Chewing On Glass Presents… All I Feel Is Pain…

All I Feel is Pain

    Memories are nothing more than random bits of information processed at varies speeds. This is how I remember my childhood. It comes back to me in pieces as my head slams back into the ground. Lift and repeat. Lather, rinse, and dry. Blood runs throughout your body providing oxygen and nutrients to every cell. When blood gets into your eyes it provides nothing at all. Nothing more than pain. How does someone end up reliving all their horrible childhood memories on the cold pavement? I’m not really all that sure anymore.

    Where did I go wrong? Politian’s, health-conscious assholes, leftist fascists would say it was when I smoked my first cigarette. Signed a one-way ticket to hell by today’s standards. God would I kill for one right now. Just to feel the smoke hit the back of my throat and shoot down into my lungs would make all of this a little bit more bearable. I wonder what heroin would be like in this scenario. I wonder what food will taste like as my teeth fall to the ground. Will anything ever taste the same again or will it always taste like blood? I don’t think the iron, rust like taste will never leave my mouth. I always speak my mind maybe that’s how I ended up here. The more my head hits the ground the more I forget. In the end all we have is our memories. The good ones and the bad ones. Our memories are all we have. For some reason, the only memory that keeps popping up is the time I learned to tie my shoes. Maybe because when all is said and down here. I’ll never be able to do that again. Funny how after all of this something so significant won’t even matter. Too defiant anyways. Never really learned to tie my shoes. Found a way, but not the way I was taught. The memory still comes breaking through.

My stepmother left me in a chair all day with the same story that I could get up if I tied them the dumbass way she showed me. With the bunny ears or something. The instructions are still lost on me, but the torture is clear. “If you tie your shoes we can go to the beach.” I used to love the beach. I used to love a lot of things. Too bad we were in the middle of fuck all Indiana where there is no such thing. She paraded around in a bathing suit and beach bag as if we would leave as soon as I miracle my shoes laces together. What kind of sick fuck does that to a child? The company you keep I guess. Too defiant maybe that is how I ended up where I am. Too strong-willed and stubborn to tie my shoes. To listen to anyone else.

My head hurts so much that my face has gone numb. I’ve been trying to pick myself up, but my head feels as though it weighs too much. Leaning into the punches is not helping any. I say lean but it is more of a sway. Confused by what it is I am even doing.  I’ve got nothing left. Everything I had was all used up before I even got here. A teacher once told me that you come into this world with nothing and you leave it with nothing. I can see her old wrinkled out face mouthing the words, but the world has gone silent. Gone away into the distance that is my existence. She was full of shit. You come into this world screaming and you leave it with pain. The constant that doesn’t let you forget. Can’t change much when your life flashes.

Can’t change much when you know you are going to die. Can’t take away the things that you have done. Can’t forget the time that you pissed on the street corner as the neighbor’s daughter watched. Can’t take back the punishment. The belt that struck over and over again. Not even the truth can set you free after it is all said and done. That she wanted you too. No, you are only left with the memories of a childhood you wish you could forget. Can’t change the time you climbed a tree you were told not to climb. Ended up in the hospital for not listening on that one. Should have stayed in the tree. Why didn’t I just stay in the tree? Can’t change the time you got a girl pregnant and waited in the abortion clinic waiting room. Scarred out of your mind, sad for the life you wasted, and too young to realize they are one in the same. No, none of that will ever change. Time can’t change after it is already past. Time can’t change after you’re dead. Your impressions, actions stay with those you’ve affected long after your gone. Actions speak louder than words yet the words of those around you in circle your every thought.

Don’t do this, do that, why do you got to be such a little shit, clean up your room already, have you been drinking, this is for your own good, tell me what happened, happy birthday, please take the dog out, win some and you lose some, thou shall not kill, I hate you, why couldn’t you have been better, clean your face, you disgust me, this is what you deserve, I love you. Some good and some bad they all flood in as if they should mean something, but they don’t. Is now really the time to reflect on all of this? Maybe I just wanted freedom. Maybe it was only love. Maybe it was both. I don’t know what anyone could ever want out of a world like this.

For some reason, they have stopped. Could be because I’ve stopped fighting? Maybe because they know it is already done? I can feel a smile come across my face as the hits start back up. Their anger in this world somehow more intense than my own. I want to laugh, but do I dare? I can still feel as though that all of this is some kind of prize at the end of a long game. The words aren’t clear in my head anymore. Here and gone. Trapped and freed. I feel cold yet warm. But all I really feel is pain.

Broken Thoughts Vol 1: Between Me and You
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Broken Thoughts… Tired Of Waiting…

Taking eight more hours of my life
Lifeless spider crawls across my skin
Been dead inside for so long
Forgot what it meant to live at all
Taking each moment as it comes
Losing track of each day
Is it Tuesday or Sunday?
Does it even matter anymore?
Building a nest of dead things in my heart
Thoughts and memories I want to forget
Burned in my mind, across my skin
Feel everything and nothing all the same
Strapping myself to the stake
Living a life without complaint
In death maybe I could be free
Maybe more of the same
Too much doubt in everything
Moving on, where it leads all the same
Outcomes and differences are for those
Who have nothing to lose

If you concern yourself with other people’s problems… They are no longer their problems…

Counting the minutes until the end
Running numbers inside my head
Roaming clock of gunshots in the distance
Loud noises to prove I’m still here
Endless ideas to hold me under
Went in early the day that I died
Only to know I’ve been here before
Thoughts written out in tiny sentences
Short little ideas I live out
Living was an ideas I couldn’t comprehend
Dying seemed too easy to be the plan
Stuck somewhere in between complaining
Counting the minutes until this is all over
Don’t rush me I’ve already skipped ahead
Pushing myself beyond limits
Burning the candle at both ends?
Try doused in gasoline

Smashing myself against the glass…

Desperately trying to hang on
Fingers clenched to the side of it all
If a dream doesn’t last
Is it a nightmare or the end?
Some days are better
Today is not one of them
Running in the night
Chasing darkness
Desperately trying to hang on
To this dream I created in my head
Never had another choice
They say we have a purpose, do we?
They say we make our own future, do we?
They say so much shit
Infecting and rotting my brain
I miss the days when nothing I said meant anything
Step after step, can’t turn back
All for nothing, all that I have become
What was the point of this?
If for nothing at all
Tired of waiting, tired of even caring
Drain my own blood and it wasn’t enough
Running from the demon, chasing the dark
Running from myself all along
Where did I really think I was going
With myself tagging along
There never was no dream, no army, no wall
Only me, only my own demons to conquer
Been so blind, so misguided for too long
Known the answer for too long
A dream isn’t an idea
A nightmare or a choice
Something we are born with
Something we must do, see to the end
A battle between good and evil
Right and wrong
Heaven and Hell
A battle that never mattered at all
The dream is me
The darkness is me
The demon is me
Need to shut up and enjoy the ride
Need to quit waiting
Quit complaining and enjoy the life I was given
The one I created
The one I’ve always wanted
Limits are for the ones too scared to look past them
The ones I have placed upon myself
New dawn rises, where I stand
Is where I chose to be
Suffer or survive
It is all on me

