RuDe PeRsOn

"He suffers from a new illness called Narcissisticism."

"That's not really new is it?  I mean lots of people are narcissistic..."

"Yes, but this is a much more serious case, that doctors have finally decided to label.  You see what happens with Narcissisticism is the person suffers from the delusion that they are the most important person in the world. What makes it sad is that the poor people who suffer from this are fully aware of it, it must be so painful for them."

"Wait...so they think they're the most important person in the world...but they know that they aren't?"

"No, they think they are, they're just self-aware that they think they're the most important person, and so they're stuck in an endless cycle of narcissism that they know they have but can't help."

"Ok...not totally following you...but umm....well, what are the symptoms of it?"

"Well people who suffer from this disease typically interrupt people frequently, they'll often cut people off on the road while driving, or even cut in line at a store.  They tend to complain to managers about anything and everything when they go out.  They never hold the door open for other people, and they never, EVER say bless you if someone sneezes.  Also if you ever do anything nice for them they'll very rarely say thank you, and in the near impossible event that they've done something for you in which you thank them, there is about a 98.7% chance that they will not say you're welcome.  Not the LAST, but the last major symptom at least, is that they literally will act like everyone works specifically and only for them.  So yeah, there's a lot more symptoms but those are the major ones."

"......that just sounds like a rude person."

Another Zombie Story

Another Zombie Story

It was a typical cliche beginning to his horror story.  Jim had been rollerblading with Tina when he had tripped on a rock and hit his head.  He was not sure how long he had been out, but he woke up in an empty hospital.  He opened his eyes and looked around the room, his vision blurry.  He reached around on the bed-side table and found his glasses and put them on.  Now he could see.  The room was empty.  Sunlight poured in through the window, but he heard nothing.  No voices, no birds chirping, no sounds of cars.  It was all quiet.  He slowly climbed out of his bed, his muscles stiff and sore from not being used for who knew how long.  There was a vase of dead flowers on his bed-side table.  Classic.  It was a tell-tale sign that he had been out for a while, because no one had been in to replace them or even water them.  The vase was dry.  His mouth was dry, he needed water, or something to drink.

He left the room and wandered the empty halls.  The lack of presence of people worried him.  But what worried him even more were the messaged graffiti on the walls, obviously left by people who happened to have spray paint on them during the evacuation, and decided to take time to write all over the hallways.  The messages said things like "Hell has been unleashed!" and "The dead walk!"  or  "No hope left."  The one that frequented the walls the most was "George Bush Sucks," though those were probably done before whatever had happened.  Jim guessed that the walking dead that the messages referred to meant that society had finally collapsed and been overrun by robots.  It was the most obvious explanation.  After all, he was now seeing blood splattered all over the floor.  The robots had clearly massacred the humans.  How he had been over-looked, he didn't know.  But he knew now what he must do.  It was up to him to destroy the robots, find some brawd and reestablish the population.  It was not going to be easy, but he was up to the task.

He made his way to the waiting room and found a soda machine that had been busted open, most likely by the robots thinking it was some sort of mechanical machine...which it was...but that didn't matter, it had drink.  Jim grabbed a can and barbarically opened it and began gulping down the fizzy, sugary beverage.  He then grabbed a grocery bag with a smiley face on it from the floor and filled it with cans of soda.  He found some nurse scrubs and changed from his hospital gown into those.  As he made his way towards the exit he saw a door at the end of the hall.  It had been chained shut and someone had spray-painted the word "Poop" across the front.  But what really caught his attention was the fact that the door was moving back and forth, as if something...or someone was pushing on it from the other side.

"Hey!"  he shouted running down the hall.  "Don't worry I'll get you out of there!"  He grabbed a crowbar from the ground (because those are everywhere in the apocalypse) and used it to pry the chains off the door.  "There, now you're free, come on out!"

The door was slowly pushed open and out walked Sylvester Stallone, but not the normal one.  No, this Stallone had been turned into (GASP!) a zombie.  Jim's first reaction was scream like a girl, fling the crowbar at the undead movie star who had once been his hero, and then run away.  His second reaction was to continue running, and he kept on screaming for good measure.  Stallone was followed by a large group of zombies, only a handful of which were previously famous stars, including Shia LaBeouf, Donald Trump, and Shirley Temple (WTH?).  Jim made it to the exit and rushed out side.  He ran and hid under a car.  The mob of zombies rushed out of the hospital after him, but not seeing him decided to just stand around aimlessly staring at nothing.  Jim's fear turned to pity.  Those poor creatures...turned to zombies by the robots, left to do totally nothing, or to eat other living human beings.

I wish I could help them.  He said to himself.  Maybe if I figure out how the robots turned them into zombies then I can reverse the effect.

Jim quietly and carefully crawled our from under the car and sneaked away from the hospital.  He made his way into the suburbs where he passed a church.  Since it was the robot apocalypse and the world was ending, he figured he should go in and maybe pray or something.  People usually seemed to ask God for help if they were in trouble.  But only when they were in trouble, if things were going alright then they didn't need God.  But Jim thought this constituted as a good time to need God.  He opened the doors and walked inside.  He had never been in a church before, so he decided to just climb to the top of the bell tower, figuring God would hear him better if he was up higher.

