Cattle Scratch

What Haunts Me

2011-11-07T03:58:00.001-05:00

Troubled mind, what ails you so?
You search for kinder things, but glow
When dark has come and drawn its shade.
You take the things that I forbade
And trembling starts in corrupted bouts;
It is something I could do without.

O', my fancies; o', the black
That comes with everything I lack.
It does not yield fermenting dreams,
But rather the scorn of what it seems.
I cancel words, I cancel signs,
And wish so that the time was nigh.

I lie in tears and somber guilt,
Which claim the cries of ardent lilts
In ever-folding streams of heat.
I render cold, but troubles meet
When delusion satisfies the gloom,
Making way for all the room.

It is time to sleep, my weary head
Yet, not for you... I wish you dead!
You dread me so in every light
And bring about my only fright!
Why you rest not, I do not know;
I scream and shout, but you will not go!

Wandering Eyes

2011-05-02T01:39:00.000-04:00

I inaugurate with a solemn stare,
Although, there was not a moment which cared
To remind me of the pulse within;
Just like that, my heart was thin
And my breaths were short in the time of this.
No one stopped to look and missed
The coward crying on the floor
That couldn't make the rhythm for
A song and dance that paved the way.
However, there is much more to say:
I melted then, and in a minute
I felt the stain of rust within it.

A Dream

2011-04-27T15:21:00.003-04:00

When the sun broke, the tempest came
To moisten sadness with all its rain,
But when the flame of pain released,
The thunder fell and lust deceased.
There is no cure, there is no hope
To say that what was once is coped
By taking the flesh of bartered kin.
I’ve relinquished the ardent soul within
Mine own body and soul to say
That what was once can be remade.
There is a solemn wish beneath the feet
That I once walked on, that soon retreat
The final blossom of heart-felt guilt.
I was once the flower that bloomed to wilt
On brighter days, where some would say,
“I’ve become what I want today.”
Yet, on the plateau that made me ill,
I sought the vengeance of maintained will
To keep what I had begun to feel:
A powerful clutch that was made real.
I have begun to decompose
Underneath that wilted rose,
The hollow façade that I felt was clear.
As the night falls, the pain draws near,
And I can see, throughout the rain,
That someone is trudging all through the grain.
Beneath the weather, there was a switch,
And someone made the final stitch
To process guilt in its greatest form:
A broken arm and delinquent shore
Of majesty and horrid bleach.
So, to you, I do beseech
That I may grace you with this fright
That haunts me in the dead of night,
Only to become what soon was naught
In the greater depths of what I’ve wrought.

Crow

2011-04-07T13:08:00.002-04:00

Blessèd is and blessèd be
Upon the knife of which I speak,
This blood contorts its shape to form
A wilt of feather and raven beak.

There, within the writhèd palace,
In a chamber, here forlorn,
Was the perch with which I burdened,
Beckoned bird to roost this morn.

There he lay, sad, on the ground,
Slight of sound, and yearning more
Than I, myself, could ever yearn
In any of the suits I wore.

Then is when I took the knife,
And begged, "Prithee, raven,
Get up and sit upon this perch
I crafted with mine own craven

Hands that I had never gotten
To work upon to work for me!"
He refused, I stabbed him thusly
And ended the grief he couldn't speak.

Traps

2011-03-25T01:49:00.003-04:00

If I could stand across the arch
With fingers crossed and hope involved,
Would you say that there is something
Left for us to have been solved?

O', the crickets chirping in the night,
They reverberate a solemn sound.
Although, I seem to think that of most
Whenever I happen to come around.

I've placed myself upon a stand,
So high above what you may think,
And, even though I haven't fallen,
I feel the pressures on the brink

Of ecstasy and broken measures.
I wistfully place myself around
The things that make me humbly swear
That there is nothing to make my ground.

The Lantern, Burning

2010-11-02T00:16:00.004-04:00

When the wind blows, the fires cruise
The soft, damp heat onto my face,
A clear sensation of burning warmth
That I could never feel the need to replace.

The water's wetness on my skin,
The temptation of the lion's kiss,
All these touches slowly rock me
Into a sleep of monstrous bliss.

Smelling skin within my reach,
I feel the presence of a bird
That sings a song so sweetly, low
Like the darkest, sacred lull of words.

Although I speak in just few breaths,
I find the need to say my curse:
A sweet, soft whisper in your ear,
"You are the love I pray not disperse."

When I Breathe

2010-10-25T19:18:00.002-04:00

O', how the wind had cut my fears in two!
And when I thought I knew the thing to do,
The words came trembling through and through.

O', how the horror had braced me so!
And when I thought the flow had to go
This way and that, I wanted him to know.

O', how the silence had shut me down!
And when the crown had fallen to the ground,
I found myself within that humble sound.

O', how the sound of misery cried!
And when the lies had soon implied
That I was wrong, my faith had died.

Untitled

2010-09-30T00:23:00.005-04:00

Legions, drenched in semen,
Filled the space between the mortal
That couldn't slice off his own hand
And that forgotten, tepid portal.

He walked alone, though with a comrade
That he placed upon his side,
Nothing more than a mere shadow
That longed for some sort of pride.

I was that fool, that wretched crack
That he tripped over everyday,
And I felt none other than vain bastions
That could not be satisfied in gray.

Blisters to be felt through the dam,
That no one saw but myself,
Were the only things that made me whole
In resurrecting what was his stealth.

Though, in theory, I was the mistake,
I felt that the guilt was somehow misplaced,
As no one trusts the shit-stained sorrow
Of the blame he had erased.

But I saw, through error, that this is not
The path I reign, the lust I careen,
For no one can pace through thicker tracks
If no one stops to fuck the queen.

I Will Pretend

2010-09-21T00:13:00.003-04:00

And I fell through the sky
With the wings of an angel.
No one can touch me;
That option is fatal.

There is no present
To the past's intermission,
For no one can slouch
Below one's vision.

He told me once,
Or maybe I was deaf,
That no one suffers
From the immortal theft.

Perhaps the stars
That shine in the sky
Are nothing more than
My burning wings' cry.

Serenity Of The Soul

2010-09-13T00:02:00.003-04:00

I found the key to good fortune
In an abandoned treasure chest,
And I searched its very remains
To find the treat of an open breast.

