Waiting For Something To Say

Their hollowed out eyes surround me. Lions and bastards surrounding their kill. The world has long died, buried dead within these sad eyes. The year was 2015, yesterday and you are all as fucked as me. Cunts the size of the Grand Canyon couldn’t satisfy the overwhelming need to be fucked by those around you. The world is splitting in two only one side has very little to stand on and the other more than enough to do what we all feel like we must, live.

Today marks the day that we stand before the fallen Christ of our lost generations. Pick an idol, a martyr, and march the fuck on because we are long behind. Long overdue for another cause no one gives a fuck about. Something that matters now and won’t matter to the next generation. We take so much shit for granted as if this is how it has always been when it hasn’t. Our reality is built-in virtual thoughts and ideas. Our perspective produced by man-made devices used to distract us from the very thing that holds us down from generation to generation.

We give them more money while ignoring the fact that they are taking more and more of our freedoms. At least we are free to be who we want online. At least we still have that. As long as we all feel good about that then I guess it doesn’t matter. Lies fed to us from everywhere. Becoming harder and harder to know who is right and who is wrong. Up vote if you even know what I am saying. Lies spilled out over time, ideas expressed through emotions. Does anybody remember when? Any of this ever made sense?

See the world from our screens the all new glass windows of the world. What reason do we have to live if we’ve seen it all? What reason do we have to not succumb to all of this is there are no reasons at all? Life is to easy to ever understand what it really means to live anymore. We are not the future anymore. We are very much the present and soon to be past. Nothing can stop the juggernaut that we have created, but in reality who said we ever wanted it to stop?

Broken Up Thoughts

I haven’t had an original idea for a while. Which sucks. My mind is like mush going over the same old stuff. Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. They say I had a voice. They say I had one once. Now it has disappeared again into the abyss of fuck. Fuck it all. What does it matter? Tired of asking questions with no answers. I could be anything yet I sit as nothing. I want to burn the world down. Destroy every last drop of existences. Yet I’d still feel nothing. I have no contempt for myself or others. I say I have nothing and I mean it. Words are haunting whether truth or lies. I despise everyone in my life. I hate them all because they are selfish. I hate them all because they are me without trying. In other news I sold more books than I ever have. So that’s something.


It often seems as though dreams are nothing more than a way to get us through life. We all have dreams. What we want to become or get done with our lives. But I don’t know anyone who has actually seen them through. Goals change over time. One day we want one thing and the next something different. Dreams are where past, present, and future collide because they very often want the same things. It’s as though we are at war with ourselves as well as those around us. They say that to succeed you need to surround ourselves with people who can help you. What about those people like me that can’t stand others? Are we set to fail then? Are my goals and dreams nothing more than a waste of time? I often wonder if I should just be happy with what I have. A niche market of being an asshole. Of course you hear those fantastic stories of people who have made it and you set yourself up to fail once again. I’m tired of failing. There is nothing there anymore but sadness and pain.


Devils in the details
But what do you do when you’ve all failed?
Listening to your complaints
On a day-to-day basis
Has become insane
Feeling your thoughts is all that I have
But now it’s filled with too much pain
Sensory overload
My mind will explode
The devils in the details
But God failed so long ago


Wasting time until I can get by
Wasting away as if all is the same
I hate myself but I hate you more
Every passing moment is like an eternity
But it is as though time slips away from me
I could do more but it seems I do less
Was once told that I am depressed
Maybe I’m stretched too thin
If I could focus then I could understand
Wasting time until it is too late
Wasting away as if all is the same


I watch the sky
Even in the dark
Even on the darkest night
Watch it bleed
The truth is so hard to find
Deeply hidden behind
Each and every lie
Some where in the darkness
Just beyond the light
Lies something so true
No one can separate the lies