As he was climbing he remembered Tina.  He wondered what had happened to her.  Tina, the love of his life.  Oh well, crap happens.

He got to the top of the tower and looked out over the neighborhood.  It was then that he realized he had been mistaken.  Robots could not possibly be involved because robots ran on power and there was NO power.  DUN DUN DUN.  He also began spotting more and more zombies wandering around throughout the suburbs.  He had been utterly mistaken.  It was not a robot apocalypse, it was a zombie apocalypse.

"This just got real."  he said aloud to himself.

He knelt down to pray but he heard a noise from below.  Something...or someone, was climbing the tower steps.  He grabbed his bag of soda and crouched next to the door.  The door flew open and Jim swung his bag of soda cans.

"DOH!"  said the woman falling down.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, I thought you were a zombie!"  The woman's nose was bleeding badly and she glared at him.

"You jerk, what the heck is wrong with you?"

"Well hey, I'm really sorry!"

"Yeah?  Well I'm sorry too!" she said pulling a gun from behind her.

"Where in the heck did you pull that from," asked Jim staring down the barrel.

"Who the heck are you, and how did you find my hideout up here?" asked the woman.

"My name is Jim, and this is Wilson," he said waving the grocery bag with the smiley face on it.

"Cute...I'm Tara," said the woman.

"You're also hot, we should repopulate the earth."

"What the heck is wrong with you?  Don't you realize how serious this situation is?"

"Yes, it's seriously hot.  Don't tell me you've never thought about making love in a zombie apocalypse before?"

"Oh my gosh...of course, of all the survivors I find I would have to find some idiot of a guy.  Why couldn't I find the perfect companion like in the movies?"

"Babe, we are perfect companions..."  He winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Goodbye dick," she said walking away.

"My name isn't Dick, it's Jim!" he said running after her.

"Would you just leave me alone?"

"But what about the sex?"

"I'M NOT HAVING SEX WITH YOU!"  she yelled in his face.

"You're even hotter when you're angry you know."  He said.  She spit in his face and stormed off.

"Wait, come back!"

"Leave off," she said.

"Please!"

"Shush," she said stopping suddenly.

"What is it?"

"I said shut up...there's zombies coming, they must have heard you yammering up there.  Good job idiot."  She began walking away.

"Wait we should stick together right?  Power in numbers right?"  She ignored him and kept walking.

He stood there staring after her.  He could hear the infected coming.  But he didn't run.  He didn't hide.  He let the zombies eat him.  Why?  Because Jim was an idiot.

Moral of the story.  Don't be an idiot.

Utter Nonsense

Twenty plus five is the letter A
Purple plus a bushel of hens is a good stew
Micro clouds rain down a plethora of forks
But the intro to the book is sung as an opera

Fashion says a lot about what you say
Ugly isn't a statement but a type of shoe
Hippos fly much like average storks
And the intro to my book is thrown away like the opera

Happiness abounds in the midst of natures sway
It tastes so good if you step on it with your crew
And then the explosions shutter thousands of corks
So then the intro to your book is shattered like the opera

Vengeance

Swift and abrupt was his justice
True we his marks and sudden were their deaths
Brutal was the word to describe his punishment
His vengeance was bloody and graphic
That was how he was known
He was sent to destroy evil, and to punish
None could oppose him or stand in his way
All who did were obliterated
He was death

Captured

He rose from the ground blood gushing from the side of his head.  He'd been shot.  Not the first time either.  His long hair was sticky and wet now and clinging to his face.  He stumbled across the mossy forest floor grabbing onto trees for support.  He could hear the dogs barking behind him and the shouts of the men chasing him.  This was it.  He knew he was done for.  There was no escaping them this time.  If only he hadn't come to this place.  If only he had listened to the good doctor.  If only if only.  He fell to the ground again.  He crawled to a rock and slumped up against it.  He had to rest for a moment.  It didn't really matter any way, he was going to be captured one way or another and taken back to...the place.  He shuttered at the thought.  He closed his eyes.

Suddenly he awoke.  He was still in the forest, but he wasn't bleeding anymore.  His head was completely healed.  He looked up and saw her standing there, looking beautiful in a white dress.  She couldn't be real.  He had to be dreaming.  She was dead.  He knew that.  She walked towards him.  He went to speak but she put her finger up to his lips and then kissed him.  She stared into his eyes with joy in her own.  But then she looked behind him and her eyes widened in terror.  He looked behind him and saw the men and dogs coming.  He looked back and she was gone.  

He fell to his knees again, suddenly bleeding from the head again.  He stood up again and began running.

But a shot rang out.  For the third time in his life he had been shot.  But this one killed him.  

Captured, escaped, and killed.  

Better than being there, so many said.  

The men stood around his body and the dogs growled at his corpse.  One man whistled and motioned at the dogs and they pounced on the dead body and began to tear it apart.  

