And Other Things From This Time Preview

Anything at All

If I was to do it
I’m sure that I’d fuck it up somehow
It’s not in the method but the effort
At which we fail
I couldn’t do it so I sat staring
At the windows with the little bits
Little drops of water
They won’t go anywhere but disappear
Not the same but just like me
I know this must seem like a call
But in the end, I’m telling you it isn’t
I tried to write a letter
To explain just where my head is at
Though to be honest I’m not sure
If it is even attached anymore
Some days it feels as though it has all but vanished
That I am nothing more than an empty shell
And that’s okay but it isn’t
I wish I had better words to express how I feel
Though sadly I do not
Always wanted all the answers to all the questions
But lately, I find that I don’t want anything at all

Before They Hurt

Everything feels isolating
On a grander scale
Between one and a hundred
Between heaven and hell
There exists a place no one knows
From bad to worse
Things become uglier
Before they hurt

Everything feels indifferent
On a daily scale
Between Mondays and Sundays
Between this week and last
There’s not much in between
From day to day
Things never change
Before they hurt

Time ticks by becoming
Worse, becoming better
What is time but a scale
For depression, for life
What is done can’t be undone
Life on a scale between
Heaven and Hell
Before they hurt they will finally know

Two more from my poetry collection, And Other Things From This Time… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Free on Kindle Unlimited…. I have wears available on Threadless as well… Things are coming together… Slowly, but more and more is happening… Don’t forget to leave a review… even a this is writing?… helps… Thank you for stopping by…

A Lie Preview


Like a typical piece of shit that I am, I can feel it. I can feel it kick in and start all over again. I’d be a liar if I said I hated it. If I said I didn’t enjoy it. That it wasn’t fun even for a second, but it is not about the fun I scream at myself. There is more hate than pleasure but how can anyone tell the difference. The soothing nature of the whole thing washes over me. This must be what it feels like for a baby in a warm bath. Though I am not a child so I don’t know. Or maybe I am a child strung out on the adolescent dreams and fantasies. My thoughts are scattered, but then they always are. If I don’t feel this way all I want is to feel this way. I want more, I need more, but more will have to wait. I’m always searching for this over and over. God, I hate this so much. Filled with so much confusion. So much pain. I want to break, to destroy everything in sight. I hate myself but most of all I hate everything even more. There is nothing anymore that doesn’t remind me of her. There is nothing anymore that I adore. If this could last forever then I wouldn’t need to do anymore. One more hit and then I won’t do any for a while. The lie consumes me and I believe it. I am it. I am everything I have ever set out to be. Tailspin this shit into the ground and ride it out into my deepest despair. I’m laughing but really I am crying, and this is all I have to hold onto to. Till I’m lost in the darkness once again. Salvation is more than a place or a state of mind. Salvation is a dream that is no longer a reality. Salvation is everything that I once held in high regard. Salvation is the end of everything. Did so much that I passed right out. I wake up on my floor. How I got here I’m not sure but I know that it doesn’t matter anymore. Because where I am is where I will be. It feels so good to be me.

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And Other Things From This Time Preview

New America

Woke up with little to say
Now should be the time to strike
At a loss for how I feel
The words circle my mind without a thought
Miss guided, maybe
Lost as always
A constant need to say everything I am thinking
When will I ever shut up
My mind is always repeating
Coming up with more and more
Some of it worth saying, most of it the same shit as before
A bent helix and nothing more
Page turner is hard to come by
Wouldn’t understand unless you are already at my level
Zero sleep, pumping caffeine directly into my vein
Could OD and feel the same
An absolute with absolutely nothing at all
Foreign ideas lost in familiar land
Said we are the same but I have no idea who these people are
Learned to live so far away from here
They said it was the same and they couldn’t be more wrong
America failed itself over and over
Each generation a lost nation soaked in blood
A dirty mind lost in thought

All Fucked Up

I’d like it better if you told me
What I already had to lose
I’d like it better if you lied to me
As you already do
I can’t stand this feeling
Of having nothing left to lose
I can’t stand this idea
That I never meant anything to you

My brain is a screaming child
Always hungry never full
Begging and pleading until there’s nothing
Left to lose
It’s on pins and needles
Forks and knives
If I could stop believing I know this
Feeling won’t subside
I started, reasons sound stupid
I’m giving up, for no real reason at all
I’ve hated you, since the moment I found out
It only takes a second to go from
Stable to get the fuck out
I don’t want to go but I’m too weak to
Know for sure, what it is I will do

Two more from my poetry collection, And Other Things From This Time… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Free on Kindle Unlimited…. I have wears available on Threadless as well… Things are coming together… Slowly, but more and more is happening… Don’t forget to leave a review… even a you should stop helps… Thank you for stopping by…

A Lie Preview

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 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 decided 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 wouldn’t 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 use 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 is 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 till 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.

