I can smell the new smell of death
Disgusting, digesting, fermenting
Or is it the smell of day old oil
I’m unsure as unclassified as one can be
I break into the vault only to find that it’s all gone
Nothing is ever what it seems
Yet I sit and sit waiting for something new
Each day a tiny, little bit of a disappointment
I forgot what it means to say
I forgot what it’s called
But I’m sick of waiting
I can hear a voice calling my name
Obnoxious, horrid, abstentious
Or is it someone screaming for help
I’m unsure as uncommunicable as one can be
I walked into the wrong area only to find that they had all moved on
Everything is always what it seems
Each minute a tiny, little bit of disappointment
I forgot what it means to see
I forgot what it was that I saw
But I’m sick of always wondering
I can see a figure in the distance
Disfigured, distracting, dismembered
Or is it only me from the shadows
I’m unsure as unbelievable as that could be
I destroyed every mirror only to learn there was never an image
Nothing is ever what it seems
Each second a tiny, little bit of a disappointment
I forgot what it means to be
I forgot what it was that I heard
But I’m sick of never knowing
You Get One, Maybe Fourteen Chances
I’m writing a book, shut up isn’t everyone?
At this point, you have to realize we each have a story
Some boring, some slow, but God and the Devil aren’t the only characters in the world
You are not as important as you think you are
The preacher likes to preach, but isn’t the bible really about me?
Choke on that and realize nor is anyone
But yet, but still you fantasize without real lies
We’d be nothing at all
Vicious cycle of hanging out at the mall
Nothing matters but were all the same
Can I have a dollar?
You can go fuck off
If I told you once, I know I’ll have to tell you again
I don’t care and nor does your mom
So write your journals, write your blogs
Print the shit off and we’ll talk
Long, long after you are gone and I’m
Still left standing here with a thumb up my ass
Without an asset to my name
When exactly does it mean to be someone?
Why am I asking you like we’re familiar
Like we are family and not my boss
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 it is free.
Where is our Martin Luther King Jr.? All we have are our heroes that are worth millions. Rock stars, actors, and athletes to look up to. We worship people who have already won and not those making a stand. They have tattoos, they have this they have that, they are so counter-culture when in reality they are culture, our culture. They are all bullshit. These people are as bad if not worse than our enemies. Corporate sponsored and packaged to sell. We buy it up like pigs feeding on gruel ready for the slaughter. We look to them, we look to dollars for a change. Have you seen our money? It hasn’t changed in so long, and yet when it tries what do we do? Bitch because they want to take a genocide inducing asshole off the twenty-dollar bill and replace it with dear God a black women. Could you imagine? Honoring someone who risked their life for a chance at freedom for others. A hero by any other name is worthless. We should keep the monster on the twenty dollar bill, it’s more American that way. I’m getting off point here.
We spend so much time latching on to this trivial pop culture bull shit that we fall right inline. Hash tagging stupid shit to let them know that we like their product and spread their word for them. Fucking seriously? Your dumb ass product splashed on to every available space wasn’t enough? Now we have to talk about it for you? Drop your pants and put your genitals in my fucking mouth. No it’s okay I don’t mind the fucking taste, tastes like Coke or Pepsi or whatever other bullshit you are trying to peddle today. Can you imagine the days of the snake oil salesmen? The days where they had to come to your town and trick you into buying their bullshit. Those must have been the days. Now there is so many snake oil salesmen attacking you from all sides that it is hard to even see them for what they are. Coke not only sells carbonated sugar-water, but they have their hands in milk, juice, and water. Soon I imagine they will have all this rolled into one super drink. Looking forward to it because really all the tastes are getting well, a little bland.
Ideas are weapons and don’t be swayed into thinking that they aren’t. Told to fear the man in the dark, but they have all been out of the shadows for decades. Manipulating our every move out in the open. I’m not going to go name everything because honestly who has the fucking time and because it is too late. We don’t waste time crying over spilt milk because it’s already spilt, but we do make sure not to repeat the same mistake again. Or so we say. But really we line them right up to do it again. I want to bash my head into a wall. We need to fear the ones that tell us how to think. The people who say you must not think this way or that. You need to think for yourself. Take in the information and make a decision on whatever the fuck. I know that could take a lot of time, but if we stop hash tagging how much we like a fucking drink we might find some lost time there. Same as if we stop bombing the living hell out of other countries we might have some money for you know education, the elderly, or the starving people in our streets.
Books have no true face, they can’t cast judgement on those who read them though they may try. It is the people at the top locally and globally that cast the first stones. If you need something to fear I am more than happy to be that for you. If you need a devil in your life, I’m not afraid to be that for you. But we need to turn this all around somehow or some way. I know that we can never stop the hate, but maybe if we give up hating each other long enough than we might be able to get somewhere. #gofuckyourself
My mind is a steel trap that holds everything and nothing at the same time. I can’t remember your name, but I can recall every dumb ass thing you did up until this point. A gift or a curse, it is all that I have. A memory for stupid shit that no one seems to care about. Like the time in fifth grade when the kid shit his pants in the back of the class or the time in gym class when the girl got the shuttle cock stuck down her shirt during badminton. Stupidly pulling her tits out to retrieve it as well all stared, or maybe it was genius. Either way she was legend after that. She was noticed and someone, if not everyone, cared. Always remember never forget. Tiny moments that make up a life time. The tiny moments come back to haunt you, but the big ones are always there. Chewing On Glass is about the little ones. When they come back to haunt me that is.
One eyeing it on the way to work sober, sad this is the norm. The emotional drain of doing the same thing every night is called life. Told we could do anything. The lie keeps us from killing ourselves, but don’t be fooled we kill ourselves every day. Risking our lives for a dollar and a day that most of us, the ones that truly need it, will never know called financial independence. But at least on holidays we get time and a half, so that’s something Of course not everyone is so lucky to even receive that. We all belong to a collective noise all saying the same thing, “Follow your dreams.” The dreams keep us going even if they will never come true. What if my dreams are to watch the world burn?
Figuratively of course the smell of burning bodies would get pretty nauseating very quickly and the screams. I don’t even like to hear my neighbors beating the shit out of one another, so I couldn’t even imagine how annoying a thousand plus screaming people would even sound like. All seriousness aside though. I’m not a terrorist, a loose term thrown around for shock value, or a bad person. I just see all this kindling sitting there in our society and I think all it needs is a spark. One tiny flash of light to set the whole thing into an uncontrollable inferno, and I wonder why can’t that be me?
But could one tiny spark really set this all into total chaos? Can words really change everything? Am I prepared for a world left in ashes from the comfort of my office chair? Defiantly wouldn’t be anything to bitch about, and that would suck. I mean could you imagine coming home and having nothing to say? What a waste of a day. Maybe there is a reason that not all dreams come true. There I go again talking myself back into my chains, back into slavery.
Honesty will only get you hated. The world doesn’t want freedom or change they just believe that they do. What they really want is more of the same. More shows about people like them, more stories about people who go through the same shit as them. What they want is to feel as though someone understands what they are going through. When we are all going through the same shit. Over and over and fucking over again. They say that they want one thing, but in truth they want the exact opposite of that because the human race is too stupid to realize what they want. I don’t even know what I want.
I fit right into the puzzle and it makes me sick. I hate myself for it. like a good whore it is only after I’m done that it dawns on me. That I am as much of the problem as everyone around me. Mob mentality doesn’t leave room for dreams. Only hands to keep you tethered to the ground.