Well that got intense… for me at least… talked out a lot of thoughts out of my head… talked myself off a ledge… need to stop feeling sorry for myself… stop feeling like I’m not good enough to do this… all of this… spent too much of my life doubting myself… hurting myself… pretending I wasn’t… no one cares and maybe they shouldn’t… no where is it written that they should… reading between the lines only get you stuck between two ideas…

Been stuck there for a very long time… stuck in my head… now that I’ve stepped out… where do I go?… what is the path?… what is the goal?.. spent so much time thinking this would get better… this would all heal itself… missing all the better around me… the hope I thought I lost… has been standing next to me all along… locked away by my own selfishness… by my own insecurities… some of you have seen into the window of my heart… between the bars… but I haven’t until today… all I ever saw was the cage… the limits…

The path is clear… the goal is simple… failing is not an option… nothing is over until it is done… I’m not going anywhere… so strap in… going to come back swinging… as I have always said I would… and you should…

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Chewing On Glass Presents… This Is Love… (Vulgar)…

So many years ago

“So there I was just minding my own business and guess who comes stumbling out of The Room?” I ask my friend Sam. “Could be anyone in this town,” he jokes. “Fair enough, but why would I care if anyone just came out of a bar?” I ask. “Are you still obsessing over her? She didn’t want your ass in high school and she still doesn’t want you now,” he informs me while avoiding using her name. I pretend to not hear him, “Obsessed is a strong word I think. I hardly think that I am obsessed with her.” Sam takes a bite out of his sandwich his dirty hands gripping the plastic that surrounds it. “So, you are saying that if you did have a chance to talk to her you wouldn’t take it?” I ask him. “I didn’t say that, but then again when am I known for taking a chance?” Sam asks me before going back to his sandwich. “Well guess what I did?” I ask with pride and a smile across my face. He shrugs barely listening to me at this point. “We are going to go out later this week,” I inform him. He looks shocked as he continues to chew. Swallowing hard before he speaks, “You know about Becky right?” He gives me a look that only a best friend could understand. “Of course I know about Becky,” I assure him. He rolls his eyes, “Okay, because I don’t want to have to be the one that tells you I told you so. You’re an adult and you can make your own mistakes.” He pops the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. The plastic is now pressed right up to his face. “An adult? Right maybe when I get back from college. Maybe then I will be an adult,” I joke to him. He places the empty plastic into his lunch box. “Hurry up we need this grave dug up before we can go home,” he says to me. “What’s the rush? It’s not like we didn’t already do all the work up to this point,” I ask him. He ignores me and places my shovel next to me as he heads for his shovel. Four more hours until this work day is done anyway. Shit work but it is better than nothing I think to myself. In the fall I will be gone and I won’t have to do this shit anymore. Waited too long to move on I think to myself.

There is a lot of time to think with a job like this. A lot of time to go over everything, obsess about everything going on or not going on in your life. A whole lot of time to dream and that’s about it. Dig the hole, body goes in, dug another hole, and another body goes in. Pretty simple, nothing to it, and I hate every moment of it. Sam’s dad owns the business. Owns most or runs any of the business in this town that have to deal with death. Makes life for Sam easier and being my best friend it makes my life easier too. I should have started school last year, but that “easy” life rubbed off on me a little too hard. Sam doesn’t have dreams. Well not about taking over the family business and since I am like a brother to Sam I am the next best thing. Go to school get my degree and come back to take over. That’s the plan Sam should be on, but I am more than happy to take the ticket he didn’t want. Honest work for an honest living I suppose. “We could have done a better job,” He says to me as we move the last of the earth. “She was old Sam. Old people die all the time,” I assure him. “If you let them,” he says disappointed to me. “We tried something different and it didn’t work. Now who is obsessing?” I ask him. “It just didn’t feel the same without a purpose,” he says looking to the sky. “Well next time we will make it really count. There is always a learning curve with these type of things,” I say to him. “I suppose you are right about that. At least there’s no chance of anyone knowing,” he proclaims. “No one is going to see the connection, but you do have a point about purpose. We can do this. It isn’t hard, but without effort or purpose then what are we really doing?” I ask. “We are just doing it to do it at that point,” he says. “Exactly and that’s not what I want to do. Next time we make it count. No point of thinking about what can’t be undone,” I say. “We can only get better with practice. Want to go see if we can get a drink at The Room?” He asks. “Of course,” I smile. “Maybe I can get a jump on my date if she is there.” He rolls his eyes and we pack up our stuff.

The week goes as it will always go until the end of time except for today. Today is the day that I finally get my chance. I finally get my chance at the one that got away. Well that is to say that anything ever happened in the first place. She may have pretended I didn’t exist for most of my actually life. She may have spent all her time paying attention to all those other assholes in high school, but tonight she is paying attention to me. Need to treat her right. Treat her like a lady. Show her she is worth more than all the rumors that have been spread about her. She just needs to meet the right person. It is so easy in this small town to get swept up into the wrong crowd. “You got this. You are the one she needs,” I say into the bathroom mirror. We are meeting up at the town diner, maybe go out to the next town over to see a film, and then maybe a little time at make out lane. That’s the plan at least. Take it easy, nice and slow. Show her what she is worth. I head to the dinner in my father’s truck. A rust bucket of an embarrassment, but it runs. Shotguns proudly displayed in the back window as though any moment is a good moment to get a deer. I can’t wait to get out of this town, go to school, and make something of myself. Even if I am only escaping for a moment and not forever. Try not to sound so desperate. You sound like a desperate asshole. Confidence, focus, focus on the positive, and it will reflect. The thoughts of high school, the thoughts of childhood seep back in. All the times everyone took their turn tormenting me. I was always something. Too short, too fat, too smart, and they were always willing to make sure I remembered. Those days have come and gone I tell myself. I arrive at the diner and get us a booth. Becky shows up late to our date.

