss.

But then the prosecutor
Who had regained his poise
Dared to shout “Objection, judge!”
The court rang with the noise.

The lizard, grinning coldly,
Straightened up its coat,
Then strolled up to the lawyer
And stuffed him down its throat.

It swallowed whole the dapper man,
Picked its teeth to clean perfections,
Looked up at the judge and asked,
“Are there anymore objectionsssss?”

The lizard lawyer's name is actually Larry. lol He was my imaginary friend from about ages 8-10. Psh. All those other girls had their magical horses and Prince Charmings....Who needs those things when you can have a cold-hearted defense attorney?

The moral to the story is "don't judge a book by its cover". I mean, look at Larry. First you think he's a ravenous monster, bent only on devouring you, and then you think he's an intelligent, well-mannered individual with his own curt ways of life. In truth, he's a ravenous, intelligent, well-mannered, monstrous individual with his own odd ways of life. See? xd

Eclipse

“Come,” she urged him softly
while tugging at his hand,
leading him through lonely streets.
“Soon, you’ll understand.”

By light of broken streetlamps,
through alleys paved in trash,
he pondered at her actions
and kept pace with her dash.

Her smile reassured him
as they scaled the concrete stairs
of old and emptied buildings,
and banished all his cares.

And pushing past an iron door,
she brought him to a roof.
No towers blocked his vision
of sky pitch black, aloof.

As city life commanded
the stars had dimmed their light,
but naught could scold his gazing
upon the moon that night.

It glowed a bold and crimson hue
and stood out proud and clear
and smiled down like they were friends
and loomed so very near.

It made him think of lipsticks
that she had tried last year,
and roses he had bought her
that she’d found so dear.

And while he thought of all these things
she had closed her eyes
and quickly kissed his startled lips
and smiled wide. “Surprise.”

Man......I am soooooooo mushy sometimes..... sweatdrop Doesn't it just make you folk ill? That lunar eclipse really played a number on my heartstrings.

Bogeyman

“Go to sleep on time, Christine,”
My mother sternly said.
“Or else the Bogeyman will come
And eat you in your bed,

For when the lights go off at night,
He stalks around for meals,
And nothing tastes more yummy
Than the children that he steals.

He snags you by your ankles,
And drops you in his maw,
Then swallows whole your tiny self
For children taste best raw.

His teeth are sharp, his eyes are cruel,
His claws are quite austere,
And you can feel his icy gaze
When he is drawing near….

But if you are asleep
When he makes his silent rounds,
He cannot smell your tasty fear
Or hear your anxious sounds.”

And after this, she left me.
I was scared too stiff to sleep,
So with wide eyes, I watched my room
And waited for that creep.

Hours passed without a sign;
I thought he might not show,
But irony, who’s such a jerk,
Brought forth my hungry foe.

He slinked free from the shadows
Like a cat out for a stride,
And much to my perplexed surprise,
He sat at my bedside.

His teeth were sharp, but polished white,
His eyes were cruel, yet jaded,
And though his claws were most austere,
My fear of him soon faded.

His build was all quite human,
Though he had a bird-like crest,
And scales adorned his tapered tail,
His legs, his arms, and chest.
And just as I was easing down,
He grabbed my wrist and sighed,
Then held me high above his head.
“Wait! Hold on!” I cried.

“Before you eat me, Bogeyman,”
I said while hanging limp,
“I have to ask, why children?
Why not cows, or shrimp?

Or goat, or rice, or spiced-up beans,
Or cabbage, pickles, fish?
Surely you can use your head
And make a better dish?”

He raised his scaly eyebrows
And looked me in the eyes.
“This is the world, you talky pip,
We’ll all face our demise.

Your food was once a living thing,
With brains less keen than thine.
Can you not see you are the same
From mindset such as mine?”

He paused to watch my face,
Then moaned and put me down.
“I hate it when you things talk back,”
He mumbled through his frown.

“Then why do you not change your ways
And choose less urbane food?”
I queried with a hopeful voice,
Again with rising mood.

