What… No horror story?… honestly couldn’t come up with anything more terrifying than the idea that I won’t be back until January…
That’s right… it is that time again… really hope that you have enjoyed these last few months… the stories… the Broken Thoughts… and the rambling… enough about looking back… it is time to go out and get some candy… never too old for free shit…
Pro tip… Take a kid… people ask way fewer questions… Outside of who’s kid is this and what not… unless you already have your own… then you are playing the game on God Mode…
In the mean time enjoy this video… while I figure out what to do with it…
More to come… hopefully… not sure I needed to add more shit to my plate… but fuck it… crazy train is rolling out of the station… good night… and good luck… Hope all is well… I’m out to fucking lunch… see you all in January…
In a classroom full of Macs the information they must process, but they are here at this shit school. Which means they go to waste. Been in this class for over a week and we have yet to even turn one on. I’m in a classroom full of people I hate. Locked in a room with no key with people like me. Each and every one of them thinks they are better than me. Better than everyone else. The room feels claustrophobic and small. The room feels like hell. There are only twelve of us occupying the space, but it might as well be a thousand. The drugs I took today are not making this feeling go away. If anything they may have been bad, tainted. The teacher speaks in a way that is hard to understand. It is time to strap in.
It feels as if she is only talking to me, and I have to keep
reminding myself that she isn’t. The students seem faceless. They have the
blankest of stares that I can’t understand. I can’t see their eyes or their
mouths. I begin to sweat and I have to take my sweatshirt off. It isn’t enough
to escape the feeling that the room is on fire. I want to strip all of my
clothes off as if this is normal. But I’m not high enough yet to just do it.
The teacher keeps talking and the more I stare the more I notice that something
seems to be leaking from her eyes. She is smiling and laughing as more blood
pours from her eyes. The room erupts with the sound of laughter as the others
join in. Their laughs float in the air as if they are real objects. I fight the
urge to reach out to one. Take it into myself so I could join in. I’m getting
even more nervous by the moment. My sweat has soaked through my shirt and I
realize I am trapped in a nightmare the drugs are creating.
I start to see smoke come from behind the teacher. This must
be where the feeling of being trapped in a fire is coming from. I fight the
urge to shout anything out. Foot tapping to the restrained words inside my
head. Faster and faster my foot taps to a broken beat. The smoke gets thicker
and I find it hard to breathe. The orange glow of fire starts to fill the back
of the room. I feel the heat of the fire on my face. Maybe this is real, but
why aren’t the other students shouting and screaming? Why are they just sitting
there laughing as if everything is okay? I fake a smile as I look at their
blank faces. My face feels stretched against the fire. Locked in place with a
crooked smile. I want to leave but I am afraid. Afraid of what I might find
outside of this room. The teacher rises from her chair at the head of the
class. A monstrous force with pitchfork in hand. She waves it around her
pointing it at each and every one of us. Impaled fetus rest on each fork.
Cooked and barely distinguishable from burnt up sausages. Only the little charred
hands pointing back at me. She screams with a horrible sound that has no equal.
She screams in a language I can’t understand. A lost language that hasn’t been
spoken since the dawn of time. She paces the front of the room. Only stopping
to pound her pitchfork and let out another scream. It’s not real. It’s not
real. The other students respond back with their own horrible screams. It’s not
real. I just need to ride this out. I close my eyes and place my head on my
The heat around me rises to an unbearable degree as the
pounding of her pitchfork gets closer and closer until I can feel her right
above me. I scream as her burning hand touches my shoulders. Her face has
transformed into a face of scales and blood. She whispers to me as she looks
into my eyes. I watch as the students are engulfed in flames. They make no
noise as they burn. Through the fire I can now see all of their eyes. All of
their eyes staring back at me. The teachers places her face directly in front
of me. All I can see is her. Her scales breaking off into little flakes as she
moves her mouth. “I can’t,” is all I can manage to say. I fight the
urge to vomit and scream at the same time. I grab my backpack and try to ignore
the fact that it feels like something is moving inside. Running through the
flames I know this isn’t real, but I can’t stay here any longer. I reach for
the red hot handle attached to the black door. The handle feels cold as I push
down on it and enter the hallway on the other side.