“Sorry, I almost forgot we were doing this,” she smiles at me. “Yeah, me too,” I try to joke with confidence. She lights up a cigarette. “So just dinner and then what are you going to do?” She asks. I swallow all my insecurities the best I can, “Well I was thinking we could drive over to Selma and see a movie. Just the two of us?” I ask or try to say. Confidence I remind myself. “Yeah that wasn’t part of the deal,” she says to me. “Well no, but I was thinking,” I start. “You seem to be doing a lot of that, but that wasn’t the deal. You said “I can take you home if you go out to dinner with me”. So here I am. We can eat and then we go our separate ways,” she reminds me. “I remember what I said, but I was thinking. I thought why not make a night of it. We never got to talk much in high school,” I start to over explain. “Did you think this was a date?” She asks me. “Well kind of. I mean not a date, date, but maybe it could have been. I mean I’ve never really asked someone out before,” I mumble into nothing. She puts out her cigarette in the ashtray, “Yeah, it shows. Look I’m not trying to come off as a bitch, but we made a deal for a ride home. I was desperate so I said okay. I don’t even know you and honestly right now I’m not in a place in my life where I want to get to know anyone. So, I am fine with eating and going our separate ways. But beyond that I am going to have to say no,” she lays out. “Well I thought maybe we would talk and then maybe then,” I begin yet again. “I don’t think you are quite getting this. You seem like a nice guy. A little odd, but for the most part you seem to be nice. I’m sure you are. A little advice though. When you make a deal for someone to buy you dinner for a ride home. When you do that it’s not the best idea to see if then they want to go out on a date. If you wanted to go out on a date than you should have just asked me out on a date,” she says. “I mean I would have. I should have, but things were a bit off and weird that night. I was going to pay for the food. I didn’t actually expect you to have to pay for your food,” I say disjointed. “Maybe it is my fault. Look if I had known this was supposed to be a date I would have declined. I was desperate and I needed a ride home. You presented the deal and I was fine with it. Dinner for a ride. That was it. Maybe this was a mistake. No, this was. Look I’m sorry,” she gets up and grabs her purse. “Sam it was really kind of you to give me a ride home the other night, but that is all that it was,” she walks away and the bell on the diner door rings. It rings as though it is the only sound in all of the world. “My names not Sam,” I mumble to myself.

Naturally I call Sam from the diner and naturally I go over to his place and explain everything. Naturally he wants to say I told you so and like a good friend he doesn’t. “So, are you done obsessing over her now?” He asks me. “I wasn’t obsessing over her,” I tell him. “You can lie to yourself man, but you can’t lie to me. You’ve never been able too. I knew something was weird the other day. I was just hoping I was wrong,” he says disappointed. “Whatever it went as well as I could have hoped,” I try to play off. “Don’t do that,” Sam tells me. “Do what?” I ask. “Try to play it off. It was shitty. She is a shitty person. She always has been and will always be. Granted you did maybe mix up your intentions. But even a blind man could see you were asking her out on a date,” he reassures me. “Thank you, that’s all I wanted was some validation. I tried Sam. Told myself to be confident, to act confident, and I crumbled like I always do,” I tell him. “She really thought you were me?” he asks. “Honestly that was the worst part. I thought getting turned down made me feel like shit, but when she called me you it was like a knife to the heart,” I confess. “Well you are still breathing so, I hardly think it was anything like a knife to the heart. If there is one thing either of us know it is what that is truly like,” Sam jokes. “Very funny,” I say back to him unimpressed. “Looks lets go get a drink or two and forget about this whole shitty night,” Sam suggests. “I guess that’s about all there is ever to do around here,” I say frustrated. “Oh, cheer up we could always go to the movies in Selma,” he antagonizes.

We head over to The Room to do the only thing there is to do in this town, forget. The Room is packed with people as it always is. Sam and I walk to the bar to order our drinks, and I see her at the other end. Surrounded by men. “Don’t even look at her,” he says to me.  She picks up her shot off the bar as the men around her watch. They all cheer as she finishes it off before taking a drink from their own drinks. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had,” Sam says. “No, its fine,” I say as the bartender hands us our drinks. “Another, another,” the other side of the bar chants and the bartender walks away from us. Sam and I take our drinks to a table at the far end of The Room. We don’t say much as we sip our drinks. He sits there drinking while I sit there staring at the scene across from us. People walk by and maybe Sam speaks to me, but all I notices in a room full of people is her. Her taking drink after drink. She deserves someone better. Someone like me. Not those assholes she surrounds herself with. Not the ones that will only use her and throw her way. She deserves someone who will worship her like I do. We get more drinks and I watch some more. “What do you want to do?” Sam asks me and my eyes never leave her. “I want to destroy each and every one of them,” I say without thinking. “I’m sure you do and I can’t say that I don’t want to help you, but we both know that will solve nothing,” he says to me. “Sure, it would. Take away the distractions and there will be nothing left,” I say in a low tone. “You need to get your shit together man. We aren’t going to fuck up a good thing because you can’t keep your head straight. Surely not going to do it for her,” Sam says. “Then what do you suggest all mighty one? What is it that we should do?” I ask. “We take out the problem,” he says as if that is the only answer. “Is that not what I suggested?” I ask turning my attention to him and away from her. “No, you suggested adding to the problem. You are planning to make this worse. When you should be planning to make this better. Have faith in me and we can make this all better,” he says to me. I sit in silence as I stare into his eyes. Looking away only to notice her preparing to leave. I watch as she stumbles out of the bar with two men closely on her heels.

Sam watches as intently as I do until the three have left The Room. “I don’t know about you, but I notice a pattern,” Sam says to me. “That I will never be good enough for her?” I ask. “If anything you are too good for her, but no. What I have noticed from all the times we have been watching her leave is that if you get enough drinks in her she will leave with anyone,” he says slyly. I look into his eyes. “Notice how disappointed the others are.” I look over to the men she left behind. “The one on the left doesn’t seem too happy. I imagine he looks a lot like you did when she turned you down,” he says. “So?” I ask. “My guess would be that he was the plans she had for later. She was who he was meeting after dinner with you,” he expresses. “I could see that I guess,” I take another drink. “So one could infer that she doesn’t always leave with the one that she came with,” Sam points out. “If this is some sort of pep talk about how she is a whore I don’t need that right now,” I tell him. “I imagine that you don’t. If you could move past your own obsession then maybe you could see what I am trying to tell you is all that you need to know to get what you want. What we both want,” he says. “What is it that we could both want out of her?” I ask. “I know that you are hurt or broken or whatever, but now is not the time to play stupid,” Sam finishes off his drink. “Well it is a little late to do anything about it now. She already left with those other two guys. I’m sure she is panties down and knee deep in cock right now. Are you suggesting we take them all out or something else?” I ask. “Neither, all I am suggesting is that if we want to get even. That would be our in.,” he says. “Wait until she is completely drunk?” I ask. “Precisely,” he raises his empty glass in the air and the server signals that she will bring another. “Swoop in and take what it is that we deserve,” Sam says to me. “We?” I ask. “She isn’t on the list,” I say to him. “No, she isn’t is she. But maybe she will fulfill our purpose none the less. Question is how do we get away with it?” He asks me. “I’m sure you will come up with something,” I say to him.