Within the core, I found its soul,
Which shone brighter than any I've known.
Although, I've been here many a times,
I know that this is something whole.

It's not a fault, it's not a lie,
It's not a filthy little worm;
This core of total purity
And has begun to take its form.

Dilated Paranoia

2010-09-01T01:01:00.003-04:00

With streams of blades within my sight,
I grab your hand; into the night,
We soar across the broke sky
To find we're not alone. I cry

These tears of hope that plague my soul,
The bitter warmth that made me whole,
And pristine shade under the brush.
I feel your breath in one swift, "Hush."

We're not too far from thrusts of pain
That cause a break, but then again,
The strength I need to hold from harm
Is found, always, within your arms.

Diesel Spit

2010-08-16T01:39:00.003-04:00

Black,
Tar-like and
I do not care.
There is a fence
Yet to be jumped,
In his hair.

You see a face,
You see a soul
And thus begin
To feel
The ephemeral peace
Within.

When there is rain,
There is blood
In the field
Of broken,
Sold-out words
That you wield.

Failing Miserably

2010-08-07T01:20:00.002-04:00

With strength and grace, the saw went through,
The flesh cut nice and neat.
The strangled victim hung above,
Blood dripping from his feet.

At length, we see a butchered carcass,
Withered on the floor;
Up close we see a squirming maggot
That could not burn the sore.

A Haunting

2010-07-31T22:58:00.003-04:00

Learn to breathe,
Not to choke
On words that don't
Belong to thee.

If I were to swim
Under webs of trust,
I would be so
Invincible.

I understand
That many may not,
But I do, and
I will.

Would I have written
Better in my will,
I would have
Triumphed above.

2010-07-19T02:14:00.001-04:00

"Someone plunged a dagger deep into God's chest and, when he groaned, it laid our entire civilization to rest. When he pulled out the dagger and marveled at the pain he could create, we stuck another in his back to seal creation's fate."

Shanty Scavenger

2010-07-14T02:03:00.003-04:00

Erase the veins
Of naught.

Sand is everywhere.

I can't see
Thy face
Anymore.

Where was the
Baffled one?

I went to
See the main stage.

Here is the book.

We went to find
The crack in time
That led to the
Turning of
Its pages.

I want to smell
Something else.

Thou hath no veins.

Thou art naught.

Javellisant

2010-07-13T02:03:00.008-04:00

When will the tempest come?
O', carry me away, dear treachery,
For I know the worst of the worst,
Yet I refuse to cope with thee!

Thou shalt betray the martyrs:
Those who shed their skin,
Who bleed their carcass dry
From thine intrepid sin.

Whilst thou grace us
With the presence of a traitor,
Or gently glide among the crowd,
Alone on the equator?

I am neither breathing,
Nor am I in thy clutch.
However, I feel that I may be
The stiffest crutch.

How shall we grace thee,
O', precious little mink?
Thy presence made known,
And thy breath made to stink.

Wearing Trousers

2010-07-12T00:06:00.002-04:00

Havens in flowers
That bloom to wilt
Are not my intention.

Burning flesh
Is not the bane
Of our fate.

However far away
One stands,
The other can see.

In that distance,
There is a way
To find ourselves.

Frustrations Of The Morbidly Obese

2010-07-04T03:43:00.002-04:00

Forced to choke,
Again,
Beneath the cattle.

We are wary
Of fortune's
Good measure.

However, I feel
Far away
From the passion.

It was that which
We once kept
Through a trance.

Undersides of the
Untarnished wound
Are open.

The fasting begins,
And the quarrel
Makes it quick.

How far
Is my face
From the burner?

Mink

2010-06-27T17:21:00.002-04:00

Thou hast cuffed me
To a chair.
Dread seeps inward.

O',
How I long
For touch.

Please erase me
From thy list,
Foul features included.

Hand me
The torch,
I beg.

So, when it rains,
It will demolish
My face.

Thou art dreadful
In every aspect
That does not exist.

Yet, I wish
To plague thee
Violently.

How now,
Demon of chance,
Whilst thou release me?

Your Face

2010-06-24T01:23:00.003-04:00

Augmented angles
At a distance
From the task-keeper's
Obscure hand.

Half-eaten portrait
Of a maiden in
Darker hue
Will make its presence known.

Shed the light of day
Towards a newer
View of another's
Forgotten tattoo.

Blessèd be the day
That I speak again.

Perhaps

2010-06-02T23:28:00.004-04:00

O', the desire, the temptation,
And underlying feeling of lust
Do not compare to my true feelings
To thee. They are more than a must,

They are an instinctive indication
Of true devotion that I thus perceive
In the event of every breath, of every glance
Into those pristine eyes. I believe

That, perhaps, I can finally live
To conceive a feeling mutual respect,
Of mutual dedication from that which
We wish to last from when we met.

Stiffened By The Weight Of Your Allegations

2010-05-31T23:02:00.004-04:00

The sparrows sing the songs
Of determined youth
And unrelenting thrusts
Of truth.

Is this not a holocaust?
For why else should we
Stay quiet at the sounds
Of the buzzing bees?

I can sense the presence,
The shape and feel of
A pretentious worm
That has no love.

Why the bull lost his horns
Is no business of mine,
For the rising of the birds
Only comes in due time.

At the strike of the hour
Symmetric to the minute,
We find ourselves wondering,
"Is this it?"

The lachrymose wails
Of the bleeding feet
Find the vacant route
By which to retreat.

Sour Sins

2010-05-30T00:34:00.004-04:00

Stab wound for the wicked!
As the mob thus grows in close,
We see the witch be burned
With a flame at the tip of its nose.

Hath thee placated the beast
With thine ordinance?
Whilst thou so tremble at the might
Of the peccant's dance?

Hark! the king has signed the deed
And made it true:
We are not the bane of thy folly,
For thy folly is the one to sue!

Should the blade be stained with legions
Of malformed, truculent venom,
The mane of the lion will thus burst to flame,
Reprimanding the whole of them.

And Why

2010-05-23T02:18:00.002-04:00

Thus, we go, into the night
With open arms.
How shall we come about
To the stars?