What’s left to say after all of that? Suffering alone with depression can be hard.. I don’t have it as bad as a lot of people I know… But I do have the anxiety and the highs and lows… Maybe that is where my writing comes from? Or maybe I’m just fucked in the head…. Who knows… It is fun to joke around about, but really that is a symptom of something I’m sure… No one can tell you how to live your life, but that doesn’t mean no one isn’t there to help you…. Sometimes it is family and friends, and sometimes it is someone else.. I don’t follow organized religion, go figure, but what they all have in common is being there for each other… I think that is important whether there is someone watching over us or not…


“Call You Up In The Middle Of The Night”

When you transfer you just take on other people’s problems. More bullshit you don’t want, but have to smile and take it. Nothing like selling yourself to the highest bidder only to take on more debt you don’t need. This place, these types of places are the end of the American dream and the beginning of the new slave auction houses. A spectrum much greater than we thought even existed. Ride the lightning like it is going somewhere but it’s not. Too much smoke in the eyes and up our asses.

We live in a clouded haze of long lost broken ideals. Where does the lie end and the truth long lost on the damned begin? The minority of the majority. Stop to listen and get ran over for reflecting for a second. We like to stand on the backs of others and then wonder why they get so upset for shitting all over them. Such a strange scenario. Maybe the air is too thin at the top to think straight. If you treat those at the bottom right they in turn will treat you in the same manner. Religion understood this even if they choose to blindly ignore the principle today.

As time goes on the madness sinks in. Deep within our minds and our bodies. Right down to the bones. We think we are owed something because we are. Basic rights are not hard to grant, but seems so much easier to take. Respect is hard to come by when you are at the bottom. Better than me? Sure, but what happens when the money is all gone? I’ll have a shovel waiting for you. The shit goes in the corner and its best you do as you’re told. Welcome to your new home. The sky has a limit and the ground keeps sinking under the weight of all this shit. How is it to feel like me? Love for you to tell me.

A Lie (Novel) Preview

Beautiful Liar

I use to be like you, naïve and care free
I use to wish for a dream come true and all that shit
but I am more real than I once thought I truly was
Nightmares and dreamscapes only come true in your sleep
Awake all there is, is tragedy and wishful thinking
The streets are filled with the slowly dying
and the buildings and offices are filled with the damned
My eyes were once closed, but now they are always open
I drain the blood from the streets and sweep up the dead
The only job I have left
The only job I was condemned


Turn Out the Light

I begin my day by waking up like most of humanity, but in a hint of irony I don’t think that I ever truly wake up. My first thoughts are to find some drugs, but I failed to get more last night or save any for this morning. So now I am beyond hopeless. I light up a cigarette and take a couple of drags before stumbling my way to the bathroom to piss. There is a huge bruise on my left inner thigh and I can’t recall how in the world I got it, but now that I know I have it my leg begins to hurt. I move to the kitchen and open the frig door more out of habit than anything else considering I already know that there isn’t anything inside it anyways. More thoughts creep in my head and this is why I should have saved at least one more hit. My second real thought of the day is that I have to work later. I already know hours in advance that I will be thirty minutes late, but I also know that they won’t say anything. In some sick sad way they feel sorry for me or they act like they know something I don’t. Either way this pisses me off beyond belief. I don’t say anything because I need the money now more than ever. I close the frig door and start to get ready for work. It’s not a long process so, I’m out the door before I even realize it. I send her a text that I know she will never respond to. I send her a text that says, “I love you and I miss you”, but it was a waste of twenty seconds. I start my car up and pull out of the parking space. I stop by the dealer’s house before heading to work. I barely had enough money to get what I will need for the next few days of my miserable life. I need to conserve as much as I can before I get paid again or things just might get worse. I laugh at the thought but it is more real than I can even comprehend right now. The drug dealer sends his best and this pisses me off. I could barely stop from doing a hit right on his front porch but I make it to the car. I head to work and today is already a waste.