"No evidence."  said the man.

Because You Told Me Too-Some Haiku Of The Mind

You told me to do
What I wanted to do and
Now I am outside

   *   *   *

Breeze of the soft kind
Following through the mist of
Shadows all around

   *   *   *

Broken hearts of long
Sadness does not live in you
Hopeful sirens sound

   *   *   *

Because you told me
I have come to the very end
Soul vulnerable 

   *   *   *

Hopeless wandering
Matching the long night
Beautiful love

Who You Are

A beautiful crossroads at the center of the world
Every direction is a new adventure to be had
Trees changing color from green to gold
And the dust and dirt is fine and soft on the toes
The sky is blue with fluffy white clouds throughout
The sun is pleasantly warm with a cool breeze
There are beautifully colored birds flying about
This is who you are
This is how I am
This is what I know, what we know
This is who you are

Inside A Little Mind

There is a place a peace I can show you
Take you there if you take my hand
A place of wonder and serenity
A place where you can view the land
Mountains and trees or deserts and oceans
Whatever you want to see
Wherever you want to live
And the sand is soft and pleasant between your toes
The breeze is cool but not cold, perfect in your hair
On your face and skin it blows gently and calmly
This place exists in all of our minds
It's a sanctuary, a safe haven, an escape
And anyone can see it, anyone can enter it
Inside a little mind, there is a big world

How to do a sick jump on a dirt bike...

I've never ridden on a dirt bike before
I think I could do it
Just put gas in the tank and turn it on
Rev the engine a bit and get going
then you go off a jump
Do a sweet twist in the air
Maybe some donuts in the dirt
Cause a dust storm, a mini one anyway
I guess that's how you do it
Do a sick jump on a dirt bike...
Maybe...

And now I shall say something illogically logical.

If you could go back in time to the past and change the future, could you go forward in time and change the past?

Think about that while you're eating your fruit rollups and drinking sodi-pop.

Also I can't count to like twenty in Spanish.

Also I like dogs.  And cats sometimes.

Ok I'm done.

This Is Goodbye

He stood on the edge of the bridge.  It was late.  Past midnight.  There were no cars coming by and no one saw him.  No one would stop him.  He wanted someone to stop him, deep down.  But no one was there.  Not a soul.  Just the empty road below him and the empty road behind him.

No street lamps either.  Well there was one, but it was out.  Typical.  Typical for his city.  Such a crap-hole.  Whatever, it wasn't his problem anymore.  He looked down.  The cool night air gently rustled past his hair.  He needed a haircut.  Maybe he'd get one tomorrow.  Or not.

He looked up at the stars.  So many stars.  Just a crescent moon, smiling at him all lopsided like.  So many stars.  The air brushed past him again, seemingly colder than before.  It was nice though.  The day had been hot and muggy.  Now it was cool and crisp out.  The day.  Oh man.

What a day.  Late to work do to a flat tire for the first time in his life.  Yeah, he'd never been late to work before, ever.  But that didn't stop his boss from yelling at him in front of the whole darn office.  Making him looking like a fool.  Like an idiot, like it was his fault he had gotten a flat tire of the way to work and had to change it on the side of the stupid freeway.  Everything went wrong that day.

Every day was a living hell for him but today had been the last straw, which was why he was here.  Not only had his boss yelled at him but an hour later a meeting was calling listing all the employees being laid off in a month.  He was on the list.  Oh joy, now to look for another job.  He'd been laid off more times than he could count in the past few years.  It wasn't his work, he was a great employee.  It was economy.  The crappy economy in his crap-hole city.  Then on his lunch break he spilled coffee all over himself.  Not a big deal, except he was yelled at again for not having a clean suit in the office.  Again, like it was his fault.  Stupid Debrah had bumped into him.  So that was his day at work.  When he got home he had a lovely eviction notice on his door.  Some bull crap about the neighbors complaining about his piano playing.  This was not possible since he had an electric piano which he used headphones for.  There was no way.  No way the neighbors could hear him playing.  Not only that but he had never even received any complaints personally.  It was all bull crap.

Things just weren't working out for him.  They never had.  From his dad leaving the family at the age of seven to his mom becoming an abusive alcoholic shortly after, and then being bullied all through school up until college.  College wasn't much better.  He did great in his classes but he had no friends, and no one wanted to be his friend it seemed.

Except her.  Emily.  She was a God-send.  She was the only good thing...and THE ONLY good thing in his life.  She's been there for him through most of his college, through most of his career life, and she was with him now.  He was going to marry her some day.  He was.  Not anymore.  That was the last thing he had to do.  He had to call Emily.  Just hear her voice one last time.

He dialed her number and stared up into the sky again as the phone rang.  He was afraid she wouldn't pick up but then...

"Hello?"

"Emily..."

"Hey honey, how are you?"

"Emily...I'm so sorry..."

"What?  What are you sorry for?"

"Emily...this is goodbye..."

"What?  What are you talking abo-"

The stars twinkled down and the moon kept smiling sideways.  The gentle breeze blew and the night went on.  His body lay almost peacefully on the blacktop below the bridge.  His shattered phone lay next to him, the cracked screen displaying a picture of him and Emily.  They were both smiling.