“It is my place upon this earth
To eat the likes of you,
For this is what I’ve always done,
And what I’ll always do,”

He seemed so sad to say it,
So beaten-down, so tame.
I could not help but say to him,
“Bogeyman, that’s lame...”

And then he did the strangest thing…
He laughed and grinned at me.
“Though simple be your logics,
Yes, I must agree.

I’ll seek some other sustenance!”
He claimed with hopeful voice,
Then shook my hand, then stood up tall.
“You’re right, it is my choice.”

But as he turned to leave my room,
He stopped himself mid-stride.
“You know of any food stores
That might let me inside?...”

Needs....Lots....of...work....So....much....rambling. gonk Please help me!

Contradictory

Oh spiteful joy, oh joyful spite
That leaves me tossing every night.
Hurt and hold me, happy past,
Whose best of times have left too fast,
So naught is left but single drop
To grow the urge that I can’t stop,
To taunt me with its blushing cheeks
And tender words it always speaks.
My photos burn my fingertips,
Through which the picture’s joy now slips.
Those letters parch my tender tongue.
My mind’s now old, though bones be young.
My greatest fear, most dreaded thought,
That swiftly turns my heart distraught,
Is that I might have been betrayed
And in that mind, my features fade.

But when the past is put to past,
I settle down for peace at last.
My heart is soothed, my face a grin;
And cheery warmth is churned within,
For present days have been so kind,
Presenting me with peace of mind.
I’ve many friends, though few be best,
Whose presence makes me feel too blessed.
I find myself wanting for naught;
I’m quite content with what I’ve got,
For what most see as small and trite,
I’ll cuddle close, and hang on tight.
When envy heavies all my limbs
And gives me up to foolish whims,
I’ll always have a gentle hand
To hold, and always understand.

This 'un was veeery hasty. sweatdrop

The Time in the World

There’s no time for the sky.
There’s no time for the grass.
There’s no time on this earth.
There’s no time on this earth.

When all the bells ring
And we empty the class,
Does fretting for studies
Increase our life’s worth?
And what are these studies
But spoon-feeding facts
That teach you to follow
Or pay all your tax?

There’s no time in this age.
There’s no time in this age.
No time for the student
To ponder each page,

For each book is a job
That demands to be read.

By Thursday.
By Thursday.

Who cares if we’re learning
As long as it’s done?

By Thursday.
By Thursday.

Who cares about fun?

Or baskets and blankets
For lunch in the sun?

There’s no time for those things.
We don’t do that these days.
We live off society’s paychecks and praise,
And cling to conformity’s safe, secure ways;
Flitting about in stupidity’s haze.
Why learn when you could live sedated?

And not just on drugs;
On the good stuff, the strong stuff;
A life where you don’t have to think!

There’s no time for the bees,
And no time for the trees.
No time to spread arms and feel the world’s breeze.
No, there’s no time for these.

There’s no time for these.

And yet, we have time to sit at a desk,
Free of preponderance, too weak to care
That we’re missing the beach
Or there’s words we should write.
No, we sit in our chair.

We’ll just sit in our chair,

And do so till all the bells ring.

Tried something really different with this one. No pattern whatsoever here, and as a side note, it sounds better when it's read aloud. Inspiration for this came from The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail and half of the students in my Health class. I DESPISE that class. How is it that this class is OBLIGATORY for graduation, and it spends half the time teaching us how we should think in order to be spiritually and mentally healthy? Physically healthy, I can understand. I mean, those rules apply to everyone, but I can't believe we have to spend an hour each day listening to someone dictate on how we should make friends, what qualities we should look for in them, how we should deal with our family, and how we should BE in order to have a healthy PERSONALITY!! And some of my peers eat this stuff up without question! D: What the heck?!

Pressed Flower

My mistress is a strange one,
A cheery, frail old thing.
All day she grins and sits alone,
Watching robins sing.

Though I’m the maid, and glad to work
It’s she who cleans our house.
She sweeps the porch, and scrubs the plates,
And irons every blouse.