Will they accept us
For what we are?
I feel they know that
We've traveled far.

Oh, forbidden is the vibe
Of this hollowed scar;
For the purpose of its make
Was not to mar

The quintessential lines
Of friendship's bar
Between the lines
Of a love, bizarre.

Pious Walking

2010-05-02T21:35:00.003-04:00

Thus, here I am,
On that path we once ventured
With thy canine companion.

O', glory is the day,
For only the blistering heat of this sun
Can truly hide my dark temptations!

Drat! I am, again, lost,
Not only on this trail
But in mine own decisions.

At what point should I return,
And do I dare refuse to venture further
Into the beauty of this tract?

Cataract: for what reason
Dost thou haunt the vision
Of every view, of every thought?

O', how I wish to let go
Of blatant nostalgia
And reach deeper into mine own heart!

Alas, I am still alone,
Only atoned by the solemn sound
Of a waterfall, close by.

Would I rather turn back
And dare to speak,
Or be mauled by ravage wolves?

Scalloped

2010-05-01T01:59:00.004-04:00

Harrow! Be still,
Mine heart cannot bear
The pain!

For how long hast thou
Pulverized my withered,
Toiled, placid beast?

Ah, thus, still!
Whilst thine ardor
Places me so.

Prithee, be still
One moment so that
I may recompense!

How shall thee
Move me a ways
With a knife in
Thy back?

Viscus

2010-04-29T12:20:00.007-04:00

Would it be worth it all in the end
If I chose to reach past the golden light?

How should I say, now, that I have been wrong
When all I had done was right?
How should I say, now, that I had done wrong
Only in the case that it mattered not to your query?
How should I say, now, that I was the one
At the brunt of every punctuation.
One could thus say that I was nothing more
Than a pendulum, swinging back and forth.

How now, trusted steed, will we venture onward?
Should we continue forthright
Or encounter alternate paths in the lucid moonlight?

How far forward one can go
Without deeming that past irrelevant
Is beyond my fathoming.

In the room, we see the shadow inaugurate another
That will thus multiply onwards into a closed room.
Darkness crawls, seeps from the cracks
And the obituary is, much farther in time, met.
We find ourselves across an open plain
With open notions to everything we want,
But nothing we can have in any sense of justification.
The flowers wilt in the rising of the sun,
And we venture onward.

Sadly, the broken tables cannot heal themselves,
the cracks in its surface cannot exemplify
The emotions I feel or the hurt, as he
Would continue to say to me in our journey,
So far away.

Alas, we cannot feel anything but guilt and remorse,
As the physical traits of flame and ice are no longer
Prevalent to the human skin, nor are they there.
That is exactly why there is nothing there
To help me feel this forlorn callous.

O', hark! What do I see in the distance?
For what shape does that object entreat to form?
It twists, contorts, writhes, begs me to touch it,
And as it grows closer, I begin to reach out my hand
To feel the warm, tender comfort that I wished for all along,
For this is not an illusion, nor an edifice of grief.
Should I then continue onward to examine this horror,
Or beg for it to let me be, shedding myself,
Tearing myself apart to feel the truth behind its glow?

O', God! It is naught but the human heart!

Resurrecting The Hollow Man

2010-04-26T23:01:00.004-04:00

Should my sadness fade
Into nothing but eternal subtle
Notions of solemn blunders,
I would only coerce rebuttal.

Should my frailty
Break through to the mark of broken shadows,
I would hope only the best
Would come upon thy fallen gallows.

Should my will be weak
And mine ardor grow thinner in the light,
I would dance in the summer
Night's intrepid glow of gay moonlight.

Should our ways thus choose
To burn like a flame or wither to ash,
I would hope for the former
And pray that it would burn slow to last.

Fasting

2010-04-26T00:59:00.003-04:00

I fell through the cracks of an open sore, begging to be brought to life by the fizzing puss that continued to fester under the thinnest of skins. So far in, I was hoping that something would come about to revitalize the broken bones in my forsaken cranium, which continued to spiral downward and ache incessantly. Going onward, I felt the sadness beckon me inward, towards the pores that would thus seep me outwards into a world I wished not to be in. It continued to caress me, otherwise, further stroking me closer towards this world that consisted of nothing but shades under the brush and dark thoughts under the clouded sky. However happier I may be in that world, I continue to reside in the pool of puss under the skin of one man that I can not part from, no matter how far we drift in mind, for I continue to fester under his intrepid skin.

Begotten

2010-04-06T00:52:00.005-04:00

For what reason does this mark exist,
And why does it burden me so when it resides?

The palette of a tainted golem
In the corner of mine eyes

Continues to bear the wake of
Naught but another serpent's scale.

Would I then reside in a far away land
Or refuse to mark my name in that tale?

Blatant cries for help will not occur here,
For I know exactly what I must face:

Not you, not I, and not even him,
But the hands of a clock that held their place.

Should I then pursue to cry,
I could not just cancel out this fast.

Will I never know how to make this clear, or
Will I break my skin with the clearest glass?

The Perfect Date

2010-03-24T02:17:00.002-04:00

Whereas one may prefer the preference of a high school sweetheart or some guy in a business suit with a briefcase in my day, I would firsthand prefer either of two personas: that of a sweet, caring, humorous, intellectual individual, or that of a completely inconsiderate, blubbering idiot. Both appeal to me in one way or another, and I have no preference as to which, for they both fulfill personal needs. If the individual were to encompass both structures of personality, that were to be unheard of and completely inconceivable; besides its rarity, I would otherwise consider that man of dual character to be the perfect match.

I have never really thought to venture into the world of dating, as I am completely withdrawn from society and much more prefer no-strings-attached hookups for the sake of satisfying my sexual desires. Other than being a hermit and sexual deviant, I find myself to be far more “unique” than others, which causes normal human beings to overlook me or mark me as a psychopath. That being my main downfall, I find it hard to look for a partner that will actually stay around long enough for me to consider him as a significant other more so than a sex toy of sorts. Although I never really desired to be strung together with another person, I find it now particularly taboo not to be, especially at my age, and I figure it would be nice for me not to die alone, as that is a noteworthy fear of mine.

