Built Upon The Backs Of The Undead… Broken Thoughts…

Flashes of thoughts
Images in my head
Understood but then forgot
Could I get this feeling
Cut out of my brain
Write it down
Never the same
The feelings just
Come back
Again and again

You said something… Words resting inside my head…

Breaking bodies just to watch them bleed
Can you, can you reach me when
I’m so far away
Can you, can you save me when
I’m too far gone
Slitting throats just to watch them bleed
Can you, can you take me when
I’m so far away
Can you, can you please me when
I’m too far gone
Bleeding, driven, insane
Living, dying, gone away
Can you, can you help me when
There’s nothing left to save?

“They say we write about what we know. All I know is pain, discomfort, and a willingness to do it all again.”

Laying cold, been dead
Feel for a pulse but I can’t taste
Laying cold, a corpse from before
Looking for any signs of life
But I can’t see any heart inside
Laying cold, pieces scattered
Feel for movement but I can’t hear
Laying cold, what’s left
Looking for any signs of life
But I can’t see any soul inside
Been dead but I can’t taste
Signs of life but I can’t see any heart within
Pieces scattered but I can’t hear
What’s left without a soul within
Lying cold at my feet
Seems you’ve died to me

Broken Thoughts
Layne Ambrose

Went through a depression this cycle… not sure if that was obvious… scrapping the floor of my mind… with my face… seems to be the only way I know how to say anything… is that a pattern or consistency?… dwelling on that for a moment… and the moment is over… a pattern of consistency… no one ever said I was deep… but dense?… you can dwell on that for me…

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Not Everything Is A Joke… But Maybe It Is… Broken Thoughts…

Just have to close your eyes and wait to die
A never ending nightmare laced with
A never ending existence contracted at birth
Digging through the past of it all
Built to last even if the mind doesn’t believe
The spirit locked someplace else in time
Just have to close your eyes and believe everything is alright
A never ending day laced with
A never ending need to die
Shuffling through all the times feeling like this
Made it through even when the mind didn’t believe
The soul is so much bigger than our immediate problems

There’s a woman who sleeps in my bed… I often wonder if she is alive or dead…

Stop searching for meaning
Sold my soul to a broken thought
Too long ago I gave away everything
These thoughts are all I left
Worthless sense of existence
You could never hate as much as I could
Distract myself but it always comes back
The feelings aren’t how I feel
Who I am
Acceptance they say is the first step
I give in, now what’s next
The silence is deadly inside my head
Broken put back together with glue
The cracks never go away
Waiting to fall once again
Always waiting for it all to fall apart
The only way I know how to live

Grinding out the days between then and now…

Chain smoking in the parking lot
You’ve probably past me
More times than you know
Keep going, there’s no saving
What’s already been gone
A mind destroyed
A soul let go
Think this is warning
Only the facts leaking out
Keep your distance
Pushed away and now everyone wants to know
Is everything okay
What do you think
On the edge
Pushing towards a ledge
Can I save you
Can I help throw you away

Broken Thoughts
Layne Ambrose

Not everything is a joke inside my head… hard to separate what is what though… I have a dark sense of humor… and I never laugh at the right time… before I take on a mountain of shit… first thought break is about my daughter… felt to creepy to say there is a girl who sleeps in my bed… and if you are a parent… that line will make more sense… or if you are crazy like me it will make more sense… it is basically this thought… fear… that your child isn’t breathing…

I can face most things in this world… but I’m not sure I could face that one… I can bullshit all day about how this is all for me… for my wife… for the world… but all of this and every day is about that little creature I call my daughter… so that is where that line comes from…

That last thought probably sounds like a call for help… but it is more of a reaction to my writing… and how people treat each other in person… there is a fine line between invasive and caring… we often don’t know if anything or everything is okay until it is too late… so there is that feeling flowing through that… slammed shut by the last line… we may miss signs that we should have or could have helped… but the big thing that we miss is actually how we treat others… the context is missing here…