And afterwards, she cooks my meals,
Then tells me of her life,
Of how she used to dance and sing;
Careless; free of strife.

She tells me of the friends she knew,
Or choices she once had.
She proudly claims there’s no regrets,
And yet, her eyes are sad.

More a mystery than this,
A chamber’s locked all day.
But once a night, I see her go,
And hear a record play.

The door stays closed, I never know
What happens in that room.
All I get are clues, like sounds,
And scents of old perfume.

And so, this brings us to me now,
Creeping in a dirty dress,
Crouched atop my master’s roof,
Curious, I guess.

And peeping through her window,
I am shocked to see her face.
No beaming grin upon her lips,
A weak one in its place.

Curled atop an ancient bed,
With photos in her hand;
Pictures of two laughing teens
Kneeling in the sand;

She sighs aloud and puts them back,
In boxes by her side,
Then opens up an album
And frees the tears that hide.

“Why, oh why,” she softly moans
While wiping tear-stained cheek.
“Why couldn’t I just speak my mind?
Why must I be so weak?”

I do not know of what she speaks,
Or why she feels such pain.
There are no photos in her book,
No pictures to explain.

Alone within the pages,
A single daisy sits.
Wrinkled, dry, the palest blue,
To bygones, it commits.

My mistress gently plucks it free.
A final tear is shed.
Its petals fall off, one by one,
Before she drops it, dead.

She was my greatest teacher,
And her lessons are quite clear.
Find your strength, express your thoughts,
Before you lose what’s dear.

Not much of an explanation for this one, actually. sweatdrop Just hit by inspiration.

Patience, Learned the Hard Way


"That's not a toad!" the young boy wailed.

"Another skink! Again, I've failed!"

He tossed his books and stomped his feet.

"That's it! I shall admit defeat!"



The skink upon his desk then hissed.

"Shut up, skink! Cease and desist!"

Consumed by rage, the young boy turned,

And swiftly spat a spell he'd learned.



Rage consuming every thought,

Magic flowing, mind distraught,

He yelled out every spell he knew,

And did so till his cheeks turned blue.



His gorgeous desk was turned to soap,

He melted down his favorite scope,

Flames leapt up his wooden chair,

And butterflies soon filled the air.



But, the young boy couldn't care.

For he was no longer there.

Naught was left but clothes and hat,

In which a shocked and young toad sat.

This one was just a bit of fun. My attempt at morals and humor. xd

Goldfish

Oh, what's the point of goldfish?
For all they do is swim,
Or eat, or sleep, or defecate,
Whatever is their whim.

Oh, what's the point of goldfish?
You cannot pet their backs,
Or stroke their fins, or scratch their chins,
Just give them fishy snack.

I named my goldfish Smiles,
Though now I'm not sure why.
He never leaves his castle.
I guess he's far too shy.

But, I guess, he's pretty......

The result of a 5min poetry contest between my friend and I. sweatdrop Definitely not my best poetry, but I think it's kinda cute. (possible deep meaning? o-o)

The Biggest of the Little Stuff

It makes one’s life quite dreary
It will drive one’s mind quite weary
If you’re passing through the days too fast
Ignoring all that’s cheery
While it’s easy to forget the things
Like the brightest blue jay wings
Or golden leaves upon your porch
Or sweet smells that the lilac brings
I think we all should stop a day
Enjoying things the baby’s way
By touching grass and tasting air
Or cuddling your teddy bear
There’s not much better than the park
To chase away that dreary dark
Just feed the pigeons, feel the wind
Hug the tree, then kiss its bark
When life is cruel and life is rough
And times are hard and times are tough
The cure is to sit back and hold
The biggest of the little stuff

I returned to my writer's guild to find it SWAMPED with depressing, dark poetry. This is my mood lightener. 3nodding

Shapeshifter

“Hurry, men, before it comes!
Before I'm naught but bloody crumbs!
Before The Shifter comes to feed,
Break these binds so I'll be freed!"