These things take time. Revenge, takes time. Too soon and it becomes too obvious. Too long and it all sinks into oblivion. The right balance Sam would say. A mixture of time and effort. Others were caught because they didn’t think it through. Spent too little time forming a plan. They were sloppy. Checks and balances. We keep each other in line and we never lose sight of the purpose. They want us to be nothing so we became nothing. Background noise for their lives. It is what we do in the shadows that proves who we really are. The plan was simple. Less complicated then the last. “Just like Mike we make it look like something else. Stage it to be something else. Who doesn’t hate themselves? Who doesn’t have thoughts of taking all the pain away?” It all seems so simple even if it is not. Nothing can be overlooked. Anticipate that everything and anything will be. Checks and balances. Use what we have. Bring only what was needed. The plan was easy enough, but nothing ever goes as planned.

“You seem like you could use some help,” I say to her as she stumbles out of the bathroom. “Don’t you always seem to show up when I need someone the most,” she slurs as she stops to talk to me. “You are looking like you had one too many,” I say to her. She puts her arms around my shoulders more for stability than anything else. “You may be right about that. Might be making some stupid decisions once again. You ever make any stupid decisions Sam?” She asks me through blurry eyes. “I can think of one or two I might have made in my life,” I tell her. She stares into my eyes trying to figure out who I am. “Let me take you home. It is the least I can do,” I say to her. No deals this time. A simple suggesting this time around. “I think maybe I’d like that,” she says confused. Looking around The Room everyone is too caught up in their own lives to notice just like we had hoped. No one notices Becky and I as we make our way out of the bar. I guide her to the truck as she goes on about how wonderful I am. I try to keep my composure as I get her in the truck. My hand brushes against her breasts as I put the seat belt on her. “You think you want to try something?” She asked threw slurred words before giving me a kiss on the lips. It should have been everything I imagined it to be. The stale taste of old alcohol left on my lips. If I had known it would have been this easy could all of this had been avoided?

Closing the door of the truck I take one last look around. No one insight. No one to notice that she left with me. I hop into the driver’s side and turn the engine. “So where do you live again?” I ask knowing that it doesn’t matter. Her hand falls into my lap as I make the turn out of the parking lot. “Is that really where you want to take me?” She asks as she rubs the inside of my leg. I can’t help but get excited. Finally finding her way to my excitement, “Guess it’s not.” She rubs her hand over my jeans getting me even more excited. “Didn’t think it would be,” she slurs. I drive on out of town. I look at the clock and realize I am ahead of schedule. “There may be some time to work something out,” I say to her. “Oh, there is always time to work something out”, she jokes.  I keep her talking to keep her awake. Before turning off into an unmarked road not far from the state park. “You got a secret spot I don’t know about?” She jokes. “I might know a secret or too,” I tell her. “I like a good secret,” she says before taking her hand off of me. Driving slowly through the woods I try to not get more excited as she undoes her seat belt. She starts to take off her clothes starting with her shirt, “Hurry up and take me to this secret spot because I want to fuck you already.” She slips off her bra exposing her breast and I try not to wreck the truck. Working her way out of her jeans I slow the truck down to a stop in front of the planned spot. “Well if you want any part of this you better come and get it,” she shouts before jumping out of the truck in her underwear. I turn the truck off as she stands nearly naked in the truck head lights. Stands there wanting me. Wanting something even if she doesn’t know who it is from I remind myself.

I grab a few things from behind the truck seats and get out to join her. She runs up to me as her breasts jiggle with each step. She slams them into me as she runs into me. She giggles as she wraps her arms around me and gives me a kiss. We kiss as I lead her backwards away from the truck.  I drop what is in my hands hard onto the grass and take her into my arms. She works her hands down to the opening of my pants. “You know what I was thinking?” She asks between kisses. “What?” I ask between the same. “Why aren’t you fucking me yet,” she says as she frees my cock. She falls towards the ground taking me with her. We make out some more in the grass as I take her panties off. She lays beneath me with her legs spread. I look down at all of her bathed in the headlights of the truck. This is all I ever wanted I think to myself. “I don’t have a condom,” I say to her. She works the rest of my pants down off my waist, “Just stick it in already Sam.” I want to say my name is not Sam. Let her know, but then I remember Sam will be here any minute. Sam would not approve of this. This wasn’t part of the plan. I shove myself deep inside her. Over and over, and with each thrust she cries out. She demands more and more. I grip her ass with both hands and give her one last final thrust before I finish. I can feel everything leave my body, my mind until the only thing left is the thought. This is love. She opens her eyes. “Is that all you got? I thought you said you were going to fuck me? What was that like two second?” she rants. My penis slides out of her as she continues to complaint. Reality comes flooding back in with each one of her insults. “See this is why no one bothered with your loser ass in high school,” she spews out. My anger builds, my frustration comes flooding back in. I want to scream as I put my hand around her throat. “Oh, so you do got more left in you?” She questions through gritted teeth. “Give it to me then you pussy. Is that what you need? For me to insult your bitch ass,” she berates me. I reach for one of the things I brought. I reach for a part of the plan. Anticipate that you will always forget something. I shove the barrel of the shot gun deep inside of her. “That does seemed to be exactly what you need you,” I squeeze her throat stopping her from saying anything else. I reach around for the trigger of the shotgun. All I can feel is what is left of the barrel sticking out of her. I release my hand from her throat and slide my body back away from her. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about. Now fuck me with that rock hard cock,” she shouts. I pull the trigger and watch everything unfold in slow motion. I watch as her face turns and her words cease to exist. I watch as her inside get pushed out from within. I smell nothing but burning flesh and shit, and my dick becomes harder than it could ever get.