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A Lie Preview


It will be spring in hell soon. In most places that means tons of flowers with birds chirping on every tree branch, but in reality, here all it means is bitter fucking cold that forces my dick deep within my body like a turtle hiding in its shell. In many ways I am like a turtle. I am hiding in my house like a drug addict, but that could be because I am one. Not entirely sure about that though, denial seems to be the first step in rationalization of my existence. Spring also means that new classes are starting back up and my hell just continues to warm up to my cold black heart. I’m becoming self-loathing, I can start to feel it again, maybe it’s time for another line or maybe I should just ride these emotions into a brick wall. The ups are down and the downs are up, but my heart keeps ticking until it’s time to self-destruct. Every now and then I find myself listening to certain bands, depending on my moods. Currently I am sad, hope that didn’t come as a surprise, and I have found myself listening to the glorious sounds of destruction, by which I mean Virgin Suicides. I found a long time ago that the pain of another makes my pain go away. When I am in a rare good mood I like to listen to Iell or Red Lantern Core which is strange in itself because they are death metal bands. For some reason I have always been drawn to metal even though my mother never listened to that kind of music or any of my old friends for that matter. Yeah, I had friends once but not for long, so I learned to live without them. If I told you my birthday is in the spring would you believe me? But which month of the spring could it be? Do you really care or am I just a character in your mind? My birthday isn’t for months but already it is weighing on my mind. Growing older is not a feeling anyone could actually enjoy. I am not immune of course even if the last year doesn’t feel any different from the one before it. Somehow I know that I have become older and it bothers me. My birthday isn’t a day I care to live anymore. Not since she left, not since the fact that our first kiss was on that day so many years ago. Yes everything has a way of taking me back to her. A line seems appropriate now and I will. Tears are harder to ignore when they fall next to your drugs. The line doesn’t help but I’m sure it does because I want it too. I was born in the fantastic month of April. If you ever have time to look up how fantastic April really is you’d realize more atrocities happen in April than any other month of the year. It may be a little bias but it’s a gift from God if you choose to believe that. I was supposed to be born in March, fun fact about me, but I just didn’t want to come out, go figure, and I was born several weeks late in the great month of April. Now twenty-two years later I refuse to leave my new womb, so my drug dealer was nice enough to come to my house. He usually doesn’t come to people’s houses, but with me he makes an exception, I pay cash. He doesn’t stay long, something about the rules of the game or some shit. The man fancies himself a gangster in a city of 25,000 old people. It’s quite funny when you stop to think about it. I wonder if he ever stops to think about it? Probably not. He thinks that he is the scariest mother the world has ever seen. Too bad he is a tadpole in a world of sharks, but don’t ever tell him that. In a way I kind of like him and he has become what some people call a friend. Though I think it has more to do with the drugs than anything else and he always brings plenty. I spent most of everything I have saved up over the last few weeks, but I should be good for a while. I will say one thing about the man, he has the best prices in town even if they are the only prices.



Time comes and it goes
It passes by ticking away
It slowly kills us from the inside
Time comes and it goes
Will you stay the same over time?
My mind is like an open sore
Constantly becoming infected by everything around me
Constantly becoming everything that I fear
Time comes and it goes
Where? No one truly knows



As If We Learn From Our Mistakes

I’m so hungry. I ran out of money and can’t afford food. It’s been three days since I have eaten anything of real substance, the last thing I ate was a box of Stove Top. I may have even eaten the box by now but the evidence of such actions are missing. I’m so hungry all I can think about is eating my cats. I won’t, at least not yet so don’t worry your silly little head, but it scares me that I can’t stop thinking about it. The real disturbing thought is which one to eat first? I could always eat their food but that seems wrong in so many ways. I now understand why we put a limit on canned cat food when we have a sale. The thought sickens me so at least I know I am still human. I feel down and out, but I can’t stop. I need help, but I don’t want it. I’m breaking down. I’m losing everything that I thought I had already lost. I’m hurt and alone, but I can’t stop. This is what it must be, what regret feels like. A harsh stab into the chest of nothingness. Tomorrow I’m going to try to sell some of my movies to a pawn shop or anyone who wants them. Nothing matters anymore, I just want the hunger pains to stop. I need them to stop. In the meantime however, I’ll just be thinking of the best way to serve my cats. Quickly realizing that there is no way or it would have already been done.