Sixteen and fucking stupid. Sixteen year old girls pretend to be so stupid and dizzy about the dumbest things. As if a five-year old doesn’t understand how much something costs. How hard does one person have to be dropped on their head to not understand the concept of money in America? Yet this woman standing in front of me isn’t sixteen, though she acts like it, hell I don’t think she is even in her twenties anymore and if she is she looks fucking rough. Her and her rather large but not for this area boyfriend, who decided today wasn’t a good day to wear sleeves, stand in front of my register. There is a horrible smell coming from somewhere, but I’m not sure where. They have decided to purchase some beer, her pleasure condoms, and this week’s special two regular sized candy bars at the value price of a dollar. The slightly overweight woman who really doesn’t need one more candy bar asks me, “If the tag says two for a dollar does that mean I have to get two candy bars to get the sale price?” My mind flashes to the many possible answers I want to say to her stupid question like do you really need two or are you fucking retarded? Because if you are retarded that is fine, but if you’re just pretending, that’s fucking sad. I calmly tell the woman you can still get the sale price if you purchase just one as I hide my twitching hand from her view. And just so there is no confusion I tell her that they are fifty cents apiece. She gives me a look that makes me wonder maybe this isn’t an act. She really is slow in the head. She decides the best way to go is to get two. “They’re only a dollar,” she says with a giggle. Her next words will haunt me for as long as I live. “You got this don’t you Big Daddy?” I want to vomit all over her, and for the first time tonight it isn’t from the drugs. The man, known only as “Big Daddy,” steps up to the counter and reveals just exactly where the horrible smell in the air has been coming from. He is wearing a sleeve less shirt that says, “Taken Care of Businesses,” on it. His sleeve less arms are quite hairy and sweaty despite the fact that it can’t be more than forty degrees outside. His hairy arms release an odor so wretched that the smell is burning my raw nostrils. I have resorted to breathing through my mouth, as little as I possibly can. The sooner they leave the sooner I can breathe. I can feel my face getting redder as my blood starts to accumulate in my face making it feel even hotter in the room than it already is. I feel as though I am trapped under water. The couple begins to speak. I think they are telling a joke, but all I can hear is my heart beat pounding in my head not the words coming out of their mouths. I don’t understand why they keep talking when I’m not saying anything back. I don’t understand what is going on. They are laughing and smiling, and the smell is somehow getting worse. It hurts, but I pretend to laugh anyways with them. I must pretend to be normal and that everything is okay. I must appear normal I chant to myself as my hand is still twitching and my leg has joined in. My mantra of normal is really starting to fuck me up. What is normal at a time like this? I hand the change to “Big Daddy” and the woman steps even closer to the counter, close to my face, closer than anyone should ever be, and she looks me right in the eyes. She says, “The secret is to have lots of sex.” I swallow the vomit that has found its way into my mouth and force a smile. I have no idea why she is telling me this, but I am grateful that they at least bought condoms. Now if they understand how to use them is a whole other question. My guess is that reading is difficult at their level of intelligence so probably not. It is another sad day on planet earth.


Last preview of the month and it is a long one… Like most things in my life this is nothing but fiction… Except Big Daddy is real.. He walks among us… Don’t fear the reaper… Fear the stench… Until tomorrow… Best of luck….

People Of The Sun

“I was there the day that the sun came out in the middle of the night.” An old man lies in a bed made of blankets. His white hair matted to the sides of his head from all the days he has spent in this bed.  His granddaughter sits on the floor next to his bed listening to every word the old man has to say. Her name is Anna and she likes to hear stories. Especially the ones her grandfather likes to tell. The old man’s beard flaps with every word he says in the way that is only entertaining to a child. “I was with my family and we were driving back from my grandparent’s house when it happened.” The little girl fidgets as if she has a question, but she is old enough to know that now is not the time for questions.  “It was so dark that night that my father could barely see anything even with the headlights on. We lived in upstate New York at that time and no matter what the time of year you always had to be cautious of deer. They would jump out in front of the cars if they were afraid or they felt it was their turn to cross the road. So, my father had my mother and I on deer watch and if we saw a deer we were supposed to shout out where it is that we saw them. My little sister Sylvia loved to deer watch, but she was much too young to be any good at it. Your mother is named after my little sister. I don’t know if you knew that or not?” The little girl nodes her head no and stares at her grandfather with the same eyes that once belonged to his wife. He fights back his sadness. The little girl came to hear a story not watch her grandfather cry. He was always really good at fighting back his emotions and being the rock in the middle of an ocean.