Caddlemen Estate

Rain splattered the muddy ground relentlessly.  Lightning flashed and thunder clapped and the horses reared their heads in anger as the drive whipped them endlessly, urging them forward down the road.  Inside the carriage sat a man whose name had not been heard in those parts for a decade.  He was tall and thin, with dark hair and a long dark beard.  He was young, but his face was worn, as though he were older.  He had seen many a rough time in his life, even though he was in fact young.  He was but twenty-five years of age.  His name was Ashton.  He was the last surviving heir of the Caddlemen family.  He had left when he was fifteen to work in the city.  Upon hearing of his parents death, and that their mansion was granted to him along with their fortune he was returning to his home town of Crem to settle the business with the estate.

And he arrived.  The front gates were blowing around in the wind and creaking eerily.  The great mansion looked disturbingly haunted in the dark stormy weather.  There was a light on in one of the upstairs windows.  Ashton thought this was strange as there wasn't supposed to be anyone in the house.  He approached the door, and as he did so the light upstairs went out. He took out the key and unlocked the front door. It opened with a loud groan of old wood and hinges.  He stepped inside and took off his coat and hung it on the coat hanger next to the entrance.  He squinted around in the dark and spotted a candle sitting on the center table in the middle of the room.  He approached it and took out his matchbook and lit the candle.  The flame flickered to life and settled warmly as he raised the candle above his head to see a view of the room.  It was a large entry with the center table in the middle, two tables against the side walls and two sets of stairs leading up to the second and third levels.  Lighting lit up the inside of the house here and there, and thunder continued to grumble and rumble outside.

"Hello?"  Ashton called out.  "Is anyone here?"

He made his way upstairs, holding the candle out in front of him.

Outside the driver unloaded his luggage and then left, heading back towards town.

Inside there was silence.

Caddlemen estate stayed silent forever more.  Talk of what happened to Ashton stirred in Crem for decades after that.  But no one knew for certain.  Lights went on and off in the house, shadowy figures were seen through the windows and someone said they saw Ashton walking the grounds one early, foggy morning.  Some said they heard screams coming from the mansion at night or during the day.  But ivy slowly enveloped the mansion and windows were covered in dust and dirt.  Kids would dare each other to get close to the house.  But that ended when a child entered the house and never came back.  The parents begged the police to search the house but the police insisted the child and simply run away from home.  In reality everyone knew even the police were to afraid of the house to search it.

Ashton sat in his chair up on the second level.  It was a large chair, leather bound and quite comfortable.  He sat next to the fire.  His body was all but lifeless it seemed.  Deep sunken eyes, long gray, stringy hair and beard, and his clothes torn and his skin gray and rotting.  He mumbled to himself as he stared into the fire.  The dead child's skin lay on the ground on front of the fire as a rug.  The unholy spirits circled Ashton as he smirked and mumbled as he stared at the flames.  This was his estate, and his rules.  The spirits made him.  They knew him, and he knew them.  This was Caddlemen Estate.

People Like That

They're angry, they're mad, they're scared
There's people like that
They're happy and glad, and exhausted with life
There's people like that
He's a coward, she's a wimp, they're just afraid
There's people like that
He's a hero, she's a champion, they're overcomers
There's people like that
He's a psycho, she's a freak, they're a little messed up
Yeah there's people like that
He's a murderer, she's a thief, they're criminals
Yeah there's people like that
He's a straight, she's gay, they're homosexuals
There's people like that
He's religious, she's an atheist, they have their differences
Yeah there's people like that
He's black, she's white, there's different color skin
Yes, there are people like that
And so what?  Who cares?  Aren't we all people, made in His image?
Yes there are all sorts of people
And God loves them all
He's loved, she's loved, we're all loved
Yes, we're people like that

Epitome

A.
B.
C.
The very first three
Reasons why
1.
2.
3.
Trying to set you free
And I'm alive

So an animal can drink from the river
But I can't, my mouth is sealed shut

Stricken down by a single blow to the mind
Of another kind, from somewhere far away

And if a man can't find himself
What does he have left?

An empty shell, of knowledge and pain
Planning to dispute the epitome of anger

Bless the Lord

Crawling up my spine
Like a spider up its web
These chills up and down
Separating truth from doubt

And the purpose of it all
Is to end what pain has given
In the end who matters
Is the beginning of who doesn't

Every breath is a gift
Every death is a blessing
All this pain is your fault
And the scars are there to bare

But the chills render me useless
As I fall to my bloodied knees
I speak to myself
I know the truth is real

And I bless the Lord
O my soul
Bless the Lord
Who brought me here

Rise Up

Forcefully waiting for the end to come
But a new beginning dawns upon you
When all is lost and hope has faded
Springs up a a light anew
And with comes a new found courage
Strength from deep within
That pounding of the drum goes on
Carried by the wind
Elegant phrases spoken by lying tongues
To please your ears and mind
But you know better than it listen
And push them far behind
Rise up against the evil tides
Rise up against the enemy
Rise up against the evil waves
And from within find thee

I'm Still Learning

So I have to believe
Much I have to learn
Forever we'll be free
Loving you has been wonderful
Me not so much
So I'll be on my way
Much I have to learn
Forever we'll be free
Loving me has been a challenge
You have been so patient
I cannot being to repay
Love is all you know is seems
You have loved me forever
You have given everything for me
Love is all you know it seems
Me not so much sadly
But I'm learning...