I’m aware that I look like a monster… something to fear… but I can’t help the way that I was born… I didn’t choose this face and until this book career takes off… I’m stuck looking like this… but without any reason… people fear me and refuse to talk to me… even when I offer help… I get watched in stores… even though I’ve never stole anything and think the idea behind stealing anything would be worthless… but my beliefs aren’t tattooed to my skin… I’ve grown a thick skin… I understand why people react the way that they do… I’ve made peace with it since I was a child… but that last line… “Can I help throw you away.” stems from the fact that I am still human… I can still feel your dislike for me without any context… you didn’t even give me a change… we pass judgement with no thought at all… won’t change… the way we are… but it still hurts…

Those feelings are what I am talking about… they build up… you try to not let them… but I know they do… which brings me to the point that we only care until it is too late… we fail to see that our reactions… words… treatment of others… is what started this cycle… can’t say I’m not guilty of such actions… despite my past dealing with such feelings… I still go out of my way to make sure I treat everyone with respect… and yes… some people are just assholes…

A fun game I like to play is to be extra nice to those people… nothing hurts more than when you realize you are being an asshole for no reason… that look on their face is priceless… I like to do this to Cops… TSA agents… and customers… people with “Authority” because at the end of the day we are all just human… at the end of the day we are just trying to get to point A to B… no reason I have found that we can’t be decent about it…

With that… don’t forget to check out my books… drop a review… tell me I suck… that I am good… I know I’m not great… but every review helps… If you could help throw myself away… that would be awesome… haha…

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Heard A Rumor… The It And The Is… Broken Thoughts Vol. 2…

Now Available

The Next Exciting Volume in the Broken Thoughts Series is Now Available…

Now Packed with Even More Broken Thoughts… Poems… and Short Stories…

You Know for the Taste… *

This collection contains never before seen or read short stories not found any where… Including Strangers To Ourselves… A short story about one woman’s journey through hell and what she must do to survive… Also… included are classic short stories from the website… remixed… reedited… expanded… and somehow darker than ever before…

If you are a fan of everything found on the site… You are sure to love this unhinged… new collection from Layne Ambrose and Is That A Funeral?… Digital and Paperback available at Amazon and the Amazon Kindle Store…

Get Yours Today…

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Chewing On Glass Presents… Classes Start… (A Lie)

Classes Start

It’s ten a.m. and I’m nearly a hundred percent certain that I am in the wrong class room, but I have no plans of leaving. The teacher, a young woman who is probably a few years older than me with rather large breasts, passes out the syllabus to the class. A two to three page document detailing everything we are supposed to go over in the course of the semester. Fucking gag me, the syllabus is more or less an excuse to mow down a few more acres of trees in South America. Considering our teachers will flood our emails with the same shit anyway. I’m sitting in the far corner of the room, far away from everyone else. The teacher goes into a speech about showing up late, her breasts bouncing with each word. Is she even wearing a bra? I find myself more entertained with her bust line than trying to figure out where I even am. Her words bleed together and I can’t tell if it is me or her who is not making sense of the words. It takes a moment but I finally look down at the syllabus to figure where I am. The paper says that I am in public speaking and I can start to feel the blood drain from my face. Things only get worse when I start to realize that each student is standing up and telling everyone in the class their name and a little bit about themselves and why they are in college. Most of the students here are going for degrees in criminal justice or something as stupid as that. I can feel my heart rate go up and I begin to wonder if anyone else can hear the pounding of my heart like I can. It sounds like an Edgar Allen Poe story in here. Am I fucking dying or am I losing my mind? I hate speaking in front of a single person and speaking in front of all thirty people in the class is making me feel like I am having a heart attack. I can feel the sweat bead up at the top of my head and drip down my face. I was not prepared for this nor would I ever sign up for this. I calm my shaking hand long enough to grab my backpack and slowly make my way to the exit in a near crawl. How this isn’t any worse than just standing up and saying my name is beyond me. The latest victim stops speaking as the teacher asks me where I am going. I stand up from my crouched position and give her a blank stare before running out of the room.