The lady's cries had reached new ears,
A traveler of many years.
He wandered countries, seeking fame,
And saw his chance with this fair dame.

Her limbs were bound with glowing chains,
Her body deep in beast remains,
Her hair like captured rays of sun.
And just like that, his heart was won.

He loved that girl without a doubt,
And trundled forth to let her out.
His heart was swelled with joyous thought,
Of all the luck this dame had brought.

He'd found his fortune with no strain;
The Shifter gone from its domain!
Oh glory days, this was his chance!
A life of luxury, romance!

"How might I break this wretched bond?"
He asked the fretting, frightened blonde.
"Just touch the links and say its name,"
Calmly said the captured dame.

"The name of this most tricky thing,
Is Sprinkleton, The Foolish King....."
The traveler then froze mid-stride.
The tasteless joke had hurt his pride.

"Don't toy with me, my darling dear.
Why conjour up a name so queer?
Tell me truth so we might leave.
No more games, do not deceive."

The woman's face grew deepest red.
"Just say the name," she softly said.
A slave to her, he soon obeyed,
And watched the iron slowly fade.

"Thank you, Love!" she sang with joy.
"So useful, for a foolish boy!"
Perplexed, he gazed at her, dumb-struck,
And met the end of all his luck.

Without a pause, she hugged him tight,
And crushed his bones with monstrous might,
Then held him closer, pushed him in,
Absorbed him, face a fang-filled grin.

Its body morphed, turned, and twisted,
Skull changed shape, no bones resisted,
Till head to toe, it was a male,
Silver-tressed, with skin milk pale.

Cackling with insane glee,
It did cartwheels. "I'm free! I'm free!"
And in no time, it sprang away.
To choose a name and catch more prey.

Written around one of my book characters, I'm pretty happy with this poem. And...yes. sweatdrop Its name really is Sprinkleton. Its creator is a bit....deranged. (the one in the book, not me, you silly goose razz ......Though I suppose I am too for making such a thing...)

I Am…

I am the maple tree.
Ever-changing, oh-so common,
Yet somehow, I’m unique.
My own small ways, my gangly branches,
My oddly-colored bark,
The way my leaves rustle, are special.

I am the bashful wolf.
My eyes are speaking, always,
But I’m quite soft-spoken, really.
My howls, often empty,
My movements talk much more,
And even those are whispers, soft.

I am the shades of blue.
Not just one, never one,
All the hues, with all the tints.
My globs of green, which make me hurt,
My dashes of black,
They’re quickly mixed, I hide them.

I am the traveler in unknown lands.
Forever walking, till shoes die,
And I stop and rest world-weary feet.
My breath, so wheezy,
My dampened eyes,
So red and bright, are soothed.

I am wishing for a fairytale.
Every second, with all my heart,
I long to touch fire, feel the care.
My soul, scouring for thrill,
My parched tongue,
So void of taste, a pain.

Written for a school project. We had to repeat the phrase "I am" throughout our poem. I was worried about sounding narcissistic when I wrote this, but it turns out I just sound sad....;_;

I Love You

Glorious, the glinting rain.
Magnificent, the once mundane.
Fanciful, her flirting games.
Colorful, his tender claims.
Waltzing were the flimsy trees
In the rain’s canorous breeze.
And trepid was the tiny sound
Of diamond drops upon the ground.
Her mind was soothed, and his was churning;
Dreaming, screaming, softly yearning.
On that bench, their hearts were warmed,
And silent words were slowly formed.
He took deep breaths and twiddled thumbs,
Heartbeats like the loudest drums.
Shutting eyes and biting lip,
He let his burning secret slip.

“I love you.”

Month of love, meh friends. =^.^= It had to be done. I'm just gushing with corny romanticism sometimes, and its usually got nowhere to go but me art.

The Snake

Apathy, imperative;
For I am but a blade.
Naught but meat, and bones, and skin
With debts that need be paid.
Empathy is just a lie
That puts the fools to rest.
Immunity to all these thoughts
Is what makes me the best.
Ego is unknown to me,
For fact is what I speak.
Woman, I can kill with ease,
The children, and the weak.
And if the gold was offered,
I would slit my partner’s wrist
Without remorse, without regret,
And never to be missed.