“What the fuck have you done?” Sam shouts at me with a noose in his hands. I let go of the trigger and rise to my feet. My shirt is covered in blood and my pants around my ankles. “Put that fucking thing away,” Sam shouts at me. Confused I realize he is talking about my dick. “This was not part of the plan,” he continues to shout while I pull my pants up. I needed more time I think as my penis pushes against my pants. “You stupid, obsessed dumb fuck. You had to fuck her didn’t you? You had to go and fuck this up? The plan was to hang her and watch her die. Make it look like she couldn’t take anymore,” Sam raves. “Doesn’t look like she can take much more than what I gave her,” I try to joke. “Shut the fuck up,” Sam says in a slow manner, “Shut the fuck up.” He begins to pace throwing his hand around. “Let me think. Just let me think,” he says over and over. I stand there silently looking over her body. Looking at what it was that I had just done. “Did you cum in her?” he asks. “Did you?” he asks in rapid succession. I reach down and pull the shot gun out. Bits of flesh still left on the barrel, “I don’t think it matters anymore.” Sam lets out a noise best described as a huff, “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? DNA asshole have you heard of it? When they find her naked body what do you think they are going to look for first?” Sam rants with his whole body. “Good luck finding it,” I declare pointing the shotgun at her destroyed corpse. “You know for the smart one. You are pretty fucking stupid,” Sam shouts at me. “It’s destroyed. Whatever I put inside her is long gone now,” I declare. Sam makes a face, “Or maybe it is splashed all against her chest and face, and any other place that shotgun sent the rest of her.” He shakes his head. “We don’t know anything. They have to look for her first and find her. Animals I don’t know, but anything left could be long gone before it even matters,” I try to reason. The stress building up in his face Sam rubs his face hard as he tries to calm down, “We clean up as much as we can without making it look like we cleaned anything up and we will be fine. We bleach the shot gun and burn your clothes. We should be fine. But if you ever.” He pauses dramatically, “If you ever go against the plan again I will kill you.” The real Sam comes out and we get to work. Checks and balances don’t always work, but they are there for a reason I suppose.

If you didn’t read Let The Good Times Roll… It can be found in Broken Thoughts Vol. 1 Between Me and You… Priced to sale at only $4… But that’s not all to find in this Volume… With a blend of poetry… thoughts… and stories… it is very much something different… something to read while you wait for Volume 2 to release…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Check This Title Out and More At Amazon… Digital and Paperbacks Now Available…

No Real Idea… Rant…

I don’t have anything to say, but of course this is not my fault. It is probably in some ways yours as I take no blame for anything that are faults of my own. No, I am from a generation that is like every generation before it. Masked and paraded in a way that makes us seem different, but each generation is the same. My generation’s mask seems so obvious. Ripe for the picking. My generation expects to be rewarded for showing up. We deserve the world because we were promised the world. I choose my hours and I expect to reserve the same amount of hours each week dispute quality of work. I’m here am I not? Bow before me and kiss my feet. You can’t replace me with a robot. Not yet at least but until you do. Know that I am in charge. Glad I could be the one to inform you. Don’t make me get my mother on the phone. She will only say what I’ve been told all this time. Don’t worry I won’t call her unless I have to. A weapon I keep in my back pocket. A weapon that has no repercussions but I know I can use. This is only the start of what I deserve, what I expect from this life. Outside of work I expect much greater things. I know I deserve a mansion full of food and a car that does zero to sixty in less than ten seconds and a phone blazing fast phone and a TV bigger than a wall and I deserve these things because I exist in this world. I need unlimited connection to this world I have no real knowledge about. If these small demands. No if these basic necessities of life aren’t met so help me I’ll have no choice other than to milk a system I had no hand in creating. You may see me as a fat pig begging for more, but no I am nothing more than a small, starving, and dying child. Nothing is not guaranteed as long as it has been on TV. I’m not sure this is right. I’m not sure this is true, but I’m sure at one time or another I’ve done at least one of these to you. Justified in my actions. Justified in my thoughts all I know is it couldn’t have been my fault.

Something very different… I found this buried deep within my files… maybe I should have left it there… but where is the fun in that?… I’m not sure what triggered me to write this in the first place… but upon reading it I was triggered again… I tried to leave it as is… not add anything to it… I’m sure I did though… write something over and over again… it will change…overall though… I think a lot of “us” are treated like this… as a child… sometimes justified… most of the time not… we get grouped up in this group… I believe that is where this stems from…

Hard to say when it was written almost a decade ago… I have a lot of notes and files… saved up of course… in case I don’t have anything real to say… : )

Oddly enough… I do find myself having this stupid debate about generations… more than anyone should… the best argument of course is that we are lazy… don’t know anything about hard work… expect so much… blah… blah… blah… truth is yes… with each passing generation we have become all of those things because we are advancing… each generation rewrites the term “hard work”… as it should… each previous generation defines “laziness”…

Because… “Do you know what I had to do for insert something“… “Do you know what it took to get insert something“… “Yes, grandpa… You had to walk eight miles up hill because apparently you grew up on a mountain… We have electric scooters for that now… no one has time to be walking”…

That was a weird paragraph… but you get the point… hopefully… I’m to lazy to reread it again… I never said none of it was true… losing the point… wandering off… it shouldn’t be news… but it is… we are no lazier than the last generation… unless you are talking about this new generation because…. it is sad really… my daughter is too lazy to even finish the YouTube video… she expects everything to run off an app… and apparently if we don’t have something/ she breaks something… it’s okay… “You can buy another one”… Hands me my phone… fucking Amazon…

Speaking of… Books now available in paperback and digital on Amazon… In case my daughter broke yours… I promises that the sentence structure… makes way more sense than this…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… Keep It To Yourself…