My heart is racing a mile a minute as I wander the halls for what seems like days. Everything feels as though it is in slow motion but I keep trekking on. Wandering the halls isn’t an unusual thing for me. I do it a lot. Despite the fact that I hate this school I just can’t seem to leave. I’m never in class, but I’m never not at the school on school days. As confusing as that sounds I think it is because I feel guilty for not attending classes and it also has to do with the fact that I can’t afford to put more gas in my car. So, I might as well stay here and make the best of it. It doesn’t hurt that my drug dealer takes a lot of classes here as well. He says it helps him expand his mind. “Always got to be smart for the streets man, always.” When really he is just going to the school to expand his business, which has worked out pretty well for him in my opinion. It is here in a class for retards that I first met him. The class in question was a basic English course that all students have to take if they didn’t score a certain amount of points on the assessment test to get into this prestigious college. It can’t be over stated that I never wanted to go here so, the idea of even trying wasn’t an option when I took the test. I just breezed through the test selecting any answer without reading the question. I was hoping that maybe they would deny me, but nope they accepted me with cash symbols in their eyes since my whole first term wasn’t worth a single credit. I decided today that I will walk around the campus. No use going through another embarrassing first day. The first day doesn’t count anyway. I stop by the bathroom on the first floor before heading outside in the cold. The ground looks much more interesting when I’m high on drugs. The school uses a special kind of salt that is blue-green in color and it does a really good job of clearing off the sidewalks. In the center of campus there is a pond that has long been frozen over. I walk across the wooden bridge that goes across the narrow part of the pond connecting one side of the campus to the other side. In the summer this is where I like to stand, but in the winter the wind comes across the pond and hits me like a cold hard slap to the face. I’m starting to really feel the trip as I walk past the library and head for the main building. I’m making my way to the cafeteria to purchase the overly priced food I really can’t afford and steal one of the overly priced energy drinks. I usually don’t steal things, but I’m not paying three fucking dollars for something I could get for a lot less someplace else. Plus, what’s the worst they could do to me? Kick me out of school?

I walk into the cafeteria from the side door of the building. This door is on the opposite side of the student union, a place I try to avoid at all costs. I can’t stand this school and I can’t stand the students that go here even more. Most of them are so pretentious it makes me sick. Half the time I get trapped in some stupid conversation with one of them, and all I want to do is scream, “Look the fuck around.” They all like to live in some fantasy world that they are learning or attending some place that is giving them a higher education and we are not. I get nauseous thinking of the conversations I could get trapped into, but it is probably only the lack of food.  The cafeteria is nearly empty, there must still be classes going on. I walk up to the cooler and pretend to get a drink, but really I just slip one of the energy drinks on the lower shelf into my jacket pocket. No idea what I grabbed but it is that simple, and free and simple is the name of the game. Today’s menu is beef stroganoff prepared by the master chefs the school hires. The smell from the food is close to that of a bowel movement. I never get the prepared meal so, I decide on a cheeseburger that I am pretty sure is made of ten percent rubber. This is more of an impulse buy than a decision after the glorified lunch lady asks me if I was going to get anything or just sit there staring at the food. Don’t get me wrong I like being high but it has its negative effects too, such as time and how much of it is not perceived by my mind. After dropping three dollars and fifty cents on a cheese burger even the shittiest fast food place would sell, I head back outside and walk to the Art and Science building to eat.