Another character in my book. biggrin Ole Prescott's got the largest fanbase of all my characters, despite his morbid disposition....

The Cat

I’m most modest of the modest
But it’s not my place to lie.
I’m deadly, smart, and handsome too,
A pick-pocket, a spy.
My face can make the heavens sing,
And force ladies to swoon.
I’ve slept with queens and drank with kings
And pocketed the moon.
My tongue is made of silver,
My heart of purest gold,
I’ve been around the world four times,
I’m ageless, truth be told.
My allies all look up to me,
Especially The Snake.
I’ve saved his skin too many times,
And put my life at stake.
I’m certain that The Raven
Has dreams of me each night.
I cannot say I blame her,
For I’m really quite a sight.

Cael's so arrogant. rofl It was fun to write in his voice...

The Raven

A fool is what I am.
Without a doubt, it’s true.
I’ve read more books than I can count,
And yet, I have no clue
On how to carry on with life
With hands drenched in fatality,
Or how to get The Snake to chat
With such a cold mentality.
I long for all the courage
That I’ve heard about in tales.
Beside both of my partners,
My magic often pales,
For though I’m good with all my spells,
My heart gets in the way,
While The Snake has never known one,
And The Cat’s was led astray.
With stubborn drive I carry on,
For now, I can’t turn ‘round.
As much as it does pain my heart,
To my “friends”, I am bound.

Sucks to be Avi. xp Trotting after "friends" that would lop off her head without hesitation. Ah, but I am a cruel writer. Not everyone gets a sparkly life/personality, folks. ninja Self-esteem and mental issues abound!

Short Stories:

The Paced Man: Part 1

The world looked so strange without that thin curtain of hair for protection. Sam felt naked for everyone to see, exposed like her pale, once-secret scalp. For thirteen years, it had hidden beneath her locks; an ugly shape, an ugly color. And now everyone could see it. This feeling was not helped by the fact that she wore nothing but a stiff hospital gown to cover her stitched-up body, that her bare arms had to lay upturned on her bed so the IV tubes would not bother her. After spending week after week in such a frail, pitiful state, she had grown accustomed to such embarrassments.

Through the small window in her room’s door, Doctor Millrose’s face could just barely be seen. The deep wrinkles around his mouth, which gave him a toad-like appearance, must have been the result of his constant frowning. No matter how battered, tattered, and beaten Sam was, she could still find a few cheap laughs in croaking behind his back. It made her feel normal.

It was difficult for her to tell exactly what he was saying to her mother, but one could guess. That formation at the lips meant “bad”, another meant “young”, and her favorite, “sorry”. But the phrase that hit her hardest, like the dashboard that fractured her skull, was “not much longer.” She had seen this coming, but to finally know her grim fate was so close was almost too much to bear.

Perhaps she was delirious with renewed sorrow, or the various afflictions in her head were playing tricks, but the shadows were dancing again. Darkness from a nearby corner seemed to detach from its resting place, flitting to a parallel wall. Blinking, Sam narrowed her eyes and pulled the stark-white bed sheet up to her nose. The only thing capable of drawing her attention away from the shadows, even if but for a few seconds, was a lonely moth, frantically struggling in the python-like grasp of a spider web. Its pale green wings were barely visible, so tangled was the poor thing. After what must have been twenty minutes in such a stone-stiff position, the door finally opened, omitting what was left of her mother.

The accident had done almost as much damage to Mrs. Nari as it had to her daughter, despite the fact that it hadn’t physically broken her at all. Sam could see the pain, in the tear-stained cheeks, hollowed smile, and swollen eyes.

“We’re going home!” her mother chirped, pulling Sam’s clothing from a closet. “Here, I’ll help you get dressed. Today’s a day for celebration! What would you like to do?”