The black door slams, but it sounds as though it is coming
from far away. I struggle through the hallway. Making my way towards the
stairs. Each foot step feels like a fight. Feels as though the bottoms of my
shoes have melted to the floor. Should I take them off? Even in a nightmare
state that seems like a bad idea. It takes me a moment before I notice the
others. I am not alone as I make my way through the building. More faceless
students surround me. Each one with a knife in their hands. I try to not draw
any attention to myself. Each step, each leg pulled with all the effort I have
left. I need to get to my car. It goes on like this for what feels like an
eternity. It goes on so long I forget what it is that I am doing and fall just
before the stairs. I manage to catch myself. The hallway grows silent. The
students are no longer going about their business. Picking myself up off the
floor I look around. The faceless students stare back at me. Each one holding
their long butcher knife beside them. The blades shine as they turn them from
side to side in an offbeat synchronized rhythm. The light in the hallway reflecting
off each and every one of them. I feel an intense amount of dread fill my
stomach. I don’t wait for them to do anything as I run down the stairs in
Step by step in a rapid fashion. Until I miss the last step.
Slamming face first onto the floor. I hear a rush of footsteps approach me. One
of the faceless students tries to help me up. Their knife rested next to me on
the floor. It speaks to me in a way that I don’t understand. I kick away from
the face my body filled with pain and shock. I crawl my way to the nearest door
and manage to get myself up on my feet. One of my feet hurts but I can’t tell
which one. My fears of going outside were justified. The sky is no longer sunny
or blue. The sky has turned a shade of red and the clouds have become a black
so dark that it couldn’t possibly be real. Little red flakes fall from the
black clouds. They float down around me in a slow motion usually reserved for
the movies. The flakes make their way to the ground and they slowly melt as
each one makes it to the ground. Forming puddles of blood that litter the
pavement. Bigger and bigger the puddles grow with every passing moment. It’s
not real. It’s not real. I sprint towards the parking lot. Pain shooting up one
of my legs.
The cars are misshapen and I can’t tell which one is mine. I take out my keys and press the panic button. My car begins to honk somewhere in the distance. The lights of the car flash on and off in shades of blue, red, green, and purple in no real order. They flash in a pattern that says here I am. I run to the car. Unlocking it with a push of a button and turn the panic mode off. I open the back passenger door and crawl inside. Crawl inside my new womb. The seats feel slimy and warm. The seats feel like home. A warm womb with windows? This isn’t real. This isn’t real. What is anymore? I ask myself as the seats pulsate as if they are real. I bury my head into the back seat and close my eyes against the warm. Feels as though my head is surrounded by water. Through it all I hear it. The sound of music, the sound of talking, the sounds of a distant memories I have long forgotten. The sounds of it all are taking over little by little by some outside noise. I hear scratching on the sides of my car. Too afraid to open my eyes I just scream into the seat. Scream until I finally pass out to the sounds of the students dragging their knives across the sides of the car. Waiting tear me away from my new home. Hands and knives pressed against the sides of my womb.
Wait… What the fuck?… Yeah I don’t know either… I spent a lot of time messing with this one… the basic idea was always there from the beginning… as most ideas are… first draft was weird and crazy… apparently I have always been weird and a little bit off… who knew?… but I thought lets turn this shit up to eleven… fun fact… I had to be removed by C section… had to be torn from my first home as well… if I hadn’t there was a good chance I would have died… cord was tied around my throat… my life line was not ready to let go?… I was also super late… two weeks… my mom thought I was never going to come out… almost didn’t as it turns out… spoiler alerts I made it…
I often wonder though… as the cord was tied around my neck… and the doctors told my mother to push… that in those moments… something happened to me… turned on a switch… told me to live… not to given into everything that was happening to me… of course these are adult thoughts… these are thoughts I have when all hell feels as though it surrounds me… I tried to inject that idea into this character… give him a piece of me… this isn’t real… this isn’t real… which this story isn’t… I’ve never done acid or any psychedelic drugs… for every reason presented above in the story…
If I can imagine all of that sober… I am afraid of what I would see high… which is where this story started… I like to explore the idea of what I might find over… actually going to find it… grass is greener where the dogs are shitting and all… I have been lucky… or too uncool… to have never been around drugs… I knew people who do them… know people who do a lot of them… just not around me… and all those that I know who do a lot of them… live a life I would never want to live… it looks brutal… miserable… but that is the life that they choose… that sounds like I am an asshole… and that could be a whole other post… condensed version of what I believe about life… is that we make our own choices…