“Well anyways there we were driving on the old country roads heading home looking for deer when I saw it. At first the sky just looked as if there were a million lightning bugs trapped in the clouds. It wasn’t bright right away like some might expect it was more like if someone had just dimmed the lights a little bit in a room. The darkness of the night started to disappear and it was no longer hard to see the forest around us. The forest was covered in snow and it began to catch the light of the sun. My father, my family was in awe of what we were seeing. He decided to pull over just as we began to pass a small little farm. No one had ever seen anything like what we saw that night. No one had ever seen the sun rise when it shouldn’t have. We had heard stories of places in Alaska where there was sunlight all day long, but sunlight in New York at night? Never had such a thing been seen. Even if it only appeared to be that way it was too much for us all. My mother unhooked my little sister from her car seat as my father pulled over. By then the sun had looked to only just peeked over the horizon and was nothing more than a sliver of warmth in the coldest winter New York had seen in years. The warmth felt so good against the skin of my face and hand and that is when we realized we weren’t the only thing feeling the warmth. The snow began to melt all around us mountains of snow disappearing as if they were trapped in July. The light kept getting closer and closer, little by little, and as it did it got just a little bit warmer. Before we even realized it the temperature had raised forty degrees in only a matter of seconds and it showed no signs of slowing down.

In fear my father ordered us to get back in the car. My mom said no if it is the bomb than we are as good as dead in that metal car. Time was running out in my mother’s eyes if this was truly the bomb she had imagined then we didn’t have minutes, but seconds to find something to shield are selves.  I don’t know how she saw it, but she did. My mother spotted a water run off not even twenty yards from where we stood. It wasn’t a big run off one might see in a city. It looked barely big enough for one us to get in, but it was our only chance she said. She told me to run for it. Don’t look back just run and when you get there crawl as deep in as you can, you got it? She kissed my forehead and away I went. You can’t tell from how I look right now, but I was fast. Fast like the wind they use to say. Running was in my blood and it’s in yours as well. I went as fast as my legs could take me. The heat by now had gotten to nearly a hundred degrees and felt even hotter in a winter jacket so I threw it on the ground and kept going.

Twenty yards is only sixty feet, but in a hundred degree heat and climbing it was the longest sixty feet of my life.  Just before I made it to the underground run off I saw the ground and as my feet were moving I watched it turn from green to brown. The temperature had gotten so hot so fast the grass began to turn to mud even as I ran to save my life. The sun was about half way up when I made it into the little tunnel. There was still a little bit of water left in the tunnel from the melted snow as I forced my way through the dark tunnel. I didn’t know how far deep I should go in and I had no clue just how deep I did go in. I just did as my mother had said until I could no longer move. The tunnel was just barely big enough for me to fit into and there was barely any room to breathe. It felt more like a tomb than a safe haven from the sun. I couldn’t hear anything from inside the tunnel except for a strange crackling noise of a wood inside a fire-place. It was at this time that I begin to be very scared. I cried out for my mom, for my father, for Sylvia, but no one and nothing called back to me. I begin to cry inside my tomb and to worry that this is where my life would end. The heat from outside the tunnel had finally reached inside and I began to sweat. The heat was so hot it felt as if I had put my face into a fire and it wasn’t long after that, that I passed out from the heat.

I woke up in the tunnel hours later, but felt like days. Like I said I couldn’t turn around inside my little tunnel. Afraid that I would be stuck here forever I tried to move backwards. I was met with resistance at first, but little by little I found myself moving. It took everything I had left to work my way out of the tunnel or so I thought. Once out of the tunnel I quickly realized it was going to take a lot more of me to survive than to get out of the tunnel. As my feet touched the ground I pushed one last time from inside the tunnel. I fell to the ground and just laid there inhaling the dust and ashes that would now make up our world. I was so tired I just laid there and I felt like laying there forever. Then it hit me all at once like a ton of bricks falling from outer space. Everything and everyone I loved was now gone. My family, my friends, my home, my school, everything I knew was gone only to be replaced with strangers and a strange land. Tears began to stream from my face causing the ash and dirt all around my face to turn to mud. Mud I wouldn’t wipe away for days, for weeks even. I was only fifteen when the sun attacked in the middle of the night and I was only a child, but the next day I was expected to be a man.