So, as I got ready for a night out with some guy, Jim, that I had met on the subway, I was anticipating nothing more than a mere fallacy to my hopes of finding someone true-to-life and not a complete scumbag like most queers. Because of this anticipation, I found myself gussying myself up for nothing more than a meaningless outing that I would end up spending alone, in the end. I imagined myself walking along some boardwalk on the other side of town, my feet hurting from walking so much as I wallowed in my endless despair.

We met at an Olive Garden, which was his location of choice, and which was probably the most pathetic and scumbag-infested venue in the entire city. This depressed me to no end, as I felt that I had found nothing more than another trashy figure with the intelligence of someone who is mentally challenged. What made me think so even more was the fact that I was waiting at the table for fifty-six minutes–I had counted myself–for him to arrive, which was kind of stupid, considering he was the one who set the time of the date.

Then he arrived and was spewing such inane babble as, “I missed the first bus, so I had to wait for the second one,” and, “I’m really sorry,” and trivial stuff like that. I chose not to say anything, and sat there waiting for him to finally sit down without any other sort of stupid comments. I was kind of attracted to him, because he wore a tight t-shirt that accentuated his muscle tone, especially his biceps, but I decided not to compliment him on it, considering my intrepid disappointment.

“So, are you always late for first dates?” I decided to ask. I wasn’t really trying to be rude or anything, I was just wondering if that was the norm those days. My utterly recluse ego wasn’t accustomed to the world outside of my dismal living room.

He began with an infamous, “Um,” and continued to say, “Honestly, I haven’t been on a date in a year or two, so this is a bit of a refresher for me, I guess you could say.”

“So I’m basically a practice run for future dates of yours?” That time I actually meant to be rude, because I didn’t really like where the conversation was going.

He gave me a blank stare that look both shocked and appalled. I was hoping he would be able to regain himself by using a smart-ass comeback, but instead he just kept babbling and saying crap like, “Oh, I didn’t mean to come off like that, it’s just that I’m new to this and I don’t know if things will work out because I’m not really sure how to do this.”

“Well, if you were sensible,” I chose to retort, “You would probably ask me about myself and what I like, or I could just go ahead and ask you what you like and all that good stuff that people normally don’t really give a flying fuck about.” He continued to look at me blankly, so I decided to ask him first about his likes, dislikes, personal life, etc.

He began with his likes, saying, “Well, for starters, I like Indonesian cuisine, I guess. I don’t really think anybody does, because nobody really eats it, mostly because it’s hard to get to, for the most part. My music of choice is usually along the lines of progressive metal or house music. Both appeal to me in different ways and satisfy different sections of my brain, while also helping me to feel at least somewhat sane. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to rhyme. Um,” he stuttered again, looking upwards as he thought of more things to say, “I work out and like to watch hockey. That’s it.” He looked at me, again, blankly and looking really dumb, which was kind of cute, but also really annoying.

“Alright, well,” I began, “ I tend enjoy alternative rock, the likes of Muse, Minus the Bear, The White Stripes, and all that fun stuff. Well, anyway, my best friend is my cat, who continues to tear up my furniture regardless of our close companionship. My favorite director and film writer would probably be Quentin Tarantino; he’s simply divine. . .”

As I continued to babble on and on about inane characteristics of myself, as well as boring life stories, I could see Jim’s face contorting to more so of a scowl that anything else. It was about twenty minutes into my incessant jabber that he put his elbow on the table, leaned his head into the palm of his hand, and asked, “Can you shut the Hell up?”

Initially flabbergasted by this demand, I took note of his aggressive disposition at that particular moment, which I found to be very intriguing. I sensed somewhat of a bipolarity, as he immediately went from a complete dumbass to a man of aggressive nature. I asked, “Can you not ask me to shut the Hell up?”

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll just tell you. Shut the Hell up.”

It was at that point that I made a revelation and thought to myself, “This could be what I’m looking for.” Although, it was less of that feeling that I had found something that I had been searching for all this time, but more along the lines of actually feeling emotional attraction to something other than my feline friend at home. I smiled.

Then the waiter came, asking, “What would you like to order?” even though his tone sounded more like, “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’ll have a Caesar salad,” Jim replied, “Italian dressing.”

“Just a salad?” the waiter asked, which sounded more like, “Are you anorexic?” But he continued to ask me what the fuck I wanted.

“I’ll have prime rib. Rare.”

“Well, I’ll put that order right in for you,” said the waiter, which, again, sounded more like, “I hate the gay population in general, so I’m going to spit in your food.” I actually hoped that he wouldn’t spit in my food, because he looked like one of those dirty people that have herpes or something like that, which is pretty gross, obviously. He walked away.

“So, are you pissed at me all of a sudden?” I asked Jim.

“Not necessarily. I’m just thinking that you’re rather rude, considering you babble on about yourself for almost half an hour without a single break to let me get a word in. I mean, I suppose that’s fine, because I care about another person enough to let them go on about themselves, but I’d like to express my own opinions, as well as relate to your interests and boring stories.”

I was actually very pleased with this, as he seemed to be a very caring, sensible, selfless person, but at the same time, very assertive and willing to voice his opinion. Sure, he was dumb, but not in the sense that he lacked intelligence and common sense, but more so in the fact that his facial expressions make him look like someone who was drifting off into a little world of his own.

I continued to say, “Well, that’s not really my problem.” I don’t really know how to be nice, as I come off as a very implacable individual, but I figure if I’m just being myself, I’ll be more opt to find out if he wants to stick around or not for who I really am and not some low-life that only wants a relationship because they’re insecure.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” I was less than surprised that he noticed this, and that I noticed the fact that he was stupid enough to point out the obvious. But he continued to say, “It’s rather unbecoming, in general, but I appreciate the fact that you’re open enough with me to express your true self. Most people don’t do that, nowadays, especially on first dates and such.”

I thought this was too good to be true, and I found myself asking, “Is this real? I don’t deserve this, it’s too perfect.”

“I’m not even hungry,” he blurted, out of nowhere.

“Want to ditch this place?” I proposed.

“Yeah, that waiter’s a real douche bag,” he said, which made me happy that I wasn’t the only one who cared enough about the waiter’s shitty attitude. “How about a movie.”