I write a lot about drugs… A Lie for example… other stories found on this website… I try at all times to not make them sound fun… they very well could be… but I really doubt it long term… I have tried a few… the ones that I have tried I have liked… one for a short term (marijuana)… the other… well if you have been paying attention to the website for the last year… long term in a bad way (alcohol)… nothing too crazy… but in the very limited scope of what I have experienced… being sober has always been better… like everything in life… never at the time… only in hind sight…
So back to the question or thought I presented… why do you write a lot about drugs?… Honestly because they’re something physical… something tangible… something most of us can understand… because we all know someone or know someone who knows someone that does drugs or knew… some of us have done them ourselves… and also because you can’t inject… or snort… or smoke sadness… but as it turns out you can… and in the case of A Lie… that is where I went with that… same as I went here… this story isn’t real… I didn’t trip on acid and fall asleep in my car… I had a panic attack and feel asleep in my car instead… that is where fiction and truth collide… that is where I like to stand… that is where I like to be when I write… could I have written the same story for the same effect without drugs?… yep… but it would have been boring… been like digging at an old wound… where is the fun in that?… find out next week… complete with pictures as we dig deeper into my chest… : )
“It’s really easy when you think about it,” he
says in a casual tone. The man across from him tries to get comfortable in the
steel chair. “What is easy?” He asks. “The first kill, your
first kill,” the prisoner across from him answers. “How could it be
easy to kill someone?” He asks looking deep into his eyes. “How could
it not? There’s not much to it. Me or them? The choice is easy. Self-preservation.
There’s nothing difficult about killing,” he answers in the calmest of
ways. The lawyer across from him writes some things down, “Some would beg
to differ on your opinion. Some of the very men that surround you now. Many of
them are suffering in silence and try to a grip on what they did.” The man
unfolds his hands, crosses his arms and leans back as though annoyed by this
train of thought. “Guarantee they never killed anyone because they had
to,” he says. “You may have me there, but is there any other reason
to kill someone? Other then you had too?” He asks. “Stupidity, wrong
place at the wrong time, and the list could go on and on,” the prisoner
smirks. “What an interesting point of view,” the lawyer across from
him comments. “Some choices are not made because they are what you
necessarily wanted. Some choices are made for you before you even have time to
reflect on them,” the prisoner states. “Are you back peddling?”
He asks to no response. “So you are saying. What is it that you are trying
to say? That you didn’t kill those people because someone or something made
that choice for you, or are you trying to prove to me that your actions though
guilty are in fact deserved by the nature of the situation? Because neither of
them are going to work. You are neither crazy nor not guilty,” the lawyer
says to him.
“Thank you for your honest opinion about what is going
on here, but some may beg to differ. Those boys made their own choice when they
decided not to run. They made their choice when they raped and kidnapped those
girls from their school, and the state made their choices even more clear after
they let those boys go for lack of evidence,” the prisoner rambles on.
“The families were in the beginning stages of an appeal,” the man
states in a loud tone breaking his control over his emotions for only a second.
“I am the mother fucking appeal, the judge, and the god damn jury. Don’t
you raise your voice to me boy. You haven’t been to hell and back like I have.
You haven’t witnessed the true nature of man with your own two eyes like I
have. In some instances in life evidence or no evidence justice must be served,”
the prisoner slams his hands on the steel table in front of him. “And if
by some long shot you have seen the things I have seen then you are too chicken
shit to do anything about it like I have. That isn’t my problem,” he
finishes. “Violence doesn’t solve anything. We have law and order for a
reason,” the lawyer says getting his emotions in check. “Yeah how is
that working out for society? Murders, rapists, and God knows what else walking
the streets. Look me in the eyes and tell me those boys deserved to live. After
what they did,” the prisoner barks. “We don’t know what they did or
didn’t do. Couldn’t prove it in a court of law so we had to let them go as a
society. We can’t go locking up everyone based on rumored accusation,” the
lawyer states in an official tone.
“Rumors? Those boys confessed to everything,” the
prisoner says. “I’ve heard the tapes. They were under duress. All you got
there is evidence against yourself,” the lawyer lays out. “Oh, so
having something stuck where you don’t want is duress now? Odd during their trial
they stated those girls wanted what they got. Odd how perception changes the
facts,” the prisoner glares. “Very odd. Can’t speak for everyone in
the world, but I’m sure most people would agree being brutalized by a ten inch
lead pipe isn’t the same as nonconsensual sex,” the lawyer states.