“I tried to quit smoking recently and it didn’t go well. Go well is a bit of an understatement really. In the aftermath though I realized a few things about myself. Turns out I wasn’t addicted to smoking or some oral fixation, which sounds like I will suck on anything pointed at my face by the way. No, the reason I can’t stop inhaling dried leaves laced with additives and chemicals is because I am addicted to a much darker thought. I am addicted to the thought of death. Even if it is a slow drawn out death. One filled with hacking and an overall weathering of my body as I watch myself slowly extinguish like the very thing I love. I am fixated on the thought of death to just stop myself from killing myself. Does that make sense? In some ways we are self-destructive.  That isn’t a new idea in this world. Some of us shoot shit into our veins. Others barrel down the road in hopes that a child doesn’t pop up in a school zone. I put something to my lips and take a deep breath. We as humans are addicted to destroying ourselves. On purpose or by circumstance we can’t give it up. I can’t think of one thing that I do that isn’t killing me in some way. Which may be a good reason to give up one that I know will, but why? What’s really in it for me? Life always ends in the same whether we want it to or not. Right or wrong all we have in life is faith that we are doing what is best for ourselves even if it is not. Our judgements and our thoughts are ours, but sometimes there is no need to express every last one. The mind is a terrible thing to waste and sometimes hearing a piece of it can be too much to handle. Opinions maybe like assholes and everyone’s got one, but it doesn’t mean we want to hear them,” I spill out. “Yes, these are all valuable points Layne, but what were you thinking about at the time?” The lady with the clip board asks me. “I prefer Ambrose,” I inform her. “My apologies Ambrose, but please answer the question,” she says in a way that lets me know that she doesn’t care. This is another job. Another moron she has to deal with. “Those were my exact thoughts give or take a few on the spot additions. I tend to fixate on an idea and kind of “black out” or chew on that idea for a while. Well until something else pisses me off or annoys me. Then I switch to that one,” I ramble on. She give me a look that I have seen before. Everyone gives me that look whenever I try to explain myself.  Same look just before they roll their eyes.

“Those were your exact thoughts when you were,” she pauses to flip through some papers on her clipboard. “Ah yes, here we are,” she finally says before turning the clipboard towards me. She shows me a picture of the aftermath of my actions. I try to not look at the picture, but when it is basically shoved in your face it is hard to look away. “Those were your thoughts when you did this?” She asks again. I fidget against the restraints they have me in, “I mean give or take. Yeah that is what I was thinking about.” She turn the clipboard back to herself and flips back to where she left off.  “How does it make you feel doing what you did to that innocent lady?” she asks me. “Well it doesn’t make me feel good, but let’s not throw around the word innocent so loosely. I mean if you would have heard what she had to say and the way she was saying it. My actions might almost seem justified. I mean in the right circle,” I try to joke. “Justified? This isn’t a joke Mr. Ambrose. I’d hardly call decapitating a defenseless woman in front of her children justified because she was simply informing you about the harm you were doing to yourself,” she says all butt hurt. “Words, words, words it is all about how you say them. That’s the thing about perception. I’ll tell you one thing. Those children learned a valuable lesson that day,” I say in a less playful tone. “What possible lesson could those poor children have learned from you that day?” She asks with fire burning in her eyes. “Besides the obvious? Those kids learned that sticks and stone will hurt them, but words will surely kill me,” I let off a dark sinister laugh.

Horrified the doctor gets up from her chair. “You are sick Layne Ambrose,” the doctor tries to say over all of my laughing. “You haven’t been paying attention,” I say in a low tone between all the laughing. She stares at me. Puzzled as I leap at her from across the coffee table. Dislocating my thumb before I leaped at her I knock her to the floor. I sit on top of her as she tries to fight me off. She isn’t strong enough to get me off of her. I pop my arm thumb back into socket and grab the pen the lays next to us. “Help,” she screams. “Help me,” she struggles to say as I put my hand on her throat. “Someone,” she fights to say as I stab the pen into her neck over and over again. She slowly stops fighting me, but I can see the life still left in her eyes. I release my hand from her throat as more blood rushes from her wound. A large hole in the side of her neck. “You think I am sick?” I ask her. “You think? Maybe the next one will be smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves,” I get up off of her and head back towards my chair. “I think we are going to need some help in here,” I shout as loud as I can. “This one seems to be leaking.”

So if you remember last year I tried to do this whole insane asylum story arc?… When There Is No More Room….  This story was actually an out take of that story… well it was supposed to be the catalyst to the doctor character getting the big job… very early on idea… because eventually I decided to make that whole story pretty much take place in the past… so me being a live in the 50’s is a bit of stretch… so why am I in the story?… that seems weird… and it is… but it also isn’t… even before No More Room

So.. so.. long ago… in another galaxy…  I had this other idea for a novel… I still might do it… but even after all these years I still haven’t come up with a way to not make me seem like a self-centered asshole… which I am but it doesn’t have to be so obvious… the idea any way was to create a vast network of short stories that all involved me in some way… so this one… another that takes place in outer space… where one of the characters drops a line like… “Have you heard about what’s going on down there?  Have you heard about Layne Ambrose?”… all different genres… all different stories… all involving me…

Yeah… let that soak in… it is a dumb ass idea… but early on… it seemed like the coolest idea ever… whenever you start something new… ideas seem easy to come by… not good ideas… or even great ones… those take years… and that is what I learned in all the years that I have been writing… this was a one off story I wanted to share… give you a taste of what could have been… and will most likely never be… you didn’t ask for it… but you are more than welcome….

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Something Different… Q & A… 3… Digging Up The Dead…

We are playing The Ungame one last time this cycle… I pick six random ass questions from the stack… and away we go…

Turn 1… If You Were Convinced That Reincarnation Was A Fact, How Would You Like To Come Back?

No real need to convince me of reincarnation… fingers crossed that all of this is to come back once again… who wants to only live one life… from one perspective?… boring… This one is pretty easy for me… I would want to come back as a bird… unsure what bird though… being a penguin would be amazing… gliding through the endless ocean… dodging death at every turn… living in the cold… but I would want the ability to fly high above the earth… or to be able to fly at all…see everything in a way I could never in this life time… go anywhere my body could take me… not have to live in the restraints of a society I was born into…

To me being a bird means freedom… freedom to do whatever it is that you want… being any animal seems to be that way… but knowing life I’m sure that we are all stuck in some sort of cage…

Turn 2… Complete The Statement; “One Thing I Missed During My Childhood Was…”

Hmm… I’d have to say I was pretty lucky… sure maybe I could have used a Dad… didn’t but maybe I could have… could have spent more time with my extended family… didn’t but oh well… I wouldn’t really say I missed anything because it is hard to know what you missed if you didn’t know about it… everything could go one way or another… and I’m pretty content on how my life turned out… if I had to pick something though… I would say the sense of home…

I move around a lot as a child… and even into my young adulthood… which is something that is actually hard to complain about… I’ve seen and lived in place that some people have dreamed of living or seeing… some people have worked their whole lives to be able to do what I had the opportunity to do… so I’m not going to go on some long rant about how I missed all this shit I didn’t know about… but sometimes I get jealous of others… that didn’t go anywhere… that idea that no matter where they go in this world… they can always go home…

That is a pretty strong… comforting feeling… I only have one place out of all the places that I have lived that I consider “home”… and I can never go back to that place… it was a time and place I can never get back too… maybe that is how it is for others and I don’t know… or maybe it isn’t… one of life’s many mysteries…