I figured that was the worst situation he could possibly come up with, since they never play anything good in movie theaters, so I told him, “That’s a horrible idea, actually. They never play anything good in the movie theaters.”

“Well,” he began, “I was actually proposing that we go back to my place. I mean, if that’s too fast then we--”

“Do you have vanilla yogurt?” I interrupted. I was craving it really bad, for some reason.

“No,” he said, letting me down, but continuing to say, “We can pick some up before we catch the bus, though.”

“Let’s get the Hell out of here, then,” I said, excitedly.

“Good plan,” he agreed.

Upon leaving, we spent our time yelling random things at strangers on the way to a tiny market that was down the street, such things as, “Your mother is a fat whore!” or “I can see your vagina in that slutty skirt!” I was glad he was as interested as I was in public humiliation, both for the people we were yelling at as well, as our own disgrace.

Upon entering the crappy-ass market thing, I immediately darted my way towards the yogurt, picking up about ten of those vanilla Yoplait carton things. I brought them up to the counter.

“You smoke?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, usually Newport 100’s.” I replied.

“Ironic, because I smoke the same,” he related. Consequently, he demanded of the person behind the counter, “Two packs of Newport 100’s. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the yogurt, too.”

I was rather content with this, as I enjoyed men who bought things for me because it gives them a masculine vibe. I also appreciated the fact that it kept money in my pocket, but that’s beside the point.

Upon leaving the crappy-ass market, we realized that it was about a forty-minute walk to the bus stop, which gave us time to share stories of our youth. He really opened up, telling me about how his father died when he was three years old, and how he had, at one point, dealt with an addiction to cocaine. I also discovered that he was actually, in fact, bipolar, as I felt he was. I found this to be about as interesting as it was coercing, as I felt that it would be rather trying in the long-run, but I chose not to think anything of it at that precise moment. He continued to go on about his step-father, who he claimed to be a violent maniac, and who he blamed for his former addiction and current mental disorder, which I thought was moronic, and I told him that, but he continued to be stuck on his initial thought. I thought that was very independent of him, which I commended.

Since that was basically all he had to share, I continued to go on about myself, talking about how I moved to Tennessee from Massachusetts in the middle of high school, causing me to move away from all of my best friends. I continued to claim that I despised Tennessee with every inch of my being; the people were bigots and there was absolutely nothing to do, as the town we inhabited was basically a desolate wasteland that is forever burned into my mind. Because he dealt with bipolar depression occasionally, I related to him in the fact that I fell into a deep depression at that time. Soon enough, I had graduated from college with a degree in interior design and moved to New York, the city I’ve been dreaming of since the day I was born. That was basically it, though, and we had made it to the bus stop at that point.

We got back to his apartment, and I noticed this little rodent crawling around his living room, which I assumed to be a rat, deeming Jim as an untidy slob. On more immediate examination, I noticed that it was actually a hedgehog, scurrying around in a frantic stupor.

“Oh, you found Alexander,” said Jim. “He’s friendly, all you have to do is rub his fat stomach and he’ll love you for the rest of eternity. I usually talk to myself, since he sleeps all day–they’re nocturnal, you know–but at night, he’s my main source of conversation.”

I picked up the creature, watching him writhe in my palms. I gently glided my index finger across his stomach, and he instantly calmed himself into a tranquil state of body and mind. He was very adorable, and rather unique, as I’d never heard of anyone who had a pet hedgehog.

Jim reached out his hands, as though to tell me to hand him over, saying, “I ought to put him in his cage; he’ll probably be really fussy during the movie. He’s supposed to be in a controlled environment, anyway, so I have to keep him around his little heater thing for a while.”

After placing Alexander in his cage, Jim popped in Kill Bill, Vol. 2, which was rather stereotypical, considering that it was a Quentin Tarantino film, and that was the only director I mentioned liking. Of course I liked other movies, and of course Kill Bill is one of the more typical Tarantino movies, but I thought that fact that he unambiguously listened to me was rather thoughtful and charming.

We sat on his couch, watching the movie for about an hour or so. It was at that point that he leaned into me, and whispered, “I feel something.”

I thought he meant an erection at first, but then I realized that I didn’t have one, so I had to ask, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he claimed. “I just feel this definitive attraction towards you, as though there’s this natural force that’s pulling me towards you. I feel this emotional connection that I’ve never felt before, and I haven’t even spent any more than six hours with you.” He buried his face in my side, and I placed my arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer to me.

I didn’t speak, but I didn’t have to, because I knew he felt me telepathically, telling him that I could feel the exact same thing he was feeling, the synonymous attraction towards each other. I felt a pure equanimity in the air, and as he fell asleep, curling up against me, I could feel him smiling; I couldn’t feel it physically, but I just knew he was smiling beneath me. I looked at his face to actually see him smiling, and I felt a warm feeling in my chest, a yearning to hold him closer, an eagerness to learn more about him, and the hope to continue following our emotions and forthright attraction.

Little did I know, we would end up lasting our entire lifetime together up until this point, fifty-six years after meeting each other. I find it ironic, since that was the same amount of time I had waited for him in the shitty Olive Garden. I guess that’s just how things seem to work out in this crazy world.

Agnes, Bitch

2010-03-23T12:47:00.002-04:00

Cold, weeping;
Seahorse skin on her back,
Plastered with mutilation
Alack.

Cancer cells breed
A sonar film on
The eyes of an
Innocent pawn.

The forecast failed
To determine
The downpour
Within.

To the extreme, she
Breaks through a wall
Made of plastic shadows;
In all,

She believes that,
Maybe, the horror of
A superior human
Shines above.

Zeal

2010-03-21T23:21:00.003-04:00

Where ends meet and forever break,
There shall begin a valiant tale
Of one man's hope and another's discord,
Having not begun to unveil

The deeper signs of growing emotions
That are unpleasant to his mind.
Though, wherein he broke his stature
To believe he was not left behind.

However still he made his stance,
Moreover solid was his grace,
He could not feign cracking the surface
By which he held the opposer's name.

Thus did he make his notion
Where his hands fell to the ground,
For when he bowed below that figure,
He knew that he was more than sound.