I lay in the dirt for a long time. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. Hours after my rebirth from my tomb I finally got up to look around. It was cold once again and the darkness had settled back in. The only light that could be seen was that of the smoldering trees in the far distance. The forest that had once been part of the landscape was now a mountain of ash and the trees that had survived the sun were now burning along joining their brothers and sisters in the ash. I slowly made my way back to the road trying to make my way back to the family car. All I found was an empty shell that was more or less part of the road now. I never saw my families bodies and part of me still hoped that was a good sign, but they too had joined the trees in the ash. I was lost and for the first time there was no one there to guide me. I started to make my way down what was left of the road. I would later find out that the events of that night were caused by a solar flare and not the actual sun coming out at night, but time and minds always find a way to call something by a name they truly aren’t. That is what happened the day the sun came out at night.”

The little girl’s mom walks into the room, “And that is where we are ending your history lesson for tonight.” The little girl begins to protest, but her mother gives her a stern look and the child puts her arms down. “Sylvia must she go to bed now? I still have many stories to tell,” the old man says to his only daughter. “There will be plenty of nights to tell your stories father, but the rest of the night is for sleep. Anna go brush your teeth and get ready for bed.” Little Anna gets up from the spot beside her grandfather’s bed. She leans in to give him a hug and the old man tries his best to get his arms around the small child, but he is still much too weak. Anna skips out of the small room on her way to the well to brush her teeth. The old man begins to cough and becomes winded from the actions. Sylvia runs over to his side taking the wash cloth from off her shoulder. She wipes the little bits of blood from around the old man’s mouth, “You are over doing it father. We agreed that you would rest.” “I have been resting,” the old man tells his daughter. “No, you have been telling stories all day and checking up on us. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those blue eyes looking out at me.” “I get lonely here in my room. I’m dying Sylvia and the loneliness is making it worse.” Sylvia pretends to not her what her father has said about his death like she has for the last few months.

“You need to rest father and everything will get better.” “You and I both know that there is no getting better, and the sooner you come to terms with it Sylvia the sooner.” “The sooner what?” His daughter interrupts. “I’ve already lost my husband, my mother, and that is all there seems to be is loss. What is even the point of living father? What is the point of going through life just to die?” The old man looks away from his daughter, “There is no solution or answer I can give to you. We are humans and it is a fact of life that we will all die someday, and the fact that we lived is all we have. Nothing has been easy for you your whole life and it never will be, but you must keep on living even after everyone and everything is gone.” “But why,” his daughter begs from his bed side? “Because it is the way of the People of the Sun.”

This Is Where The Nails Go

Stress seems to affect us at different volumes and different values. Not everyone can handle what it takes anymore. The times they change things even if the game is the same. Used to be about survival now it’s about living. About doing nothing. The goals were once simple. Now the goal is to find a way to do nothing at all. Today nothing ever gets done because someone else will take care of it. Someone else will do it don’t worry. Who the fuck is this someone else?

Oh I forgot it was me. Forty hours a week to make up for all the mistakes, all the things that no one wants to do. This place drags me down. Consumes me and leaves me broken. All I hear is complaints about the shit that I don’t do. Poorly managed is an understatement. I think they train them to be this stupid. I often wonder if I was dropped on my head too many times or not enough. Decisions are made with the littlest of thought. Fuck ups happen constantly and the only way is to keep letting them happen.