Paranoia is a Real Bitch

I feel as if I am going to vomit. But as in many cases where throwing up is a way to make it better this is not one of those cases. Vomiting right now would just make it worse. The nauseous feeling in my stomach is only making this trip go even worse than it’s already been. I’m lying in a fetal position on my dirty floor trying of all things to be sober, to make my mind fly straight. To be a normal human being, but only two snorts and a shot could make me feel such a way again. I took something really bad and it is fucking with my mind. I can see her watching me from the other side of the room. She is sitting on the edge of the bed naked with her legs spread. She looks like she is staring at me but she’s really looking past me. Past me, to the two guys she is about to suck and fuck right in front of me as if I am not there. As if she wants me to see this just so I know. I want this nightmare to end. The images play like a movie in my head that I can’t stop. I want to vomit but I can’t. I want it to end and it won’t. I begin to heave as she takes it from behind. Her widening smile as her body quivers with every thrust stabs like a knife. She gives off a silent giggle as she signals for the other man to join in. She looks me dead in the eyes as she takes the other man in her mouth. She is enjoying this and I want to die, and I can. I want her back, but I can’t. I finally vomit on the floor as I listen to her growing moans. I can’t take anymore. My eyes roll back in my head, and I black out. I’ve just survived my first encounter of why I should stop hurting myself.

I wake hours later to find myself lying in a pool of dried vomit. The smell is still strong as it brings me back to reality. The horrible film is no longer playing in my mind. I pick my head up off the floor and feel the blood rush back into my skull. My head is pounding, I can feel each heart beat pounding blood back into my brain. My mouth is dry, I reach for what’s left in the bottle next to me. The alcohol is bitter as it slides past my taste buds, burning my throat. I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I don’t understand what it was that I thought I had ever understood. I’m confused and I don’t know why. I feel myself wanting to get up, but I don’t move I just continue to stare at the wall and wonder why I do this to myself. Something is wrong, but I don’t want to admit it and I don’t want to succumb to it like I have with everything else in my life. I’m too proud to do anything about what I have made myself into. After what seems like hours of trying, I finally do get up, and I walk into the kitchen to get the dust pan. I clean up my mess from the night before and the days before that. My sobriety doesn’t last long however because with all things in my life my mind begins to slip back into my depression. I move as if I didn’t almost die. My life is in ruins yet somehow the drugs make it livable even if it just for one more day. I lay on the freshly stripped bed staring into the ceiling wondering how far off my vision from the night before is from the truth of what is going on. There is a theory that once two people are together long enough they begin to tap into some unexplainable plane of mind. The two beings begin to share pain or visions of thought. Is that what happened last night? Or was everything only in my mind? I try to push all the hurt away and call her again. I need her to answer. I need her now more than ever. The phone rings and rings, but no one answers. No one ever answers on the other end anymore. The madness grows like a scar over my mind. Harden, thick, but always destroyed, always ugly.


Drinking Bleach Preview (Vulgar)

Something Sinister

This story started a long time ago before now and before your greedy fucking eyes ever got a hold of it. Like the great tumbling ball of shit that is my life it is all the same ball of shit. People will lie, change the truth, anything to making a fucking dollar so, here is the truth so you too can change it later to fit into your own tale of how fucked up I really am. Are you listening to what I am saying? Are you paying attention? Good, I just want to say one thing to you before we start. I am legend and you’re just jealous. Fuck off. Oh and I didn’t bother thinking any of this over so deal with it. God you are such an asshole.