Florentine: The Crooning Maiden

2010-03-18T00:44:00.003-04:00

A little more than forever ago,
I found myself at a forgotten brook,
Plagued amidst malnourished ferns
By the likes of begotten looks.

Would I assume, in any degree,
That I were alone at this time,
Should be the downfall of my life,
As I knew that I was in a shrine.

The steps of friars would then invade
The blind canal of mine own ear
And disrupt the thoughts that I, suddenly,
Would never again be able to hear.

As those abbots approached me so,
I bid them not to bark, nor bite,
In the wake of a broken glance
That caused my collapse under their height.

As I screamed in flustered shouts
For someone near to help me, though,
I saw the cross among their necks
And knew exactly where I would go.

Should they thus tear me to bits,
I beg of thee to read this note
So that I may tell thee, in truth,
The sovereign wolves have cut my throat.

A widdle quote 4 u

2010-03-13T00:41:00.000-05:00

" . . . and to take that value away is a scar on the face of humanity."

Sagacious, Withered Thorn

2010-02-15T02:31:00.003-05:00

Jump, hop, do your goddamn foxtrot
And strut your weight for them.
Decimate the means to create
A new person, a new line of man.

Where he may grow, he may wring
The scripture of a malnourished ghost
That can no longer soar,
Can no longer glide among its host.

The bane of humanity lies within
Botches of close calls and fallacy.
Here, one may ask for a plan,
A task that can guide to thee

A suddenly sophisticated tract
Where one can breach from reality;
The means to break from
A pathetic life of normalcy.

God

2010-02-02T12:35:00.002-05:00

Whereas one may stand among
His comrades,
I would stand
Alone.

Such affiliates with disgust,
In a modern sense,
Would bare the burden of
New life.

Fairway;
The clavicle cracked into
Pieces.
A lone man walks to the
Window.
She rose in the wake of his
Splendor;
The notion to bare her child.

Conspirator

2010-01-06T01:07:00.002-05:00

A door once made of glass broke,
Shattered remains on a brick floor.
What was held in that room
That was once shielded by that door?

It now seems empty, filled with nothing
But air and dust, but no one
Ever decided to look upon it
Until the day the door was opened.

In this way, with no one home,
I wonder why I had walked through the mud
Into this old house with nothing in it.
Why is my hand stained with blood?

Harrow

2009-12-18T10:24:00.000-05:00

Atoning The Willow

2009-12-16T23:06:00.004-05:00

O', here I am on an open stage,
Rarin' to go, kickin' in;
Not sure what to do way up here,
But everyone's patience wears so thin.

Maybe someone will throw objections,
Uncertain of inane projections.

Monotony, a scaffold drawn of
Rusted cigarette burns
And hallow, open crevices that lead
Into a dungeon with few turns.

No one seems to stop or stare
But those that exist within the air.

Someone comments from the back end,
Still unsure of what had happened.

Bitter, the crowd is still not pleased,
In silence, they grow dim in shadows
That look like moth balls
Hanging softly, marking gallows.

There is something about uncertainty
That will forever remain to haunt me.

No one stops and no one stares, still
Within the auditorium's bleak mill.

Whereabouts is that man, on that stage?
It seems as though he's run away.

Winter Seraph

2009-12-10T21:55:00.002-05:00

It is a haze, blurry; I can barely recall it, but I remember bits and pieces. The part I remember most is that where I see this small girl with a familiar face, standing on my front lawn. It’s sunny out, but there’s still snow falling downwards from whatever clouds were above us. I guess they decided to pass, only to allow all the children to come out in the sunlight to appreciate the warmth and strength of as they frolic in the frenzy of that first snowfall.

But, anyway, there she stood, on my front lawn. She looked down to the ground to examine the white, crystallized ground which was once green, and she begins to cry. I walk over to her and put a tender hand on her shoulder and ask, “Honey, what is wrong?”

She looked up to me with those teary eyes, golden tendrils of hair obstructing her face. “Where did the grass go? I miss the warm and the green grass, but this cold ice is covering it up.” I looked at her enduringly, watching flakes of snow lace into the strands of her hair. I had originally thought that those wafers of frozen water would desecrate her beauty and innocence, but they, instead, added a certain charm to her appearance, like diamonds dangling firmly in her bright, luscious hair.

“Baby,” I called her, endearingly, “That’s snow. When the year comes to an end around here, the sun gets farther away from Earth, and it, in turn, grows colder, so that when it rains, the raindrops freeze into little flakes called snow. Take a closer look. See how pretty it is?”

She bended her head downward again, this time closer to the ground, checking out the snow and reconsidering the sorrow which she had first encountered. “It is very pretty!” She exclaimed. “Sparkly and pretty!” I laughed, and she laughed with me.

“You know what you can do with the snow?” I asked her.

“What?” She inquired.

I fell onto my back, waving my arms up and down, moving my legs in and out, all in synchronized harmony. I felt the stinging chill of snow underneath me soon enough, and then rose myself off the ground, analyzing the shape I had just made in the snow, along with the little girl. “You can make snow angels!” I told her.

“Let me try.” She said. She mimicked my motions, waving her arms up and down, covering herself in snow. Her nose was about as red as that fictional reindeer’s, but she didn’t seem bothered by the cold. Eyes closed, she smiled passionately, opening them only to look at me for split seconds, still smiling. Then, she arose

I watched, as the shape on the ground grew brilliantly brighter with more illumination than the sun that hung above. I was almost blinded, but I could see that, from the angel on the ground, rose an actual angel in itself. It so closely resembled the girl with golden hair that I thought they may be twins.

“Follow me.” It said to the little girl, both of them smiling. I watched, half-heartedly smiling at the beauty of the moment, as they both gently floated gently into the sky, into the warm comfort of heaven. Tears froze as they dribbled down my face.

That’s when I wake up, looking around, sweating. I get out of my bed, wrapping my arms warmly around my torso. I walk to my window and look outside to see children playing in the snow of the lawn across the street, and I realize how much I wish my daughter were still alive.

Blotted Phallus

2009-11-12T21:28:00.004-05:00

Fingers like needles glide across my
Soft skin, caressing me gently
Into another world I do not know,
But want to learn more about.

Pricking my spine, a catheter
Is placed thus through the hole
Of a broken blister that
Never decided to heal itself.