Once inside I pound the energy drink down as fast as I can, hoping that the shit tasting cocktail and the drugs will keep me awake long enough to get through the next class. If I decide to even go to that one. My eyes feel like anvils as I eat the only food I will probably have today. A nasty side effect of the drugs is that I don’t eat and in the last couple of months I have lost over twenty pounds. I have always been a little bit heavy set so losing twenty or more pounds really isn’t as drastic as it sounds. Since I can’t afford new clothes no one has really noticed either way, but for once in my life I’m starting to think that I look better than ever. Maybe I will get my own commercial on TV from all the weight I’m losing like that fat fuck did from that restaurant chain or those fat bitches from the eighties. Then again I will probably die and everyone will forget about me. Good lunch, now I’m all set for more drugs. It is best to not have a full stomach or an empty one, this rule stands more tested before bed as the odds of dying in your sleep on your own vomit increase with such activity. I randomly use nearly every bathroom on campus on any given day, I even used the women’s room in the main building once because the men’s was to full. I use the bathroom on the second floor before checking to see what my next class is. Despite my best efforts I am ten minutes late for class, but it is the first day so no one notices. I take my usual place in the back of the room. The teacher, this time a man, passes out the same piece of paper I’m pretty sure I already have detailing what we will be doing in class this semester. It takes me a minute to actually realize that I have in fact seen this paper because I have already taken this class. Maybe it will be easier the second time around, who gives a fuck. I’m starting to feel even more tired now that I know it doesn’t matter.

My drug abuse doesn’t allow me to sleep as often as I would like. My depression and my drugs have very different ideas on the topic, but when I do sleep I dream of many things. I dream that I am a woman in a minivan and I’m emptying a shopping bag onto the passenger seat so, I can place it over the head of one of the crying children behind me. I scream things as I hold it there. The words don’t make sense but given the context what would it really matter any way. I dream that I am chasing a school bus in a place that I once lived. The sky is blood red and all I can hear, all I can see are the children laughing before vomiting gallons of blood out the window of the moving bus. The blood washes over me as I run with everything I have. I never reach the bus and it never stops. Wave after wave until finally I give up. I dream of her, touching her, feeling her, fucking her. I roll over after coming and fall off the bed into nothing. I can’t move as I fall and I try to reach for the bed that has long since disappeared in to the darkness. I just keep falling and falling with no end. Farther and farther, and I never stop falling, never stop feeling confused until I wake up. I dream in blood and I dream in liquids. I dream so many things that sometimes it is hard to figure out what has been a dream and what has been reality. I often wake up confused to where I am or if I am even alive anymore. I imagine myself standing in the middle of Times Square with a gun to my head screaming, begging for someone to help, but no one stops to help me. I imagine that I pull the trigger and I can feel the bullet digging into my skull in slow motion so, I can feel every bit of pain as it rips through my head and exits the other side. I snap out of my state and realize that I am now sitting in an empty class room. I wonder if I am awake or am I still dreaming. There is a note that sits in front of me. It is from my teacher, “Maybe next time you can try to make it more than ten minutes before falling asleep.”

I stop by the bathroom one more time before going outside to smoke. I decide to blow the rest of the day off and return to my tomb. I get into my car and I sit there. I can still feel the bullet hole in my head. It is twenty degrees outside, but I don’t turn on the car. I don’t do anything. I just sit there. I sit in my car until I can no longer feel my toes from the cold. I sit there and I feel nothing. I sit here and think of nothing. I take another hit and begin my trip back home.

 

Walking my way down memory lane… Classes Start is one of many stories found in… A Lie… A rather tame story from A Lie… but a story none the less… If you’d like to read more… It is available on Kindle and Paperback format…

A Lie is pretty different from anything that you will find on the website… Less broken then?… unsure… not sure I was ever fixed… A Lie is interesting in that it is a fiction story filled with a lot of truth… I have been thinking a lot about it as I work on my next novel… Mostly all the things that I have learned over the years… reminiscing on the struggle to get it done… to not give up… I guess things don’t ever really change… Well… I should probably just get back to it… Check out A Lie… if you want to learn more about young Ambrose…

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Locked Inside My Own Head… Broken Thoughts…

So you said something
Didn’t happen again
What the hell am I to believe
My idea of you or the truth
Blinded by my own insecurities
How could anyone do this to you
Break you down
Place you and everything you could be
Into categories
Cutting you down until you fit
Their every need
Controlling everything from a distance
They can’t hear the words inside your head
How you felt what they meant

“Where do you draw the line between what is fiction and what is real?”
“Same as you draw any line. Pen to the paper and you just keep going. None of this is real. So very few things are real or the truth in this world. Images and thoughts or memories built up inside your head. Past actions nothing more than reflections of events you believed to have happen. Life is fiction.”
“Interesting way of looking at it.”
“How do you look at it?”