Turn 3… What Makes You Laugh?

haha… some dark ass shit… my line for comedy is pretty thin… would I laugh at my own mothers death?… maybe… what’s the joke?… I tend to not get so offended by what people say… because people say a lot of shit… an ungodly amount of shit really… and I fit right into that… maybe it is from being ugly… being bullied as a child… but it takes a lot for me to get angry rather than laugh… so much so that I get in “trouble” for just saying whatever in person… I tend to not think about what it is that I am saying… or who I am saying it to… and sometimes… I may or not have crossed a few lines…

Things that make me laugh… murder… serial killers… missed placed words… miss placed actions… new age rappers names… death… life… race… humanity… dogs… cats… fail videos… too much man ass in a movie or show… sex… stupidity… myself… my daughter… people trying to hard… slapstick… comments… and stupid shit… I’ll laugh at anything… and even when I don’t… I tend to laugh at the situation…

Turn 4… If There Is Unnecessary Laughing – Some People Might Be Afraid To Share Their Feelings. Be Aware of the Mood You Create! Take another card.

This made me laugh…

Turn 5… Say Something About Earthquakes.

They can move the earth… How is this even a question?… they just got lazy on a few of these… fun fact… I have been through a few earthquakes… nothing horrific as the ones on the news… but there are places on earth where they just happen… no big deal… lose a picture frame or lamp and move on… those types are actually pretty fun… I rather enjoyed them… the ones where people die?… fuck that… That would not be fun at all…

Turn 6… Do You Ever Feel Lonely? When?

This is two questions… lazy writing… learn the rules of your own game… avoiding the question maybe?… I get lonely because I am human… It doesn’t happen often because I was an only child… so I can feel it… but I move on from it rather quickly in general… The loneliness I feel when I am not around my wife and daughter… is a little hard to move past…

I feel that constantly… right now… even… I want to write and get some work done… but I miss them… wonder what they are doing… what we will do later… I would say that the idea of loneliness has changed a lot for me over time… I wouldn’t call it a learned behavior… I’m sure that I was lonely a lot as a child… but I didn’t know it… so maybe that is why I overcompensate so much as an adult… I’ve been called clinging… haha… yeah me… but for the most part… I love to be alone… It is all I really know… I find so many things to do in this idea of alone… sometimes it can be hurtful but for me it is relaxing…

What?… I think people who are only child’s will understand what I mean… everyone else maybe not so much… so many sides to a coin… I can admit though that the feeling of being a lone is very overwhelming… but so is the idea that there is always someone there… there needs to be a balance… just like with everything in life… in truth though we are never truly a lone… that is one thing I have learned from this life… and this website…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… Release Me…

There is a line we do not cross
Hop over it once and it’s all your fault
Step over it again and find out what’s wrong
Thin lines grow between hearts and breaks
Thin lines grow between us
Keeping us apart yet very much the same
There are lines we do not cross
Reach over them once and it’s all your fault
Fall over it again and find out what’s wrong
Thin lines grow between souls and life
Thin lines grow within us
Keeping us together yet very much the same

“What do you got there Sylvia?” An orderly asks. Her young frame hunched over an open notebook. She pretends to not hear the question. “Hey Sylvia,” he calls out once again. As the youngest patient in the asylum he isn’t used to her teenage attitude in this dark dingy place overcrowded with pain, neglect, and isolation. “Nothing, just something I have been working on to pass the time,” she answers. “Did you not hear me the first time?” He ask. “I heard you,” she says into her notebook. “Okay, well maybe sometime you could show me what you have been working on,” he smiles. She looks up at him, “Yeah maybe.” She buries her head back into her notebook. The orderly shakes his head and walks over to the other side of the room to talk to the other patients in the recreation room. “So what are you working on Harold?” She hears him ask the only other patient not drugged out of their mind. She picks up her pen.

I’m so depressed here. I wish I never “volunteered” to be admitted. Should have just run away again or finished what I started. I’ve been rubbing the scars again. No one would listen to me outside of this walls or inside them. I should have known he would have sent me to a place that wouldn’t listen. This place is like school. “Sylvia stop your lying.” Maybe I’m not lying. Maybe you aren’t listening. The deep jagged cuts down my arm don’t help me to forget. The pain is long gone from the last time, but somehow still linger in my mind. Thought maybe if I wasn’t pretty anymore. Wasn’t perfect then maybe. It doesn’t matter what I thought. How many times am I going to tell myself the same thing? How many times am I going to justify trying to kill myself? No one cares why it happened as long as it isn’t happening. I’m safer here than at home. That’s what is important. As long as I keep my volunteer status he can’t hurt me. As long as I am here I am safe. The reason doesn’t matter anymore. No one is going to stop him, but at least I did.

 The orderly makes his way back over to her. His footsteps echo within the room. She closes up her notebook, “Yes Charles?” He checks his watch, “I’ve been reminded to remind you that your next appointment is in a five minutes.” She rolls her eyes, “Funny how that seems to be the case every week.” He smiles and pretends that her attitude isn’t bothering him. A talent he learned from his two girls at home. “It is quite odd. Might have to do something about that,” he jokes. “Them doing anything here would be a first,” she says as she gets up from her chair and walks away.

The door to the doctor’s office is open slightly as she knocks on the door. “Come in. How are we doing today Sylvia?” The doctor asks as he looks at a chart that isn’t even hers. “Fine, I guess. Same as always,” she mocks. “You know you can leave whenever you want? Maybe go back home and spend some time with your family. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He asks without looking at her once. “I’m sure they miss me immensely. At least that is what they would want you to believe, but I’m certain I am just fine right here,” she looks down at her scars once again. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll make a call to your parents and tell them you are ready to go home,” he says. “I didn’t say that at all,” she says. “I just want to tell you Sarah we made some real progress in the time that you have been here,” the doctor rattles off. “My name is Sylvia,” she says in anger. “Yes, I am aware and I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to write you a script for some mood suppressors. You don’t have to take them, but if you feel all the anxiety coming back on I want you to feel safe,” the doctor says. “I feel safe here. I want to stay here,” She tries to reason. “Change is good for you. You have been here too long. It’s time for you to go home. I know your father misses you every much. I have been keeping him updated and he seems as optimistic as I am about your recovery,” he looks up from his chart. “So go ahead and get your things ready for tomorrow. That seems like a perfect place to end today,” he gives off a weak smile. Sylvia begins to cry. The tears falling from her eyes to her arms and running along her scars, “I don’t want to go.” The nurse comes in and places a hand on her shoulder. “Nurse remind me that I need to call her parents in a bit and if you could have Charles bring in the next patient that would be wonderful,” the doctor asks. “Yes, sir. Come on Sylvia let’s get you back to your room,” the nurse says to her. “But I don’t want to go,” she begins to sob. “I know dear. I know,” the nurse says as she rubs her shoulder. The doctor goes back to his file as the nurse escorts Sylvia from the room.