“I’m pretty sure some would not agree with that opinion. I didn’t do
anything to those boys that they didn’t deserve. Just because they couldn’t
take their own brutality. Just because they were weaker than their victims
doesn’t mean I didn’t do the right thing,” the prisoner tries to
rationalize. The lawyer looks into the prisoners eyes. He sees the madness
buried deep within and the justified reasoning that blanks the surface. The
lawyer stands up and packs his things. “I’m done in here,” he calls out to the
guard down the hall. “Tired of the freak show already?” The guard shouts back.
The prisoner crosses his arms, “This is why the system is broken. We imprison
those willing to do the right thing. While letting the truly guilty, while
letting the evil of this world walk free.” The guard opens the cell and walks
right past the lawyer to lean on the table. “What was that freak show?” He asks
the prisoner before his body falls right into the steel table with a loud thud.
He makes loud gargling noises as he reaches for the pen lodged into his throat.
“You know you may have had a point,” the lawyer states. The prisoner reacts quickly. Grabbing the guard by the head he slams it harder and harder on the table until the guard stops making any noise at all. The prisoner looks up at the lawyer breathing heavy. Hands covered in blood and a look of confusion on his face. “The choices are never easy. Guilty or not guilty they all come down to circumstance. Those boys got what they deserved. You deserve the same opportunities that the state provided them. Only I hope you get away with it. I hope you make the best of what it is that you started. The state will never let you walk free. The state can’t afford for you to be out there. They look past others, but you they never will,” The lawyer states. The prisoner stands there stunned. The lawyer grabs the pen in the guard’s throat and pulls it out. More blood shoots out of the wound. He hands the prisoner the pen, “You are going to need this. To make it look official and all.” The prisoner takes the pen and makes his way out of the cell. Walking past the lawyer, the lawyer says one last thing. “You’re welcome. Not all justice should go unserved.”
Brutal… harsh… dark… twisted… the world is never how it should be… or maybe it is?… violence doesn’t solve violence… or does it?… where is the line?… does it change or blur… at children?… case by case?… does the line change based on an emotion?… how you feel?… who are you in all of this?… an outsider with an opinion?… right or wrong?… the god damn judge and jury?…
It is easy to side with the prisoner… it is easy to side with the lawyer… even without the facts… the choice seems easy… protect the innocent… but who gets to decided such actions?… are we innocent?… are we just in our actions every day?… the law is what we can prove… not what we know… is that fair?… should that be the way we decide the freedom of evil?… I don’t have the answers… because the choices are not easy… they are not clear… because there is no way of knowing anything… unless you were there… a place I hope none of us are ever at… turning a blind eye doesn’t answer anything… lost in our own conclusion…
“Despite purified air, despite not going out for months, despite no human contact in over a year, and despite a diet balanced out to be everything that my body needs. I have become sick. I have become infected with something I have to silently suffer with. Alone and isolated I lost everything and yet I still managed to pack everything for this exact scenario. I have planned every possible outcome of everything. The architect of my own demise. How could I have been so careless? They warned me long ago but I didn’t listen. I didn’t think it was possible. Chasing darkness into the night. Should have known better. Should have been better than to question the idea of immorality. I dreamed of immorality but what is it really? It is nothing more than infinite knowledge and a never ending legacy of pain and sorrow. Threw it all away. Should have let the idea of death take over. Would I be human then if I had?
I am well suited for immorality since anything that mattered
died a long time ago. I’ve given up on the idea of humanity. Become more like
God than I’d like to admit. I am as if I am immortal though only time will tell
how long it will last. Time and days are a human idea. Immorality and life are
God ideas, but where and what are you when stuck in between the crossroads of
God and man? I can create and destroy anything I wish by shaping this reality.
Shaping another’s reality. I am my own God and my own savior, but will I also
be my own end? The question fills my heart with no answers. The isolation
proves theories I thought were only myths. There is no God greater than the
sun. There is nothing beyond the stars but more darkness. There is no true
meaning of life beyond the end. Not when we can control it ourselves. I’ve
unleashed the end of all things to come. Now is the time for me to enjoy the
end. For we are our own damn God’s.”
