Chewing On Glass Presents… West End Love for All the East End Girls…

“So, are we doing this or what?” He asks me for the thirteenth time in the last five minutes. “We need to do this,” he reminds me once again. “We or you need to do this?” I ask barely looking away from my phone. “I’ll slap that thing right out of your hands,” he threatens. “I’m sure you will,” I sigh but I’m not putting away my phone. “Look you need to do this. You are in a rut,” he pauses rethinking his words. “No, you are stuck in some ditch in the middle of nothing town,” he declares. Should have thought harder I think to myself. “Well, I’m not stuck anywhere. I am choosing to be in the middle of nothing town because I want to be,” I let him know. “No one chooses to be in nothing town. Someone chooses it for them or they are there by happenstance,” he tries to recover. “Fun fact I am someone and this is where I have chosen to be,” I say in an abrupt tone signaling I am done with this conversation. “Okay fine, I need this,” he concedes. “Now will you come with me?” I shake my head no.  “I need a second you know that,” he whines. “I’m not dragging my ass across town. I’m just not,” I proclaim once again. “I’m not shitting where I eat,” he admits. “Never stopped you before. I’m pretty sure your bathroom is right next to the dining area in that trash apartment,” I joke. But then I realize what this is really about. I have the nicer apartment. What a little snake, I think to myself. “Okay, you have me there. Correction I have shit too much where I eat. Is that better,” he smiles trying to get on my good side. “Didn’t we just go out the other night?” I ask deciding on a different way to get out of this other than pointing out I am better off than him. “Yeah, but you are single now. So, we can go out more. Maybe even twice a week,” he suggests. “Twice a week?” I ask my eyes growing wide. “That’s pushing it don’t you think?”

Before I know it I am driving his ass to the other side of town to haunt the usual spots. We don’t come here much anymore and for good reason. He tries to hand me a bottle from under his jacket. “Are you kidding me right now?” I ask pissed off. “Do you have any idea how many cops are staked out on this side of town,” I bark. “That’s what makes it even more fun,” he tells me before taking a swig. I shake my head as he puts the cap back on. “Just a little pre-gaming,” he smirks putting the bottle back in his inside jacket pocket. “You need to learn to find your center without alcohol,” I tell him. “Yes, Master,” he claps his hands together and lowers his head. Not amused I keep on driving and ignoring him. “I’m seeing a lot of ladies that should be having my baby,” he quotes excited behind the glass. If he wasn’t my only friend I wouldn’t hang out with him either. “No one should be having any of your children ever, Jackson.” That is a fact for a lifetime. “It’s lyrics to a song. I don’t literally want a child, ever,” he rolls his eyes in annoyance at my lack of excitement for this evening. “Could you imagine?” He asks staring out the window. “I mean how does someone like me, like us, not literally carve the child right out of the womb?” He ponders into his reflection. His voice turning cold as it often does at times like these. “Could you imagine how boring it would be to wait for the thing to come out? Then have to actively try to keep it alive,” he shivers. “Plenty of our kind do it all the time,” I remind him. “Yeah, because they don’t know what they are,” he says turning to me. “I take it you have decided?” I ask looking over to him. “Yeah, I think I have,” he returns his gaze to the streets. “Let’s get ourselves a pregnant one,” he grins. His sinister smile reflecting back to him in the rolled up window.

Something sinister this way comes… no idea why I am saying that… as of right now… it is a one off… something dark to pass the time… Tried to keep it a story for the whole family… snuck a few shits in there though… haha… I guess I could have said crap instead… “I don’t want to crap where I eat”… nope… I like shit better…

Fun little one off story… enjoy the rest of your day… try not to look at the eyes as they pass you by… and wonder what they are thinking about… most of all hope you don’t see me… and wonder the same thing… (over produced sinister laugh)…

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Not All Black Cats Are Bad Luck…

Adopt Your Very Own Today…

Here… If You Dare…

For Those Who May Have Never Known…

Some things in this life are worse than fiction… some things are so real that even if I told them word for word as the truth… no one could ever believe… it is best to remember that not every one thinks like you… that not every one has shed their animal natures… and not every one in this world is good… it is easy to forget… it is easy to push out of our minds… what goes on behind our backs… and in the darkness… but not all horrible things happen in the dark…

This post is very different for me… maybe not in content… I tend to talk about things that are on the darker side of life… no this post is different… because unlike most of the things I post about… this poem is not about fiction… or dark thoughts that find their way into my head… I am a firm believer in the thought… that it is one thing to think or have dark thoughts… and a whole other to actually act on them… sticks and stones will break my bones… but words will never hurt me…I took that cliche in my mind and ran with it… built a fiction collection on it…

That is how I think… that is what I believe… but even with my own beliefs held firmly in place… some words… some ideas can be too much to bear… the topic of my poem today is… Sylvia Likens… and my reverse order for my post is because unlike most things I write… I feel context… what I think… How I feel about what happened to Sylvia… Is more important than the work below…