Injecting fervent toxins into
Every cavity of my being, I'm made
Sure that there isn't a single empty
Space to keep me alive.

However, when they removed that
Tube solely to watch me decease,
The now dull poison dripped sufficiently
Out the way of my mouth, agape.

The needles stroke me further
By way of my fixated groin, longing
For the means of touch, but still,
None like this would I expect.

Would this poison so cure me of
This resilient pain, for I wish
To be taken whole to resist the
Stabs of the warm, rusted talons.

Start The Damn Car

2009-11-06T12:20:00.003-05:00

He sits to my right, finally bored
Of the questionable monotony of the
Whole situation in itself, a smoky
Haze blurring thoughts with reality.

Maybe some day we'll come together in
A placid, yet deformed unison of two,
But, now, I'm still unable to pierce
A single arrow through the thread of his skull.

However, whatever ardor I may perceive
Appears to break way to a cusp of frequent
Malevolence, a willingness to eviscerate
The angel, sitting softly in the silence.

Per the radiance of his glossy wings,
I see this apparent beguilement,
The act of nothing more than a blessing
By his behest, a demon in disguise.

Untitled

2009-11-03T09:22:00.002-05:00

Rip the cursèd, bigot net
With those intrepid nails.
Fiend! Place your bow thus,
Aim for that solid fruit.

Bare with the wind that
Fights its way to the south
To take a bite with its
Gnashing, steel teeth.

Henceforth, will it castrate
The overtones from an
Abstract ghost? Will it
Break into another world?

O', spit not a single dribble
From your sweet, candy mouth,
The membrane lined with
Many bloody blisters.

Reference To A Sloth

2009-10-27T00:59:00.002-04:00

Bas-relief, the etchings
Casting shadows over
Sullen eyes.

Do they blink not?
For what purpose do they serve
Than to make me tear?

For what does this darkness
Appear to reveal other than
A once-believed apparition?

I break my forgotten gaze
Into the trench of
The goaded umbra.

English Essay

2009-10-26T22:40:00.001-04:00

More than excited was I, in my youth, as I gazed upon the object of adoption that rest in my lap: an olde English bulldogge. I had been acquainted to other pups in my past--in fact, we still had another two dogs at home--but never before had I had the full ownership over this living being that was set before me; I could call him mine, and no one else’s. I would take care of him, feed him, bathe him, play with him, love him with every ounce of my being. Though raucous, early in his new environment, he lived upon me with a joyous splendor of companionship; our relationship further grew each passing day, developing a brother-like bond, for I knew no other that would look upon me so perfectly and without judgment. He was the diary for every secret I possessed within me, because by no will would he place pretension over myself or my motives. He knew no better than to love me, for I was the one to provide his food and shelter, to provide unconditional love, as I never had loved something not human so much as I did him. Our bond was unbreakable, as we spread upon each other the joy of friendship and platonic harmony that every soul longs for in its short life.

Yet, it was not far into my ownership--not even two years--that he became stricken with an incurable disease, the dreadful title of myasthenia gravis. Panic immediately struck that morning, as my mother woke me with deep concern, stating, “Your dog can’t stand at all. He’s laying out in the front lawn.” I didn’t even bother to dress myself as I ran outside, feeling bits of apprehension but also disbelief, thinking that nothing could possibly be wrong with him. Under my deep pressure, I was forced to drive him out to an animal hospital that seemed like centuries away, stress beading stinging drops of sweat down my face. They required him to be hospitalized for about a week--quite costly, mind you--until they came up with the diagnosis and proper treatment. For days he had a horrifying limp that reminded me of this disease, but he grew healthier over time. Yet, it was only a year later that his health, yet again, began to deteriorate; he showed signs of heavy breathing, disgustingly heavy salivation, and mucous continuously dripping from his pitch black nostrils that I then looked at with painful nausea. I knew he had pneumonia, which the incurable nerve disease was known to cause, and I knew that his end was near. I started looking at him, in his final days, with hatred, not for him, but for the disease that cursed his body and our once-unbreakable friendship and love. Soon, the day had come where I applied to reality the ominous truth: I would have to put him down; I made the soonest appointment with the local vet that they had. As I carried him to my car, it struck me that he would be leaving me forever. As they injected him with the anesthesia, he was calm and gave me a serene look, in my desolation, of hope and peace, as though he accepted his fate and wanted me to do the same as he slowly died in my arms. His ashes now sit quietly in my room, a haunting, yet tranquil presence of his being still lingering among me. As I sit here, firmly planted in my room, I feel the weakness of remorse for his death, but more so the equanimity of his spirit among me, knowing that he never completely left me at all.

30 Minute Writing Session 1

2009-10-06T23:00:00.002-04:00

It wasn’t too bright of me, but I pulled the trigger anyway. As the blood and brain matter spattered against the wall, I felt a sudden sense of regret, but I couldn’t pull my self away from the sheer sense of satisfaction. There was a sense of accomplishment as I slowly lowered the gun, watching the man’s body collapse to the floor. I didn’t know what to do next but stare at him, dead on the floor, a puddle of blood spreading around him like a dark red hole opening in the floor, ready for him to fall through into the pits of Hell.

Yet, I still cried. There was some sort of innocence inside of me, making me realize the wrong which I had brought upon myself, the crime of taking something from someone to give to myself. In this case, the taking of a life.

I looked at the gray cement mass of a wall that had loomed behind this once-standing, pile-on-the-floor of a man. There was a large splotch of blood, decorated with the speckles of red that surrounded it. The brightness was some sort of scarlet hue, like that of a bottle of bright red spray paint, like some graffiti artist’s cruel work of art. He would stand where I am, looking at his creation, calling it something cliché like “Blood Splat” in his mind, thinking it to be creative. I decided not to title my work of art, but continue to stand there, motionless.

Still, tears rolled down, tickling my cheeks, dropping from my bearded chin. I looked, with watery eyes, back at the body, imagining it coming back to life to claim revenge and maim me, the apparent bullet hole being the last sight I ever lay my eyes upon. I felt anxiety creeping up on me, almost anticipating him to push his body up from the floor, shaking violently, enduring what would seem like a seizure. What would I do then, run? I wouldn’t be able to run then, and I wouldn‘t be able to run from the reality of the situation. I had done it.