Oak

He'd forgotten what his name was, let alone how to spell his own name.  How sad.  How hilarious.  Depends on the person you're speaking to don't it?  Either way he had no idea who he was.  So the man asking him wouldn't be getting any kind of answer any time soon.  Regardless he continued to punch him in the face repeatedly when he failed to respond.

"What's your name?"  asked the man.

"I don't know...honestly," said the other taking a moment to spit out some blood.

The man punched him again.  This time a tooth so lovingly dislodged itself from his gums and flew across the room, causing more blood to fill his mouth.  His top lip was split as well and his nose was most likely broken.  His left eye was starting to swell.

Why couldn't he remember his name?  If he could then this whole game of punching bag would end.  He couldn't remember what he'd been doing, or how he got here.  He just woke up in this room tied to the horridly uncomfortable wooden chair.  Wasn't really his taste in style either.  He'd have preferred something oak.  Oh yeah?  Oak?  You like Oak?  That could be your name for now.  The man raised his fist again so he spat up some more blood and then said , "My name is Oak."

"Oak?  What kind of a name is that?  Doesn't matter.  Tell me, Oak, why you're here.  Why were you inside the facility?"

Facility?  That sort of rang a bell for him.  It sounded familiar to him.  But why?  He didn't know what it was, and of course had no idea why he was here or what he had been doing beforehand.

"Honestly...I don't even know.  I can't remember anything okay?  I just woke up here tied to your ugly chair."

"You don't remember huh?"  asked the man.  "So if you won't talk then I have no choice but to put you in the program."

"Program?  What do you mean?"

"You'll find out soon enough.  I can only imagine that's what you were here for.  You and all your nasty reporter friends always trying to butt in on what we do here."

"Where is here?  Where the heck am I even?"

"Stop playing dumb kid, you know exactly where you are and what you were doing.  No matter, that's all part of your past now.  Your future begins here, Oak....Take him away boys."

Two men in suits untied him from the chair and began directing him towards the only door in the room.  The third man watched as he wiped his scrapped knuckles with a damp towel.  The two men brought him down a series of hallways until they came to what looked like a series of cells.  They opened the last one on the left and threw him inside.  It was a padded cell, but padded with a strange material that he had never felt before.  It felt thick and strong, almost like a bullet/stab proof material of some sort.  He couldn't help but notice several deep cuts in the material on one side.

"Have a nice stay," chuckled one of the men in suits.

They closed the door and the cell went pitch black.  There was no light whatsoever.  So here he was, now part of some program and he had no idea where he was or what his name was...wait...Paul.  That was his name.  How sad.  How hilarious.  Either way, he didn't care for that name much now that he thought about it, Oak was a much better name....Yes, he'd be Oak from now on...

Cattle of the Roam

Fog rolls in, clouds form
The thunder is loud
And then here comes the storm

Perish into the night
The devil is laughing
As you run head first to the fight

Envy not caring
Be there with me
You know not what you're sharing

Cattle this and roam around
I can't stop
Making the ending sound

Unsettling And Beautiful

It crept up upon me like a vine crawling up a trunk of a tree
Wrapping itself around and around until it fully envelops me
Your love it swept up from behind me and tapped me on the shoulder
I turned to find nothing because I was so blind, so very blind
Yet you were there smiling right at me, your love screaming  my name
And then I finally saw it, your love staring me in the face, and your smile
It was unsettling and yet so beautiful at the same time, your love
It was your love, it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me...

Haunted

I feel like I can't sleep right now.
I feel like I'm haunted by my past.
Mistakes I've made I never learn from...
Opportunities missed and forgotten,
Or not so forgotten at all...
I feel like I can't sleep at all
Because my skeletons in the closet
They're making a ruckus
Such a noise that I'll never get to sleep
And my mind is spinning in circles
I can't keep up with my own thoughts
They're racing, round and round in my head
I'm so haunted...by everything
I'm disturbed
I'm losing my mind
These ghost haunting me
Are making me lose my mind...

He Will Carry You

Through the flames that swallow us like fiery mouths
He will carry you
With love and adoration unconditional
He will carry you
Even when you kick and scream in defiance
He will always carry you
To the end of your days, until your dying breath
He will carry you in His arms
To heaven's gates and to eternal paradise
He will carry you
Forever and ever onward
He.  Will.  Carry.  You.