A day for celebration. Even after watching a thriller movie about secret agents, and attending a fancy dinner with her whole family, her spirit still stubbornly refused to be lifted. She craved the easiness of a smile. It was the sorrow in their voices, the cold-breeze that clung parasitically to her head, and the overwhelming bitterness in her gut that ruined every glass of root beer, and every over-exaggerated martial arts move. Why did it have to be her? Why did she, barely dipping her feet into the pools of life, get shoved into such a feeble state?

It was unfair. And no matter how many times she told herself to accept such things, to doggedly prance through her days, basking in whatever chance of happiness she could snatch at, that thought always bowled its way to the front of her mind. It was unfair that her father had to carry her from the rental car to a wheelchair. It was unfair that the neighborhood children stared at her from behind their windows, instead of running out to play like they should have. It was unfair that she could not save the pretty moth from the spider’s web.

As she lay upon her bed, gazing dazedly through half-hooded eyes at a beige ceiling, indifference took residence within her psyche. The feeling of worn-out jeans and an oversized t-shirt anchored her to reality with a cozy familiarity, and she was lost for quite some time in an ocean of nostalgia. To see her gaudy floral wallpaper, Beanie Babies that lined the nearby dresser, even the full-length mirror attached to her closet, she was whisked away on a stream of memories. The peace waned. She didn’t want to leave her things, her house. What would happen to it all? This tumult of depressing thoughts quieted after a while, and all that was left was the resolution to change. Come tomorrow, she would be jovial, no matter what happened or how she felt. There would be no exceptions.

Her lungs shriveled like grapes in the sun, her throat was wracked with painful coughs. Falling from the tip of her nose to the quilt atop her mattress, tears flowed from tightly shut eyes as if from a broken faucet. This was different from the wheezing she’d carried with her for days, there was something moist and vile present. Crimson was its color. As she pulled her hand away from her mouth, she saw this clear as day. Would she last long enough to feel happiness again?

Tearing her gaze from her hands while disgustedly wiping them upon clean sheets, Sam spotted it. In the darkness of her closet, where the many lights of her room would not go, she could barely see the outline of something standing amongst her clothing. Standing? What a ridiculous notion. It was naught but one of her many hung jackets, and another joke that her injuries played.

But, as if recalling some sort of dream, like she had known it all along and just remembered, the fact hit her.

No, it wasn’t a jacket, but it was. Her ailments were the cause, but not in the way she’d previously thought.

Sam clutched her head, shutting her eyes once more. This recent sensation of peculiar revelation left her baffled. Why did it have to come as a riddle?

Because that is the way it communicates.

Too much. She fainted, cheek resting on the small puddle of blood that had sunk into her quilt.

I was hoping to finish this thing in one giant part and post it up, but I'm snagged on part two, and it's pretty lengthy as it is. So, multiple parts it is....

This short story was actually inspired by a dream. I found bits and pieces of it (the ones that weren't complete and total random nonsense) quite entertaining, and thought it'd be a good project to make a piece of writing revolving around those. Why, even the title came directly fom the dream. At the very end, I saw a green book with "The Paced Man" printed on the cover in big gold letters. Thought to myself that it was too interesting to pass up. biggrin

Skit

“Hey, buddy, you awake?” asked Matt.

He could just barely see the outline of his partner’s body sitting criss-crossed on the far end of their cell, head drooped and eyes closed. Black and white-striped prison garbs hanging from his medium-built frame and mousy stubble growing on his chin, he looked quite the part of a bedraggled criminal. Skit glanced up then smiled widely, nodding his head a bit in response. It was an all-too familiar expression, but that was to be expected. After spending year after year imprisoned with nobody but your accomplice in crime, everything was familiar. No matter the amount of interrogation they were put under, or the mind games the law had played on them, both criminals had remained stubbornly loyal to one another, refusing to part with their secrets. Matt felt quite content sitting in his comfortable cell with naught but Skit for company anyways. As far as he was concerned, his soft-spoken friend was all the social interaction he needed, and free food and shelter wasn’t bad either.