Something in my head told me to drop the gun. As I did, I dropped with it, my hands covering my eyes, my throat producing piercing wails, expressing a plethora of emotions that could not be appropriately explained. There were no words to pinpoint exactly what I felt, but it seemed like something inside me had died along with the man, like I had lost every ounce of purity that was buried within my being.

As I look back now, I don’t completely regret what I have done, but I regret the lies I had told myself afterward that led me into the psychological mayhem that had eventually been constructed. I would continually tell myself that the unknown killer on every news channel was someone other than myself. Eventually, it got to the point where I made up so many lies about the situation that I didn’t really have a solid foundation as to what happened anymore. It’s almost as if I had been completely erased, and had to start from scratch.

It’s almost as if I was the one who died.

2009-09-21T22:37:00.001-04:00

Stuck

2009-09-16T21:12:00.000-04:00

He unbuttons his shirt, already open,
With his teeth, in direct contact;
The power of a mouth that had never spoken.

The monster says, as a matter of fact,
That his retirement will never come,
His shadow seeping from every crack.

The devastating fire's hum,
In the paradise of Mexico,
Improves the beating of my drum.

The distinctive humming begins to grow
From the luminescence of his eyes,
Another world; I dare not go.

Further masquerading simple lies,
The mulligans of a fortnight lost
In a never-ending corridor of ice.

Another putback puts me at a loss
As the waves crash close to the shore;
I wouldn't dare try to swim across.

Yet the character of this movie wants no more
Than to turn the knob of that frightening door.

Jungle Jim

2009-09-11T00:04:00.004-04:00

Breathe out
Inane pores.

The crescent shore,
A token of conformity
And a whim.

Never saw this coming,
Did you, friend?

Twilight breaks
Into the bloodshed
That led to
Stalemate.

Venom freaking:
Spotting wormholes
On botched flesh.

Pay up,
Twit.

Face the red,
The killer mass of
Bees.

Entrepreneur
From a distant land,
Won't you take me?

Effervescent little
Scab wound that
Never heals
Like it should.

Candelabra lights
The way home.

There you stand,
Alone,
And in you go.

Not a single person
To hear your cry.

Jingle jangle.

Damascus Claw

2009-09-10T09:18:00.002-04:00

Feign from marking
The ground with silver, glistening
Light from the wings
Of your goddess.

Feral cat attacks
The solid space between
Marred skin and
Ugly teeth.

Sadness beckons
The Fervend shore that
Breaks away the
Single alibi.

Crack the nut to
Reach the core inside the
Shell of indignity,
The feather.

Fervend Maclau

2009-09-09T00:12:00.003-04:00

Dead meaning in senescence,
Calculating the trinity within.

Serpent tongue speaks tragedy
In opulent cancer trees.

Cite it right or pay the price;
I'll cut your tongue with my fingernail.

Join the crowd to start the light
And cast the rain down to the skin.

A certain death breeds
Major notions
Into Maclau,
The silver ocean.

Vile Demand III

2009-09-08T01:01:00.001-04:00

Marred like skin on broken people,
After dreaming, upon a plate,
Naught of knowledge I know to date.
Delivering prayers at secluded steeple,
Etching charms into the brick.
Vocal atonement in my teeth,
I hear a sound from beneath,
Layered through brick floors, thick,
Like the curse I prayed for in sleep;
Ends the dream I couldn't speak.

Vile Demand I

2009-09-07T00:22:00.001-04:00

Many times, I've found myself:
Avarice on a broken shelf,
Not thinking twice about the books;
Down they fall, yet I took
Everything that couldn't matter less.
Very quiet, alone at best,
Inside a box of cracked glass;
Like tombs, we grow dim, at last,
Lowering myself down the broken shelf,
Ever since I lost myself.

For A Cancer

2009-09-06T01:34:00.001-04:00

Whilst upon mine empty bosom, breathing
Lengths at which I find thee seething,
It takes form,

Naught to wait for but an edifice,
Knot in my throat, unwilling to break this
And keep me warm.

The line at which I cannot bear
But to look upon thin air is all that is there.
Even in this swarm,

Darest thee take the stand alone
To stake this wretched burst of stone?
I could have sworn,

Upon mine own body and soul, alive,
That thine ignorance would forever thrive
In the coming storm.

Secular Vehicle

2009-09-05T02:04:00.002-04:00

Far off, but not forgotten;
The wind holds a sign
Of healing. Spots and

Such cloud my mind,
which no longer continues to
Ever climb.

Walk a mile in my damn shoes
And face your own self.
Lying naked, too,

You reach your hands to defend
The final blow you would never find
Would come to harm you;
Neither would I, myself.

Gravis

2009-09-04T23:51:00.001-04:00

Bitterly, he lays on hollow sheets
Like someone cut him open
Where every nerve meets.

Not a single word is spoken,
But, in his eyes, I can only see
How dead he is, spirit broken.

Naught to say, but for me,
Every word is compiled here.
With every straining breath he

Comes forth and still cheats
Me out of frowning, hoping
That maybe, one day, we
Will meet again when it is clear.

Cipher

2009-09-03T18:43:00.001-04:00

Malevolent being, in mine hand,
A stark approaching scathes mine ear,
Turning, shocked, taking no stand.

Little tokens break my fear
As conclaves crack further,
The mark of a single tear.

Sagittarian cancers murder
Soft, unspoken, secret whispers,
Unbothered by a present murmur.

Apparent sloth, though very grand,
Takes his hook to make it clear;
Searing flesh and bone, the burner
Through the surface of these blisters.

Scanty Savior

2009-09-02T21:01:00.000-04:00

Still awkward,
I'm wondering if you
Can see through the
Back of my head, too.

Like the surface can,
Your pierce your glare
Through my empty skull.
Are you aware

Of your surroundings?
The rumbling grows;
A strange man walks
Where the wind blows.

Can you say that we
Are alone at this
Moment? I don't
Think that his

Knives are unsheathed,
But as he stumbles
Towards us, your
Crooked cap mumbles

Something about wanting
To get farther than
This, somewhere
In that vitriol land.