Sick

You reached, you liar, you bearer of falsehoods
Stumbling on your own wounds that you've given yourself
If only you could've seen, if only you had understood
Crashing upon the rocks, you're your own undoing
Let me tell you this, you make me sick

I will never be there for you again
You've thrown away every chance you've been given
You've thrown yourself into the pit of snakes and become them
You're a serpent, one with forked tongue
You filthy monster you make me sick

I cannot love you, I cannot lie
I'll always love you, at least I'll try
You horrid serpent you make me sick
I'm so so sorry for you, but you make me sick

Failure

You try so hard but you fall and you fail
That's all you can do
You can try so hard
But no matter what you will fail
Born to lose, we are
You try so hard but fall and you fail
Beating the crowd in the hail
The storm, the storm blows
And your fear of failure shows
So try your best I know you will
But you will always fail, fail still

Bug Eye

Capital gains and such are those not to be trifled with
Anyone know what I'm talking about because I don't
Are we all listening to the same tunes a second time around?
Or are we marching to a different beat that no one knows
Bug eye this and bug eye that, jumping out of your skin
At the drop of a hat
Wishing wells where people go to die and be reborn
It's a funny thing when you understand the rest of the lives
Translating for speakers not of this world
Something is missing on the most beautiful and ugly way
So bug eye this and bug eye that, you can always find me
At the drop of a hat
Am I making sense and am I being clear?
Or must I repeat myself over and over again for your sake
Like a jumping bean that can't quit find it's bounce
A snake that slithers backwards and a fish that swim in the water
Yes, bug eye this and that, you'll never understand
The drop of a hat

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What is the meaning of life
I don't know
Give me an answer worth fighting for
That's all I have to to say
What is the meaning of strife
Even flow
Tell me something that I've said before
That's how I want the way

Speak if you know what's good for you
I've got a notion to break on you too
And the mischievous end is nigh
While you're feeling so mighty and high

I can't bring you back
You're the one who's acting wack
Bleed for what it's worth
I can't force you the truth

So end it all from the top of a bridge
I won't fight you anymore from the ridge
Be what you want it's only your call
I'll be the one who catches your fall

I love you, I love you
I can't teach you
I won't speak for you
I won't be there for you

But I'll always be right beside you...

Mystery and Fantasy

Mystery separates reality.  Reality separates fantasy.
But in the moment there is peace and tranquility in the utmost extreme sense of those terms. Everlasting joy, triumph and existence is perfect.
But when we open up and dissect what mystery is there is a fine line between the reality and the dreams and the only explanations are madness.
People think we are crazy for the dreams that we have but yet they fail to realize how precious fantasy is.
Reality is a crushing blow.  It is heavy and dark and dank and altogether a repulsive aspect of life.
Having to live in reality is our duty and therefore not what we strive towards.
Instead we all strive towards a fantasy and dreams to live lives that we find more entertaining and hopeful.
So what I want to say is...it's okay to live in a fantasy world every now and then.
Escape reality.  I know we all need that.  I know we all need that...

Showers

We live like the world is ours
Full time jobs with trucks packed up showers
Golden skies and broken bottles
But we don't care we're full throttle
Like dancing on the beach wasn't enough
Driving for hours and music and stuff
Hard feelings for new days
Everybody yelling their own way
And the trees all sway to the beat
But I'm just trying to get out of the heat
Wet and tired and ready to die
Don't tell me that, I don't want you to lie
Let's curl up in a ball
Leaning against the wall in the hall
All the lights off and a candle for atmosphere
I think I could maybe just stay here

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If I had words to describe I would
If I could change things that were said I would not
If you could hurt me again I'd let it happen
If I could hurt you again you know I never would
If I could say it in words I would
I would if I could, but I can't, because I won't
If you're reading this I'm sorry
If you're reading this then maybe you understand
So explain because I don't...

Saying Sorry...

What makes it right?
What makes it wrong?
When your head is spinning
And you can't tell black from white
Trying to do whats right
And knowing you've done wrong
A mistake is a mistake no matter how small
Saying sorry gets you only so far after all...

A Happy Little Poem

I have fallen into a state of joy
In times of sorrow I will rejoice
Though shadows surround me
Happiness is what I feel
Because that is the only way
To live your life when you say
I am fallen
I am fallen and weak
So listen to my voice as I speak
We are strong and true
This hardship we'll get through

Anxiety

Second to last but never first
You try to run and you always fall
Stuffing into a coffin as you go
Strung up by your heels by your regrets
And your meaning of time is set in stone
Whisper of endless time lost long ago
Sailing among the stars like a bird lost at sea

I hope you've made the right decision
These choices don't come lightly
I can't choose to have these visions
Gripping the edge of your seat tightly

I'm digging through mistakes just to find some good
The right I've done is at the bottom
Because I ain't done much good in the world
But I've left my mark and I've said my piece
You've left me no reason and no doubt
That I'm lost in the jungle of greed and hate
So here I go again calling your name...