It all start, this all started when I fell down the stairs. I think it was maybe five years ago, but I can’t really be held accountable for minute details. We have a lot to cover so a detailed timeline is really just a waste of time so stick with me and put your fucking hand down. Time isn’t everything people. Back to my God damn story, I fell down the stairs and of course it wasn’t a simple fall down the fucking stairs. I couldn’t just break my arm or a fucking leg, no I had to break both of my useless good for nothing shitty appendages, an arm, and worse of all my fat ass fell so quickly and with all the laws of gravity not on my fucking side I had to crash through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The same damn door my wife told me to change out years ago. The same fucking door she continues to bitch about despite the fact that it’s long since been replaced. Well that shitty door had to break my fall and shatter into a million pieces, all except one piece mind you. That one was nice enough to stay fucking put. That one piece stayed real fucking strong as it went through my back bringing my wild ride to a quick stop. Ever have to spit blood out of your mouth to stop from drowning in it? Well that’s too damn bad. Tastes like shit, actually it tastes like I had a wild idea to drag my tongue across a rusty pipe just for the fuck of it. The damage was done from that point on I was fucked, but of course I had to push my luck. Hold on this is a great fucking song. “You’re so scared and so alone.” I had to keep going on and keep on living because God knows that’s what I wanted at that fucking second with the EMT’s standing over debating what would be the best way to move me. My spine was damaged this was true. IT is also true that if my spine wasn’t damaged I might have died from the pure shock of having both of my legs broken in multiple places. Couldn’t feel the fuckers. I could barely feel anything. My spine was damaged but for some God damn reason my spine wasn’t severed. For some God damn forsaken reason there was still hope for me yet. There was a special surgery the doctors said that I might be able to have that could reverse the damage and give me one more chance to land the dismount. Too bad it cost an arm and a leg, and I was fresh out of legs. This magical surgery was all thanks to those demigods up on the hill. You know those ones that want to advance stem cell research so they can help turn some unwanted child into a new limb or body part for some sad sack of shit solider no one gave a fuck about in the first place. Fuck did I miss that up? Fuck it, fix it later. What I am saying is that congress recently passed a bill or a law or whatever that allowed the use of stem cells for those who could afford it. All I needed was half a million dollar or find someone to pay for it. So I did what anyone in my financial standing would do. I went to the bank and pulled five hundred thousand dollars out of my personal just encase life fucked you in the ass account. All in ones of course and made it rain all over his office like he was Candy from Sweet Charles Strip Club and BBQ lucky day. So began my next chapter in life strapped into a wheel chair shitting on myself. The fun chapter really. Half price dances is nothing to shake a stick at. Funny how the health bill fell flat on its fucking face, but stem cell use got the ok. Small victory for ignorance and one giant leap for the future. Yeah I’m that bitter.

Thanks to the wheel chair I know found my fat ass sitting in I lost my job. It is a little hard to lift fifty pound boxes of produce from the safety and comfort of a chair with wheels. I needed to find a new career path, a new way so to speak not that my last one was really anything worth losing to begin with, but there comes a time in a man’s life, maybe a woman’s too though I was beginning to understand what life meant without a penis, that he has to make a decision. Sometimes though that decision isn’t made by one’s own hand. It was at this time that I had to look deep within myself to figure out what it was that I wanted to do with my new found sense of existence. I knew I needed money so I could shut my wife up about the fucking surgery. I knew I didn’t want to go to work at any place with human beings. I knew a lot of things I didn’t want to do basically, but what I found in my hours of cheap whiskey and a crotch full of Candy was the inspiration to write. Something I hadn’t done since I dropped out of college all those years ago. It wasn’t like I was hiding some deep unearned skill deep within myself, but who has the fucking time when they are knee deep in the bullshit called life? Whatever, thanks to my horrible accident I was able to find my voice once again. All good artist must suffer and I had plenty of it thanks to my impending position. So that is what I did day in and day out I wrote. Drank a little bit too much and then wrote some more. Paid Candy to play with my flaccid dick and I wrote some more. Every second of every day I used putting pen to paper, paper into computer, and back and forth until I had something, until I had a story worth writing about. My story, well a version of my story I’m sure you have all read my book by now If I Could Only Get It Up. No? Then why the fuck are you here right now. Go buy a fucking copy, pop your pants off, and come back to me when you have finished. Why the fuck are you even reading this? Because you like reading stories about human suffering? You’re a fucking selfish prick aren’t you? Good than you and I have something in common at least on a surface co-hatred and contempt for anyone that isn’t us. Though I have to say it is a lot like preaching to the stupid. Still with me? Fan-fucking-tastic let’s move on. It took two years of fighting, clawing and scratching, sucking and fucking to get that piece of shit book printed and pressed and in the hands of you dick lickers, and it would take another two before I could even make enough money to put a down payment on the surgery. Yeah they have those. I was as surprised as you to say the least, but it makes sense if you can walk again you can make money. Oh yeah the health industry will suck the life right out of you just like any other. The way it is when everything is for profit. Honestly though if you are figuring that out right now as I tell you please don’t forget to visit my website where you can buy some more bullshit to complete your empty life.