For those of you who don’t know… Sylvia Likens was a child in 1965… who was abused… tortured… raped… and killed… not by a serial killer… not by a known sex offender… not even by her parents… but by those in her community… by the very children she knew… by her very neighbors… there is so much to this story… to the truth of the event… that I can’t and won’t be covering in this post… more about the tragic death of Sylvia Likens can be found here

There have been movies… stories written… about Sylvia and the horrors she has been through… and even if you have read or seen any of them… then you know they only scratched the surface of her horrible experience… She has long been laid to rest… but her memory is not forgotten… Her tale as horrific as it was… should never be forgotten… Because people… children… still experience similar horrors every day… to this day… this is long over due… it needs to stop…

Many of us may have even experienced some… many of the things she was put through… may be even today… right now as we read… we need to put an end to it… we need to open our eyes… our hearts… and our minds… because… just because you don’t see it… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… just because you don’t have the time… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… just because it isn’t happening to you… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… because it does and it is… in our silence… these monsters are slipping through the cracks… as we look away… people are being tortured… children are suffering… this isn’t an isolated incident… this isn’t something that only happens to someone based on skin color… age… where we live… or sex… these are things that can and happen to anyone…

I myself was a victim of abuse… I know how it can feel… I understand the shame… the fear of speaking up… will it happen more?… if I just keep my head down… then it will pass… I’ll be fine… excuses we tell ourselves to survive… Truth is the monster will always live in the dark… until you bring it to the light… I say you… but it takes more… it takes us all… There is no harder thing in this world than to ask for help… no matter the situation… it is the hardest thing any of us will ever face… but if you don’t… if we don’t… no one will…

Many of the signs are easy to overlook… it was a one off… it was an accident… abuse is hard to define… it doesn’t seem like it would be… seems pretty straight forward… but it isn’t… that is why so many people suffer in silence… reach out and get turned down… because of this one way thinking… because we aren’t paying attention… this is how and why… Sylvia was tortured… abused… until she died… It is easy to point at her tortures… her abusers… as the monster… but in this extreme case… the monsters weren’t just the ones in the room with her… but the society that surrounded her… that’s why we need to be paying attention… speaking up… and taking action… big or small… we must do all that we can…

Accidents do happen… people go to far… as a victim I know the signs… if anything good came from my abuse… my experience is that I know when I might go to far… when I am wrong… and need to take a step back… I know how easy it can be to cross that line… I’m not immune because I am a victim… I’ve said things that I regret… almost done things that I know were too far… I’ve seen the look of fear that I know myself once carried on the face of those around me… a look that has brought me to my knees… to tears… and made me question who it is I have become… I’ve seen both sides of the line… I have felt how either side of the line can feel… and just because I didn’t act upon my anger doesn’t mean I too couldn’t be a monster… I’m not a saint… I am human… we all are… and not one of us is perfect… but… there is a difference between an incident of abuse… and a pattern of repeated abuse… neither of which should go unchecked… or be put up with… seen as okay…

I was lucky… as far as my abuse went… as much as the memories still hurt me today… I was lucky… that I ended up in the hospital… that people around me spoke up… and did something… that my mother said enough was enough… a victim herself… not all of us are so lucky… for some of us… we don’t receive any help… until it is too late… Take care of yourselves… Take care of each other… it may seem like nothing… but is it worth the risk?… is it worth the hurt?…

Sylvia Likens

Kicking and screaming
Dragging and bleeding
Taken to the basement
Time to figure things out
Pressed against what’s left of the mattress
Laying naked next to the floor
What did you call me
You called me a whore
Silently screaming
Begging and pleading
Took me to the darkness
Time to figure it out
Strung up by the wrists
Stripped of everything I had left
What did you do to me
You stabbed me some more
Dying and breathing
Scarring and seething
Taken to another level
Time to let the devil out
Burned the words into the flesh
No one would want me
That’s what you said

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…

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

Chewing On Glass Presents… Much To Discover…

    So, as you can see I have clearly lost my mind. Oh, wait please forgive me. I forgot that I took your eyes. You can’t see anything so, allow me to describe the horrors you are about to feel and most certainly taste. Hey, have you tasted blood before? Nothing? No Answer? How rude of me you have no tongue which to speak. How silly of me to keep forgetting the things I have already done to prepare for this evening. If by now you don’t think I’m crazy you really should start. That warm iron taste, the one that reminds you of childhood, picking off old scabs, and licking away the blood is from the parts of your tongue that just won’t heal. It should taste sick at first, but by the end of all of this it will become comforting as you hold on to what memories you have left. My apologies regardless, but you have been more than difficult during all of this. I envy you none the less, you know? No one has ever treated me this way despite my demands. I’d pay good money for an experience such as this. It’s always too sick or too wrong. That’s how this all started. Worthless sex workers. I didn’t want it to go this far. Do you believe me? What difference does it matter? They set me free from all my pain. Hopefully I can do for you what others were too afraid to do for me. Excuse my laughter I was remembering the screams and inevitable reminders of past mistakes. The memories like to bounce back in place while I work. Well enough of this talking let’s begin the fun. Never. Never shake your head no at me you sniveling cunt. I’ll cut your dick off and ram it down your throat. Is that clear? Sorry, that was unfair. You didn’t deserve that outburst. It’s just. It is hard being on this side of the veil you know? We’re good right? Your hair is so soft it calms the nerves. Good take a deep breath, first things first we must maintain the sharpness of the blades.