Digging a hole with your name on it
Call it a grave, call it a home
Call it all that you will know
Didn’t need all this need
Spoken in words that no one understands
Not a language but a tribal hatred from within
Burying was never the hardest part of this
Watching you die was only the beginning
Took long enough if you asked me
You couldn’t so you didn’t
Screaming at hollowed out bodies has taken a turn
These thoughts don’t go away
They only breed, manifest into different things

“Sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between love and violence. Intentions and actions, but in the end the two things are never the same.”

Knew at some point we’d have to meet face to face
That all of this would come to a head
Baseball bat or a kiss what’s the difference
When you’re bleeding out
Needful things consuming me
Eating away at my core
Toss me away until I have something to say
Spinning in circles
Tires burning down to the ground
Rubber left marks like blood streaks on the pavement
The place of your death

Broken Thoughts
Layne Ambrose

Anyone enjoying these new title cards?

This piece was actually one whole thought… but it had too many themes to be a complete thought… the first thought break is actually from my forth coming novel… and the last thought break… is just a random thought I had at work… as most of these Broken Thoughts come from…

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The It And The Is… Broken Thoughts Vol. 2…

Now Available

The Next Exciting Volume in the Broken Thoughts Series is Now Available…

Now Packed with Even More Broken Thoughts… Poems… and Short Stories…

You Know for the Taste… *

This collection contains never before seen or read short stories not found any where… Including Strangers To Ourselves… A short story about one woman’s journey through hell and what she must do to survive… Also… included are classic short stories from the website… remixed… reedited… expanded… and somehow darker than ever before…

If you are a fan of everything found on the site… You are sure to love this unhinged… new collection from Layne Ambrose and Is That A Funeral?… Digital and Paperback available at Amazon and the Amazon Kindle Store…

Get Yours Today…

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

*We do not recommend eating… consume with your eyes only…

Something Kind Of Sad About… Broken Thoughts…

Finding my purpose has always been
More than I can afford
Finding reason in this world
Broken tranquility
Meaning obsolete
Stuck in this place in time
Working towards my purpose has always been
More than I can afford
Working towards reasons this world
Isn’t broken
Lost without meaning
Stuck only in a place in time
Trapped against the wall
Pushing back
Muscles want to resist
The urge to give in

Want and need are never the same thing…

Doors closing in my face
Taking advantage of a situation
Disassembling an instantaneous moment
Sound the alarm, fall through the bottom
I’d bury myself before I’d ever try
Pulled the lever and now I what
Want everyone to beg for forgiveness
Screwing with my own head
Each word means something different
Filtered through another voice
When you are dead
Will I only hear all the voices in my head
When I’m dead
Will I only relive all these thoughts buried within
Said I knew, turns out
No one could know what goes on inside
Of all of this

Tossed over the edge… lost and forgotten…

Opened up something else in me
Another door, a portal through the world
What’s the difference now for then
Talking in circles, trying to believe
Walking a thin line, trying to believe
In something more than me

Broken Thoughts
Layne Ambrose

Re worked a lot of these Broken Thoughts today… helps to have an outline of what one might want to say… even if that person isn’t entirely sure on the day what that is… most of my ideas take shape either right away… or the last second… still have so much work still left to do…

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Is That A Funeral? Shop Up and Running…

Check It Out Here

Chewing On Glass… Is That A Funeral? Collection…

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Find What Fits You… Help Independent Writers Spread The Word…
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