Even after all the record breaking sales of my book by a first time writer. America really loves a tragedy. Hey kids want to get famous saw your legs off and see what happens. Okay don’t do that find your own God damn way to milk the tit that is the American conscious. Run for president or something the point is that I still didn’t have enough money to pay for my operation out right, but I did have enough credit with the publishing company to barter my soul for the money I still needed. They were just thrilled to hand over several hundred thousand dollars to me so I could fucking walk again because apparently it is really expensive to send a cripple on a book tour. Heartless fucking ass clowns that they are. Oh and plus America likes a redemption story so, they had me sign a paper that said they could release my next three books. Lucky me. I know what you are thinking holy shit he gets to write three more books. He is so blessed, yeah well fuck you because now I had to produce three more fucking books without a single fucking idea. Do you know what kind of pressure that has on a fragile mind? Yeah you don’t, what it is like is telling the bank you can pay them back the whole loan in than five years without a fucking job. Good luck, hope everything works out for you because it’s not. So here I am recovering from my operation and trying to come up with something to get those fucking heathens off my back. They are blood thirsty, it may not seem that way, but they really are some blood thirsty no talent fucking cunts. They’re like vampires in the night. Constantly calling, “How’s the book going? How’s this going? Are you feeling better?” Assholes, they can’t even come up with their own God damn idea so, they suck the ideas out of writers as quickly as they can, and when they are done with us we are just cast aside like a dry husk of what was once a human. Vampires of ideas are what this whole industry is like. It torments me every second of every day and with all this stress and rehab my head is like a tornado of shit smashing from one side of my skull to the other. My head feels like a pinball machine that has been well used. A bit dated of a reference but needless to say the stress is getting to me at this point. But I’m not even sure if it is the stress of everything lately or the God damn operation. I’m on a strict regimen of headache medicine, pain killers, and a great amount of alcohol but I still can’t get rid of this pain in my head. The only thing that I have found that actually gets rid of the pain in my head is not really accepted by society as a whole. Maybe a few societies out there but not many. I’m getting a head of myself hold on let me get back on track.

Okay so I told you ass stains about my problem with the books I have to write for the vampires that’s the climax. So all we really need is some falling action to really get your panties soaking wet. I bet you wear lacy ones that you think are so sexy as they stretch around your curves, but you never show anyone because you are a highly regarded person in your community and if you’re a lady I’m confused as to why you’d bother wearing nay at all. If my mind wasn’t a blender on puree I’d probably have this story written out already and you could move on to more pressing matters of life. Months went by as I tried to decide what to write next. I had already used up my asshole card so I couldn’t write another book about telling the world to fuck off or a book literally about assholes. I had no ideas and the longer that I had no ideas the worse the pain in my head got. It got so bad I had to start taking more drugs and mix in other ones to try and numb the pain for a little. This time period should have been the best time of my life and it was quickly growing worse and worse. I could walk again, I had an extremely successful first novel, and yet I was too busy trying to drown out my pain. I started to take walks around this time mostly to get away from the bitching at home and because for the first time in a long time I could. It was during one of these walks that something extraordinary happened. I got the pain to finally go away. Not permanently but long enough so I could think. It wasn’t runners high or something stupid like that it was survivors high. Is that even thing? I don’t know, but while I was walking one night down in the shitty part of town some asshole came up to me waving a gun in my face. Telling me to give him all my money or he would waste me right there like I was a piece of trash someone didn’t want anymore. I don’t know if it was the third of bourbon I had in me or the fact that I was only carrying enough cash to get me more, but something rose up in me. A sense of calm I had never experienced before. I calmly looked the young man in the eyes and I told him to stop waving that gun in my face before I take it way and shove it up his ass. He wasn’t too thrilled by that scenario and as he placed the cold barrel right up against my forehead and demanded his demands all over again I thought maybe I wouldn’t either. I waited for the loud bang to echo through my skull as I somehow survived the odds for the second fucking time.