“End of transmission,” the computer states. “But there is no body?” A solider questions. His uniform the same as the rest. “Then we have to assume he is still out there. We must find him. As long as he lives he holds the power to end it all,” his superior says. “So it is true then. He is the source. He is the God of all of us?” The young solider questions. “There is no God only the devil. This man is no architect of our creation or our end,” their leader barks. “He is nothing more than a virus. A sickness we have been trained and created to get rid of. We will find him and put a stop to all of this. Now let’s move out,” he orders.
This one is a bit of a stretch… not a whole lot of information given… yet it is packed full of information… if you remember Chasing Darkness and Beginning of All Things… These three stories are connected by a very thin life line… when going through my notes I found these three different stories… not connected but very similar… on their own they were okay… but if there was a sub theme of connection?… got me excited enough to finish them off…
So if this didn’t start off as a connected story… but rather a stand alone story… what was I writing about… the opening paragraph… the only part kept from the original notes… was actually the first pass at whole other story… a still work in progress story called the Undamned… I hope to turn that into a book some day… that story and this story stemmed from my overall desire to disappear into the darkness…
At the time I was working overnights… long hours… isolated and divided into a small group of people… looking back it was a pretty fucked up time for me personally… but as a writer it definitely produced a lot of ideas and thoughts… left to my own devices I’d probably do nothing but write… create… sounds pretty awesome as a writer… but it isn’t a life… it isn’t living… took me way to long to realize that… took me way too long to understand that life is about those around you and not all about you… took a lot for me to open my eyes… but having a child really forced my eyes open…
Having a child made me rethink my whole existence… what I was willing to do or not do to keep living in this world… before then I didn’t “care”… before then all I cared about was myself… you can get through life just fine that way… I was doing fine… my life has always been good… can’t say life didn’t happen… good or bad… life happens… but overall I can’t say my life was bad… had someone I thought I loved more than myself… a child will test the limits of everything you think you know about yourself…
Turns out not only did I not know what love meant… I didn’t know what life was either… not sure I will ever know what life really is… not sure any of us are meant to understand it completely… with eyes open I learned that there are only two things in this world I can’t live without… air… earth… and water… are just fine… but they aren’t worth as much as we think without those around us… living isn’t about being alive… I guess is what I’m trying to say… got lost in the emotions in a good way…
Do you think long enough Would be enough to stop? Sat here thinking Couldn’t shut it off Can’t escape this feeling Sitting here dying Do you think if I had enough time Would I get anything done? Laid here thinking Couldn’t shut it off Can’t escape this feeling Lying here dying Do you think if I had enough money Would I be able to buy this away? Sat here thinking Couldn’t shut it off Can’t escape this feeling That none of this matters
“You’re a smart man, but even smart men say dumb things”… Everyone around me…
Trying to latch on to something real Tether myself to a place I don’t want to leave A gravestone set float at sea Burning embers laid upon lifeless corpses Hearts still beating Trying to come out of this alright Fears breaking every bone A slow death provided on bent knees Burning desire the body no longer understands Brain still thinking Trying to latch on to something real Tethered myself to you A lifeless corpses with nothing to say Burning embers laid upon a rotten brain Body still hurting Trying and failing Latch myself into something to hold dear Trying and failing To live a life not thinking about you
“I will drown you in a bath tub of your own piss”… In response to being told that I was too dark… “Because shit is too thick”…
Don’t let the darkness seep into your soul Only one way to let it go No one wants to talk about it Everyone knows exactly what I mean How it feels each and every day A sin, a curse, then what is life? Each day the sun will rise Then it will set Feel as though somewhere, at some point Mine got switched She had a name, now barely a face The darkness takes more than feelings Covers each and every memory What’s the difference? Can’t even begin to say At this point I wish there Was a hole right where My heart should be Not in it to win anymore Just trying to finish out the day
Some pretty long Broken Thoughts… I thought about turning them into poems… but they were written so long ago that the feelings are gone… Moments in time… that is the thing to remember when everything feels as though it will never go away… that this is all there ever was… ever will be… the darkness doesn’t last forever… it doesn’t go away… but it doesn’t last forever… all we can do is prepare for the next wave… making life what it is… is all there is… I’m off to kiss my wife… and play Minecraft with my daughter… stay positive… and make the most of every day… even if it is doing nothing at all… it is still something in the story that is your life…