So I hope you've made the right decision
I'm telling you these choices, they don't come lightly
I can't choose to have these visions
I see you gripping the edge so tightly

I am the darkness in your mind
I am the panic in you head
I am dragging you down and laughing the whole time
I am your depression invading your sanity
You're losing your mind and I'm laughing about it

Do you feel that itch?  It's me screwing with your mind
Do you hear that voice?  It's me whispering evil in your ear
Do you want to cut yourself and make yourself bleed?  I'll hand you the knife
Do you have the urge to end your life?  Guess what, that's me as I laugh the whole time

And I'm laughing the whole time too, because this has to be a joke...
This can't be real...this is not real...I am not real...

When You're Being Held Back

A little bit goes a long way
Just sit down and hear what I say
I'm tired of trying so hard and getting nowhere
But I'll make it further that you I swear
You think you can break me and cut me down
What I'm bringing to the table is a new sound
Other people get pissed off and angry
When things get weird you start acting strangely
I look the other way
I tear out another page
From this book of lies you've written
And these words are smitten
You've bitten off more than you can chew
Let me promise, I'm done with you

A World In Tears

Order turned into chaos, chaos turned into madness, madness turned into fear, and fear...well, fear was all that was left.

The cities burned.

The people died, and the world slipped into a darkness so deep that the sun itself could no longer penetrate it.

Plant life withered away.

Animals became more civil than humans and retreated into far corners of the earth where the blood and war was less.

In the end there was so much blood that the oceans themselves turned red and the dirt was stained crimson.

In an empty field of debris and falling buildings stands a man.

He is holding in his hands the only shred of sanity that he has left.

A book.

His book from before the war.

A history of his life that he had kept since he could remember.

He held it close to his chest as he fell to his knees, finally giving into his one and only remaining friend: death.

Fear was snuffed out by death, and death turned into a myth, myth became the end of time.

Collide

Pick up the pieces when our hearts collide
Defeat my purpose and I cannot confide
Broken apart by a senseless decree
Yearning to fly, yearning to be free
Battling the inside of the soul
Fighting a fight and losing control
You cannot win, you cannot lose
Stuck in a struggle forced to take the abuse
So you pick up the pieces when your heart collides
Feeling and freeing your mind and taking in strides
You've had enough, but it's never enough
Hurting yourself more than anyone just because
And so you cry out in anguish and frustration
And you stare into the eyes of the manifestation
Ugly are you, and beauty is love
Hurting yourself because, because, because...
But hope still remains as you lift your hanging head
You take the hand and your fears become dead
Your eyes are shining with tears and you look above
As you and your body collide with love

Blood Sky

Tora begot Ablam, Ablam begot Thagar, Thagar begot Temon, Temon begot Lucius, Lucius begot Fangar, Fangar begot Elmis, and Elmis begot Tablan who begot Ebor.  Thus lay the genealogy of Ebor's family.  They were not high-born folk, nor were they poor peasants.  They were a middle-class family who lived in the great city of Thamopolis.  Ebor, like his father's before him was a blacksmith.  He was no common blacksmith though.  For he had Elf blood in his veins.  Elves were known for their natural ability to forge beautiful and even sometimes magical metals.  Ebor was, unfortunately, the least skilled of all his family as a blacksmith.  Nevertheless he worked at it day and night, forging blades and armor that would sell for nothing but the highest price.  Ebor himself had forged King Mormont's current set of armor and blade.  The King's blade was short and broad with a hilt that twisted like tree roots.  The pommel was in the shape of a two sided flower with delicate petals.  Elven runes were etched into the blade and it was forged with spells that kept the blade from dulling.  It was probably Ebor's finest work, though he knew that his father or his father before him could have done better.  Still Ebor was the best smithy in the city, probably in all the land of Aeron.

One day Ebor was working, hammering away at the blade of what would soon be a beautiful exotic looking scimitar.  A man in a cloak with the hood drawn up walked into the workshop.  Ebor thought it was odd that the man wore a heavy cloak, with the hood up no less, because it was very hot out, as most days were during the summer months in Thamopolis.  The man's face was hidden by the hood, his head bowed down towards the ground.  In fact Ebor was not so sure the man even had a face beneath the hood.  Everything about the man was strange and slightly frightening.

"Hello there," said Ebor.

"Greetings, blacksmith," the man said in a raspy, low voice.

"How can I be of service?"

"I wish you to make me a blade."

"What sort of blade, most customers who want a custom blade have a drawing of sorts, some kind of plan."

"I have no drawings, but I will tell you my plan." 

The man stood there and when he said nothing Ebor cleared his throat and asked "What is your plan for the blade?"

"It is to be a double edged broadsword.  I know you infuse the blade with Elvish spells to keep it in perfect condition.  I trust my blade will not dull anymore than the King's blade.  The hilt may be standard, but the ends of the hand guard are to be rounded in a teardrop shape, with the end point facing out.  I want the handle covered in wolf's hair.  The pommel is to be shaped with a wolf's head, two diamonds will sit as eyes.  The whole hilt of the sword must be coated in gold."

"This will be an expensive sword.  My labor alone is not cheap."

"Price is no object.  Tell me, how much will it cost?"

"Twenty gold coins, and ten silvers."

"Very well.  I will be by tomorrow to pick the sword up, before sunset."