I’m just fucking with you. Why the fuck would I be walking around the shitty part of town like some commoner? Seriously though I’ve butchered like six women in the last year. It was actually easier than you might think and it really did make the headaches go away, but they only go away for a little while. I have found that the only way to make my headaches go away long enough is to skin a woman alive and listen to her scream. Slowly of course because there is something about hearing their screams of pain as I torment them piece by piece that just melts my own pain away like butter on a hot knife. Oh stop your, “That’s so wrong fucking judgements,” you’re passing through your head fucked up head right now. Who the fuck are you to even judge me in the first place? You bought the fucking book about how I committed each crime in full detail. I mean this is only the fucking forward, the preface of a book called How I Committed Each Crime and You Paid Me to Do It. I know, I know it is a really long fucking title, but the vampires didn’t really get my original title, Knife in your Vagina. I thought it was catchy, but nope you the readers just get a slap in the face. They also didn’t get the concept of each page being made from human skin or at the very least the cover. Gave them a prototype and everything. You didn’t think that I would let anything go to waste did you? Oh well go ahead and get on with it. Go ahead and read the rest of the God damn book. Long story short the critics will just laugh it off as a fictional tale of my deeply deprived mind raised on junk food and twisted tales of horror and rape, but know this dear reader I am really something sinister.


Looking for something different?… Drinking Bleach is my first collection of short stories from my earlier days…. It is a mixed genre book filled with short stories, poems, micro stories, and more…. From the early days of Chewing On Glass to the first story I ever wrote… This book covers a lot of ground… As always available on Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? That’s okay. Enjoy thousands of books right from your desktop, smart phone, or tablet with the Kindle app… Now Available in Paper back…

A Lie Preview

Welcome, Take a Seat. The Truth Can Be Hard to Swallow.

I’m sitting in a room bathed in black light. You know that not quite purple but not at all black color that washes over everything. Random objects are glowing with a strange hue all around me. This seems important but really it isn’t. The intense colors are more for effect than anything else. If I was tripping like every other asshole in the room I would be having a good time, but I’m not. I am sitting on the end of a glowing couch with two women who are probably more like girls than women, but I don’t really know because I haven’t really taken the time to notice. I haven’t taken my eyes off the glass coffee table in front of me to really notice anything. I don’t really notice the topless girl making out with some random guy as he feels her up in the corner or the passed out and probably dead man in front of the table. All of these facts I am very unsure of, again these are all things that I think are happening around me. The past year all comes down to what is on the table. The last trip I will ever take. My freedom lies at the end of each line. My life will forever change with each line because after they are done, I am done. I will disappear, like a ghost, never to be heard or seen again in this town. The last year has been a downward spiral of lies and deceit. It has left my mind like an open sore that has been open to infection by everything around me. My freedom and my mind is all that I want back. I just need this last pick me up, this last time to remind me just how much I truly hate this. I have the rolled up dollar in my hand and I am ready whenever I am ready. I have a sick feeling in my stomach that this will somehow end badly, but I need to do this. I need to end this forever and walk away. I lean towards the coffee table and line my makeshift straw up to the drugs. I snort each line as rapidly as I can there’s no use drawing this out any longer than I have to. The drugs take only seconds to enter my system, they feel like home but the feeling doesn’t last. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. My body falls forward and no one reaches out for me. A room full of people and no one reaches for me. My face smashes against the table, I can feel the cartilage and little bones of my nose give way. I can feel the warm blood leave my face and spread across the table. But this is not where it all started. It all started a long time before this.



Days, Weeks, Months, a Year Before

It is hard to say when this truly began. Some could say it started when I moved here from across the country. Maybe when I started attending this school, but really it started when she left. When she decided she didn’t like it here anymore and she was going back with or without me.  She ultimately chose without me despite all my begging. She said she was going back to school and she couldn’t take it here with me. She promised she still loved me and that we would be together as soon as school was done. She said all of this while packing up everything she owned or claimed was hers from the three years prior as if this was in some way normal. She said a lot of things that over time proved she was nothing more than a liar. Of course at the time, on the surface everything was too out of focus to really notice she was lying. This is where I think it started. This is where the hurt feelings began. This is where the never ending spiral seemed to take off. Like a downward rollercoaster with no brakes I quickly found myself with cracks in my heart that only grew wider as each day went. I have never been a strong person, but I have become even weaker without her. My life has been a test of strengths that I never could understand, this situation is no different. Now I am stuck here in a hell that I have created for myself with everyone around me playing the roles I have created for them. “Life is never easy but it is in pain that we find out just who we truly are,” Abigail Clayton wrote that in her suicide note to her parents. Great words to live by if you ask me.


Hope you enjoyed the first two pages of A Lie… Now available on Kindle… Don’t have a Kindle?… That’s okay… You can enjoy thousands of books right from your smart phone, desktop, or tablet with the Kindle app. Best of all the app is free…. Now Available in print as well…