“There she is,” Charles calls out as he walks by her open door. “Glad to see you writing again,” he says to her. She doesn’t respond to him as she sits still at her desk. Memories flooding her mind. “Wanted to check in on you. Heard you were pretty upset earlier,” he says to more silence. “Also heard you were going home tomorrow too. That is good news,” he tries to sound excited. “Mind If I take a look at what you are writing? I understand if you don’t feel like talking,” Charles suggest. “Very much so. It is private,” she snaps at him. “I see you are excited about leaving tomorrow,” he snaps back. “Maybe even sooner,” she says under her breath. “What?” Charles asks concerned. “I said I want you to leave. Did you not hear me the first time,” Sylvia screams at him with tears in her eyes. “I just want you to know that I am here if you need to talk,” Charles says in a caring voice before walking out of the room. Sylvia quickly gets up from her chair and slams the door behind him. Only doors don’t slam here. She pushes all her weight against the door to try and get it to close faster. Tears streaming down her face as she struggles. Despite living in the same room for the past six months her room is nearly bare. A bed, a dresser, and a desk. “Her desk,” she thinks to herself. Her father’s money was at least good for something in this place. A private room and her own desk, but they wouldn’t let her have her pens. Not after what happened. They gave her special hospital pens, but only after she had developed trust. She couldn’t do much of anything with those useless things any way. She calms down enough to return to her desk and flips open the note book to where she left off.

There is a silence
It is a constant
There is a sadness
It is a constant
There are so many things
And they are all constant
I can taste the blood on the page
I can feel the sweat on the page
I can see the tears on the page
As each drop becomes the page
Why doesn’t anyone understand

Sylvia tosses the note book as hard as she can. It bursts open as it smashes against the wall. Papers, words, time falls to the floor. She begins to sob at the thought of the words, “I know your father misses you very much.” Visions of the past fill her mind. Remembering the pain.  Remembering the fear of it all. Remembering that no one would listen. No one cared. “How could you ever say a thing like that about your father,” her mother’s words echo in her mind. Only to be replaced by the memory of his touch and his words. “You are so beautiful. My perfect little angel,” his words like poison slipping into her mind. You are confused at first. Why now? Why this? So you fight it the best you can, but the fight becomes useless. The whole thing becomes normal. A daily routine that you can’t wash away from your mind. The thought becomes clear. If I’m no longer perfect then it will stop. The memory of the pain from before washes over her once again. Make myself imperfect. Make it go away. The blood drips on the floor. It stains the carpet, but they clean it and they move on. It never stops the abuse. The monster doesn’t care if you are perfect. The monster doesn’t care at all. Deeper you dig. Deeper you find yourself in pain. Deeper until you think that it is over. Until you find yourself here and know that it is. Sylvia reaches under her desk to grab the item hidden beneath. When she got here she was hopeful that it would never have to be used again, but deep down she knew someday she would need a way out. She holds the jagged piece of mental in her hands. “We don’t even know what she cut herself on,” he mother told the hospital. Squeezing all her anger and the pain into it. “Here we go again,” she thinks. “A conclusion I can no longer hide away from.” She holds the broken piece of metal in her hand. She gently places it on her desk and opens her last remaining note book.

“When we bleed it is only to cleanse our souls. It’s like letting the air out of the tires every now and then. Sometimes it hurts more than others, but the hurt never compares to the pain. The hurt feels good in a way. The pain doesn’t. I wish someone would have listened to me. Anyone at this point. I wish I could explain the pain that I am in, but for some reason, I can’t. It could be the lack of blood still left within me or my ever lack of words associated with the pain. Pain is nothing like the hurt. The hurt comes and goes, but the pain. The pain is always there. Every once in a while I found myself here in this place. This dark hole surround by all the pain I don’t understand. This place of self-loathing and hate. I control my own destiny, right? Or have I just misheard some well-placed advice? Maybe I don’t control anything since no matter my choices I always end up here. I always end up with this pain. No one cares, but everyone’s still listening. I know it is not my fault and maybe it still is. Should have never. Should have done things differently. This has to be for the best. Nothing else left to do. Except release myself from this burden. Release me from this hole. I tried. I really did. Maybe not enough or in the way I should have….”

This is a work of fiction, but sadly the concept behind it is not. This story is lived day in and day out by an unknown amount of children. Many of whom do not reach out. It is not normal and it is not okay. If you or someone you know is being abused. Please reach out for help and never stop reaching out for help. Help is always there even when it feels like the whole world won’t listen to you. Click the links below to find help or to find out how you can help those in need. You are not powerless and you are loved.

Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN) – National Sexual Assault Hotline

For A List of National Hotlines


I debated on how graphic I wanted to get with this story… from the suicide to the abuse… I debated for a long time… this story kind of took a life of it’s own… I started the story with the idea to write a back story to a previous character… Sylvia from Purgatory… seemed pretty simple… I liked the character a lot from that story… I liked her attitude… I liked who she could have been… seeing how everyone in that story is dead already when we meet them… I wanted to do a sequel…

The original idea for Sylvia was to write out a “love story” where she explains what her scars are from to the main character of Purgatory… (Fun fact… I only kept writing that story because of her… Sylvia to me was the thread that held that early story together for me…) but I don’t do love stories very well… and I wasn’t sure how she had gotten her scars… In the original story she never says… she hides them when ever she can… spark… “why?”… and the more I thought about it… the more it became the story above… Of course when I came up for air I found myself someplace very far from a “love story”…

The first couple of drafts had way more detail… way more things that didn’t need to be said… and I’m not afraid to say certain things… I’ve got stories to prove it… but this one seemed different… though this didn’t happen to me personally… it felt personal… which made this one that much harder to write… as an observer it is always easier to write something when you are not attached to the subject… I of course didn’t want anything to ever happen to Sylvia… I don’t want anything to happen to anyone… and sadly these things do… So I didn’t want to just file it away and pretend like these things don’t happen… That these things could never happen…

Sometimes the hardest things to say are the ones that need to be said the most…

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