The man shakes as he speaks his words more transparent than his presence. His needs outweigh his wants by now, but it is all trivial in the end. We wanders from table to table on the outdoor patio. He wants someone to listen to him. “God is good,” I can hear him say from the next table over. He has a speech rambling in his head only the audience isn’t willing to listen. He is off to another table talking to himself as he goes along. Explaining his speech on deaf ears and intoxicated minds. Taking the appropriate amount of time with each thought, each word as though anything he has to say is important. A girl at the next table goes down the rabbit hole with him, but she soon comes up for air and walks away. So he moves on. He is a disciple of God he proclaims as he reaches my table. I inherit my new role in all of this with grace. Something is off about him and I don’t think it is the alcohol. Jesus he repeats. He is the disciple of Jesus not God. Though Jesus is God he explains. He seems confused as to what even he is saying as he says it, but I listen all the same. Who am I to turn away a fellow story teller? He engages with everyone at my table. More so than I have for the past few minutes. He takes a seat in the empty chair at our table. Uninvited but not pushed away. He found what he was looking for in us. An audience who can’t look away. He sets the scene, lays out the characters, and tells us his tale. A tale of heart break, a tale of pain. It is a story that is easy to judge after the fact, but you know that during it all there was, was pain. Love is fickle in that way. Intense, everlasting, all that there is, and after a time it is nothing at all. A mistake, a bad decision, a waste of time, but for some that time never ends even after the fact. Insert Bobby, insert God, and insert the reason he sits before us today. Drinking is not new to him. Drinking and science is what lead him here today, but like most people around these parts God showed him the way. A woman left, the woman left him he stresses with every little detail. He was sad so he drank. Tried to drink the pain away. He was successful for a moment in time. Only he tried to do something else that night, drive home. Illegal enough of an activity to call his actions stupid, irresponsible, dangerous, and yet we haven’t even gotten to all the details. Drinking plus heartbreak plus speed can only equal one thing to most of us. Lucky to make it out of the wreck alive if not destroyed. Lucky that no one else was hurt or anywhere near his selfish act. Bobby found something he didn’t know he was missing until then. Bobby found God or so his story goes. As he thanked him with a prayer between sips of beer. Didn’t thank science or the doctors. He didn’t thank the people around him that took care of him while he recovered from the horrible accident that left him with irreversible brain damage. No he thanked God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. He finishes his beer and gets up from the chair. Asks if we found Jesus? Before wandering off once again. In search of a new audience to hear the same speech repeating in his head.
This one is pretty dark… very different… and Bobby very much exists… I meet him for a brief moment… almost seven years ago… while going through my notes I found my notes on the evening… my friend at the table told me after he left… that this would be a good story… so I wrote some notes down… left it at that for almost a decade… one because I buried the notes… and two because I didn’t know how to approach the story…
It isn’t my style… especially back then… back then I had no style… but I knew that, that wasn’t the style I was going for… recently I had a change of heart… I found the notes and I set out to finish it… it isn’t long and it isn’t epic… but it is real… I don’t know if Bobby still walks the earth telling his tale… I hope so… but just in case… here it is…
Digging a grave Same as you Meet you there If there even exists Lighting the candle For your soul Bet I’ll be you there Smile on my face A shame buried in my heart Take everything handed out Take everything you are Willing to give away Fears, regrets, embarrassments Demon born of the night An asshole without a face Found my purpose Now there is no going back Peel the curtain to reveal Who it is that I have become Stuck in place and waiting Toothless grin smeared across My face Demented, fucked in the head So sure you’d like to be me?
Yes, the words are blurry… Thoughts I see clearly…
It all sounds good on paper Until you have to look the person You are fucking in the eyes Best of luck being the asshole You’ve always wanted to be Smile it is all so much simpler On broken knees
Filling in the negative space with hate and rage…
Processing the guilt with no one left to forgive Hate to say this but it’s the effect I give Driving away at the highest speeds Looking for a wall with my name A rare occurrence I left back home The cans all ran out but the scars still shine A thick crust of blood and love How can I say this in the best possible way Get the fuck out my head Warning signs were always there I’ve lost my mind and that is just fine So long as you take it with you when you die A parting gift with too many ribbons Pretty bow to hang it all from
Maggots falling of the trash can… demented image to get stuck in your head… watching the birds pick them off one by one… life taken in an instant… life continuing in a flash… the word life doesn’t make much sense… even when it does…