God forbid you communicate that said idea is a bad one. Excommunicated from the conversion from there on. Condemned until it of course fucks up then you are to blame for its failure. I try to stay out of it. To stay away from it, but they drag you in. They need someone to blame, but I can’t let go. I hang on to their every word. Loyalty buried deep within my very existence. Stupidity running right beside it. Trust no one and no one can let you down.

If only I could live by the words that I preach. If I could live by the way it is supposed to be. What happened to do the right thing? What happened to hard work? Gave a way to reward the weak and bury the strong. I see that it pays to do nothing at all, but I can’t stand by and watch it all fall. To watch it fail makes me feel as though I failed. Whether I get paid either way or not. The world should not work this way, but somehow it does. Somehow the world keeps turning and all I can think is fuck it all.

Broken Up Thoughts

Her eyes twitch in the moon light. The reflective light from the sun dances across her retinas signifying the end of a once miserable life. The imprint of my rough hands forever left stained around her neck. She said she would always be mine and now despite everything that has happened before tonight the lie has become true. I will always remember our last seconds together as the life escaped from her. The bits of saliva that oozed from her dying lips to my hands. It is still warm as I wipe what’s left across my chest. Her hearts stopped pounding a second ago yet her fingers feel icy cold. The blue in her face makes her seem angel like. She looks as I will always picture her, isolating and unperceptive of her actions. She didn’t suffer enough. She didn’t struggle enough. I wanted her to feel pain. I wanted her to feel like I do. Instead she gave in to the truth, the fact that this was the end. She got the best of me once again.


I’m obsessed with hearts lately. Maybe because mine is so destroyed and shattered. I feel the loneliness wash over me, but I don’t understand what’s really going on. I mean I am alive after all, so what does it mean if I want to die? To disappear far away from here? Everyday is like the last four hundred, but I am sure I’m okay even if I believe that I am not. Life moves and goes at a constant speed. Everything is just a phase and I’m sure this one will pass. Same as the ones before. Nothing last forever.


“When you give up on your dreams it is like the rest of you has died away. You no longer want what becomes because you already know what will never be. It’s a sad existence from that point on. A pointless position in a line of every disappointing disappointment.”
“You done feeling sorry for yourself or should I go get a gun?”
“Totally not funny Gwen. Plus it takes a couple of days to get a permit.”
“I’ve got one on file just encase of situations like this.”
“You’re such an asshole.”


It is hotter than a crotch in this fucking place. I’m still very behind on putting together my office. Writing and working on this site, twitter, and two books at the same time will do that to some people. I’d love to just put all that aside and get this office finished, but no work, no need for this office. So I sit sweating it out in the hot, hot heat. Oh and it’s fucking fall… My ass… Drinking never helps this… What all the greats did it.. (Insert a great writer of your choice.) Peer pressure from the dead… 

Time to sell that soul.. So I want to put the word out on other people’s books as well, but I feel it is way to forward to just do it… So if you are cool with it let me know and I will add your book or project… Well here is more of my shit…





Hitchin’ a Ride

Someone came up with the idea a long time ago. The way things were supposed to be. The powers that be crucified him, and anyone who challenged their ideals. They say don’t believe in false idols, but what else is there to believe in, in a world without hope?

Layne Ambrose is an idea much bigger than myself. So massive it lives within another realm. A world that doesn’t forgive or five much hope. A world similar to this one where the hopes and prayers of the weak fall on deaf ears. Money runs this world, but what if it didn’t? What if instead of being based on lies the world was really based on truth? What if the world was merely ran by assholes?

We kneel before the one that rules over this world. We used to call it praying for those of you who are old enough to remember such things. Gave it up for the idea of power, the idea of freedom. A broken dream to believe in such lies. Rise to the ones that hold us down. A nihilistic cause has always seemed a waste of time. A go nowhere idea, but honestly where are we now? A time not so long ago the sun was the true god. Now it powers cars, homes, computers, and so much more. Have we lost touch with something we have forgotten? Something we gave up long ago.

The world is changing every day yet somehow it is getting worse. The problems don’t ever go away. Maybe the only real problem is inside each and every one of us? Has nothing to do with the things around us. So in conclusion go fuck yourself.