“Hey, Skitz, lend a hand here, will ya?” he implored, scooting closer. “Something itches terribly back between my shoulder blades. Could you get it?”

Skit shook his head while putting his hands behind his back.

“Look, I know you don’t like touching people, but this is really driving me crazy! I’d get it myself, but all things considered…”

He shook his torso for emphasis, allowing the buckles on his jacket to jingle against one another. How those iron loops vexed him, binding him considerably more stoically than a boa constrictor. At the very least, those damned feds had kept their jackets off Skit when they were captured. Truth was, he gladly trailed after Matt without restraint or urging. Yep, Skit was one of the greatest friends a man could’ve asked for. He had plenty of opportunities to turn tail and leave his partner when the agents came to capture them, but did he? No. Matt beamed with pride at him and shrugged. It was just a little itch. Who was he to ask his companion to do something so out of his comfort zone? He flopped over on his side then pressed his face against the soft floor. One of the nice things about his cell was that every surface doubled as a bed, the stark white cushions padded onto every surface always a welcome feeling when his jacket bothered him most. It was strange how much he was being pampered, but Matt supposed that he deserved special treatment, since the police still wanted information from him.

As if on cue, clicking sounds could be heard from the doorway as the numerous locks to his cell were undone. In stepped two beefy agents, both of them clad completely in white scrubs like hospital nurses. Cracking jokes every now and then to Skit about how such big men were dressed like pansies, Matt ritually poked fun at the ridiculous uniforms every time the feds left.

“Time for your meds,” one of the men trilled, presenting a plastic box from behind his back.

Matt shot him the coldest of glares he could muster while jutting out his chin. “Another truth serum today? What dirty tricks you people play!”

One of the agents rubbed his forehead, the other rolling his eyes and replying, “Yeah, truth serum. Now hold still, Pete. This’ll only take a second.”

The criminal leaned against the nearest wall and rose to his feet as best as he could. “My name is Matthew! Stop calling me Pete!”

One of the feds picked him up as if he were a doll, while the other one wheeled in a gurney. Shortly after the feds had entered the room, Skit had scurried into a corner of the room, his lip curled and eyes narrowed. Matt could tell that he was secretly conjuring up a number of sour insults to shoot at their captivators.

With a gentleness uncanny for a man of his size, the fed holding Matt slowly lowered him onto the gurney’s iron surface, passing cords through the loops of his jacket and fastening him down. While he was doing so, his partner filled a syringe with a clear liquid and checked the measurement.
“You’ll never know where the money is! And Skit won’t tell either! Our lips are sealed, and we’ve thrown away the key!” Matt blurted as he eyeballed the metallic needlepoint.

The agent holding the syringe loomed over him, smiling gently like a mother might smile at her baby. “Yes yes, we know, Pete. You and Skit went on all kinds of adventures, stealing money from Oprah’s house and hiding away in Mexico. But now, it’s time to sleep.”

Matt’s mouth stretched into a scowl. He’d called him Pete again, and he could hear the slightest hint of mockery in the fed’s voice.

“Listen here, government swine, I-“

Before he even knew what was happening, his eyelids began to fall and his muscles went numb.

“Don’t…..don’t hurt…..Skitz…”

The agent smiled down at him, packing the syringe away once more in its plastic case.

“No worries, Pete. We can’t.”

Just messing around with perspective. 3nodding The story is purposefully told in a weird way, to better display Pete's mind. In case none of you caught it, Skit is a reference to schizophrenia.

I was a bit hesitant to post here, thinking it was too similar to the Writing Thread, but this seems to be a lot more organized, and I think there's a better chance that people's work will be recognized. 3nodding

I'll comment on your work in a sec, anya! Just putting up ma short stories.

@Anya: I think I like Fickle the most, out of those two. whee Clever enjambent, and nice use of rhyming. mrgreen

Thanks for the reply, Anya!

I'm glad that you enjoyed my poems! I think the goldfish one does have a meaning greater than what I'd originally intended. sweatdrop Heh heh. You're not crazy.

(belated) G'night!