"I cannot finish the blade in that time, besides I have other weapons I must finish first, orders that were placed before yours."

"I will return before sunset tomorrow.  You will have the blade finished."

The man walked out and Ebor called after him.  He ran outside and looked all about the street but the cloaked man was nowhere to be seen.  Ebor returned inside and continued his work.  He finished the scimitar that night and though he had another sword that he had to start on the next day, he decided to work on the wolf sword first.  The wolf head pommel alone would take hours to make.  Ebor was not sure he could finish the blade in time, but he had to try.

The sun was setting and the cloaked man entered the smithy.  He dropped a bag of coins on the table and faced Ebor.

"Is it ready?" he asked.

"I finished it not ten minutes ago," Ebor said.  He walked to the sword rack and pulled the wolf sword off and handed it to the cloaked man.

The man grasped the sword and held it in front of him.  His face was still hidden, and Ebor was not sure how the man could even see anything.  The man stared at the blade for a few moments then turned and cut Ebor on the arm.  Ebor gave a shout of pain.

"What did you do that for?"

"I want you to feel what it is like to feel pain at your own hand.  Your hands made this blade, I cut you with it.  You are the reason you are feeling this pain.  You caused this pain.  Every sword you makes causes someone pain somewhere, you should feel some of that pain."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"You forge death."

"I forge swords and armor!"

"You forge war."

"I'm just a smith!"

"You forge evil.  Now you must feel what you forge."

The man raised the sword high above his head and brought is down, cutting Ebor open from shoulder to stomach.  Blood gushed forward and pooled around as Ebor collapsed to the ground.  The cloaked man stuck the sword in Ebor's head and the took his leave.

The sun set red.

Living A Dream

A baby boy was born.  He is a tank.  Strong and agile and into everything, keeping his parents busy.  He gets his first "job" at the age of six opening a lemonade stand on the side of the road outside their house.  He did this every day of every summer for the next four years.  At the age of thirteen he began volunteering at the local library, which he did for three years.  At sixteen he began looking for a job, and soon found one with a lumber company.  He worked there for three years and at nineteen was a manager for the company and in college.  He took summer classes in between semesters and worked the whole time.  Sleep was a thing of the past, but that was okay with him.  He is happy.  By age twenty-six he has graduated with a masters degree and he gets his dream job of being a teacher at the local community college that he once attended.  He is happy.  A reliable car, a reliable job, a nice apartment.  But he is lonely.

Twenty-eight years old he is out with friends having some beers and a burger at a local pub.  The waitress is pretty.  Too pretty for him.  No shot with her he knows that's for sure.  But after a good tip and a quick chit chat with her they are dating a month later.  Her name is Emily.  She is younger than him, only twenty-two, but they don't care.  She's a sweet heart and more than he should have ever deserved.  He loves her dearly.  She loves him too, very obviously.

Another year goes by and he and Emily are now married.  She is twenty-three and he is twenty-nine.  They are so happy together, living in his apartment.  He teaches, and Emily is still a waitress at the pub.  She's a college drop-out.  It wasn't her thing, and she makes good money being a waitress.  She wants to have a family someday anyway.  She has her MRS degree as she jokingly puts it.  She's not ashamed.  Nor is he.  He's happy with her, and she with him.

Emily is now thirty and he is thirty-six.  She is pregnant with twins.  They have a a beautiful boy and a beautiful girl.  They grow up.  The boy becomes a successful business man and the girl becomes nurse.  They both marry into well to do families and live busy lives.  He and Emily live a happy life in their apartment.  He retires at the age of sixty-five.  They are both young enough to still enjoy life going hiking, surfing, even sky-diving.

Two years later.  Emily is sixty-one and he is sixty-seven.  Emily is dying of cancer.  The kids are off in other parts of the country when she passes.  They call him but are too busy to come to the funeral or even visit him.  He understands.  He was once a busy man before he retired.  Now he once again volunteers at the community college in the library there.

One night he meets some friends at the local pub where Emily used to work.  He can't believe it's still there, but then again it is a popular spot.  It's a whole new crowd of people there.  Young people like he and Emily used to be.

Oh, Emily.

He is now seventy-three.  He sits on his balcony and drinks beer every night.  Occasionally he goes out with his friends.  He dials his son's number.  Voicemail as usual.  He leaves the message.  Then he dials his daughter's number.  She answers.  He tells her.  She actually starts to cry.  She says she will be out to visit soon.  He never hears from his son.

A year later he is dying in the local hospital.  His daughter and her husband are by his side.  They do not have any kids.  He is a grandpa by his son, but his son has not called or shown himself.  He is not unhappy, and his lasts thoughts of of his kids, and their rich and fulfilling lives, and of course, of his sweet, sweet Emily.

His son does finally call days later.  He is devastated when he finds out that his father has passed away, and never got to say goodbye.  Never got to say goodbye...because he was too busy living a dream...

This is another short poem by an author no one knows...

Beauty.

Be thankful for this.
Everything matters to us.
All of this is not real.
Underneath the ashes we still.
Thinking we can.
Yonder we cry.

Beauty.