Too soon for a thought like that. What I mean to say is insert a large rod like item straight into your ass, repeat vigorously. If you thought that hurt you haven’t been on this planet very long. The pain will subside in time, but really it won’t. Over time you will only grow to ignore the pain. Then it will become normal, expected, and a lot less invasive when the world holds you down and takes what they believe to be theirs. Thank me later.

And Other Things From This Time Preview

Know What I Mean

Do you know what I mean
When I say I am living a lie
No longer mad when I know I should be
Passion is all but a thing of the past
Romance is all but nothing at all
How long do you stare at someone
And realize they are the worst person of all
Is there an etiquette
For cutting loose
The buckling ties that bind?
Do you know what I mean
When I say I am lost and alone
I don’t think that you really do
I think you think everything is still okay
Whatever that means at this point
Such an awful thought to think about
Such a funny after taste after all
For something that was supposed to last forever
I said I loved you
But I guess you didn’t
If you know what I mean


If It Mattered

It wouldn’t be so bad
If it wasn’t for all the guilt
It wouldn’t be so bad
If it wasn’t all that I could think about
It wouldn’t be so bad
If it wasn’t an addiction
It wouldn’t be so bad
If it wasn’t for all the thoughts of suicide
It wouldn’t be so bad
If I could only do it in the end
It wouldn’t be so bad
If I would only leave it but I can’t


Day One

Everything is so out of focus
Wish I could forget
Though right now, this second
Everything seems to only speak of regret
Do you know what I mean
Of course you don’t because I’m not you
And you’re not me
Dancing in the darkness, dancing in the moonlight
A mirror image of something that is not there
I laugh myself to sleep
Better than crying but I never said
There was no tears
They hysteria of it all is a thin line
Between madness and you
Today my life changed
For better or worse has yet to be seen
Like when the actions of the past
Combine, mix with thoughts of the future
All things lead to dead
But how we get there is unknown as of yet

Went with three poems for this week… The middle one was short so it only seemed fair… This weeks theme was love… Isn’t it always though?… Well if you haven’t heard… My book is available on Kindle… I feel just as dirty as you think I am… Dreams and shit…. Thank you for stopping by and until tomorrow… Best of luck…


The Whore of Second Street (Vulgar)

The whore of Second Street was good when you needed her and bad when you didn’t. The whore of Second Street didn’t cost too much, but somehow it always seemed like you’d spend all your money on her. She didn’t do much, lay there and take it I guess. She also didn’t say much whenever you came to visit, but then again what is there really to say? The whore of Second Street became everything though she was nothing. The whore is but a whore the wise men outside the door would say. That is what she is and nothing more. The whore of Second Street lived just up the block from a bar called the Bullfrog. Her customers would stumble as they walked down the block. You could follow the trails of piss straight to her door if you didn’t already know where to go. The whore of Second Street didn’t ask much, just take your shoes off please and leave them by the door. Just because she is a whore doesn’t mean she don’t have class. All the men would stand in the hall with their money in hand for their turn with the whore of Second Street. Hours and days it didn’t matter she was always open in more ways than one. The whore of Second Street has no cloths she sees no point in spending money on things with such little use. The whore of Second Street was smarter than we all knew. She lived in an apartment without a view. Go to the top of the stairs and wait your turn. Directions we all followed. Directions we all knew. The whore of Second Street may not have been elegant, but she knew how to use you. Anything you want can be bought for a price and everything was in demand. It wasn’t long before the whore of Second Street raised a small fortune made of stacks of one’s, five’s, ten’s, or whatever her clients could get their hand on. The whore of Second Street let us use her body and it was all part of her plan. The whore of Second Street just somehow knew it was time, and one day she was gone. Her customers all wait her return. The whore of Second Street is worshiped as if she was a god. They pay her rent even though the apartment is never used except for mass. The whore of Second Street was all there was and now she is gone. The whore is but a whore the dumb men say as they pass each other in the hall. That is what she is and everything more.