God, isn’t that a sexy sound? I use to do this beforehand Out of sight. Out of mind kind of thing. Always be prepared, but where’s the fun in that? That’s good keep up the moaning. I like that you still try to make words. It’s a little hard to understand you without a tongue in your mouth. If only you could see how hard I am you might appreciate what’s going on. It interests me to see how the muscles get removed from bone. Have you ever watched a butcher work? It’s like magic. The skill, the craft, the determination. It’s almost as if the knife is his hand or part of him. My father use to be a butcher and I’m embarrassed to say that the papers call me the same. I am not my father. I don’t have the skill my father had. It is almost insulting you know? Being compared to a skilled profession such as that. This is more trial and error than anything else. He used to come home smelling of blood and death. Some days he would let me skip school and let me go to the shop with him. He used to say, “One day my boy you will be a butcher.” That is about all he ever said to me. That or this is for your own good before he would beat me. That’s it that simple. Life at times is only that simple. Right or wrong simple minded thought. We know different don’t we? We’ve seen more than just the butcher block. For all his skill and all his talent he was nothing more than a dumb piece of shit is what I mean. He didn’t like my reading, jealous of my education. A transition of the times from craft to thought.

Long story short he disappeared shortly after my eighteenth birthday. Mother closed the shop and I inherited the very knifes you can feel today so, in a way the papers and my father were right and believe me that makes me very unhappy. I thought about becoming a doctor once. Hey, hey you still with me? Good, but now I am only sure that I will be studied by one. Don’t know how that is going to work though as I’m fairly aware that I am what one might call crazy, but then again it’s not me they have to convince it is the twelve other people. Now for the fun part at least for me anyways. I never liked going to the dentist myself, but if I don’t at least pull out most of your teeth fucking your mouth gets a little rough after your dead. There I go laughing again. I had you going didn’t I? I mean I am going to rip out your teeth, but what kind of sick freak do you think I am? Do you honestly believe me too be that far gone? Sit still now this is going to hurt unfortunately. A byproduct of all of this but if I snap the tooth rather than pull it. Well you’ll only have to feel it happening again, but don’t worry I have needle nose pliers as well. Your choice though honestly I can go either way. Shh… Stop your shaking or you are only going to make it that much worse. I know that some of it is involuntary, but you really must try to calm yourself. Think of something peaceful. A happy moment from the past. Your childhood maybe? The laughter is involuntary as well I must say. Man the fuck up already. We’ve made it this far. What’s a little more pleasure? Wait… Did you hear that? Fuck, mother is home. I guess we will just have to finish this later. She hates it when I work in my room. Try not to die now. You promise? Promise you won’t die on me. We still have much to discover about each other.

Not too sure when I wrote this… another take on one of my favorite subjects… torture… this story is more about the little details… for me at least… I like to take similar scenes from the past… and expand on them in some way… that makes it sound like I have someone tied up in my garage… haha… I don’t… not yet at least… but it’s the other twelve people I have to convince… not you…

This as been another installment of Fun With Words or Is He Crazy?… Truth be told what’s the difference any more?… Enjoy talking to myself in the dark none the less… Until tomorrow… I hope all is well…

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

Is that a cat on a sweater?… yes… yes it is… Get yours before it gets cold… Better safe than sorry… Not convinced?… Maybe it is… is on a shirt as well..

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Bright Blue And Shimmering…

What do you say with a million lives to say it? What do you do with a million days to do it? An endless array of endlessness that accumulates into a pool of endless ocean. A fully powered and operational confusion ray shown across a thousand skies would still not explain all the confusion I feel inside. The isolation of all the knowledge that needs to be said greatly increases the feelings closing in on me. The pages have become displayed on the walls. Three layers thick and making no sense at all. The words bleed together like poetry at first. But after long consideration the words mean nothing at all. Turn the page. Start again. See what comes out and in the end find no solace at all. What is the meaning of this madness? What is a lifetime spelled out in words?

I pace the room once again. Careful to not knock over the stacks. The pages that could not fit on the wall without nails. Hammer and blood. Zig zagging through future trash. The trash that riddles my mind. Have I said all that I mean or mean what I’ve said at all? The words trickle out like a stream that will one day be a waterfall. A tiny hole in my head that won’t stop leaking. The thought becomes dizzying.  Dazed and consumed by all the words. I bump one of the stacks. It cascades threw out the room like a great wave of the coast of some mystical land. It blends and bends its will to all the other stacks piled up across the land. I stand in a sea of words, an ocean of thought. Even as I stare at each one. Remembering each pen stroke for what it was once worth. I can think of no meaning. No cause to add to this madness I have chosen to live.

Stare at each word. Each letter spelling out syllables and sounds. Meaning escapes me along the thoughts. Every passing moment descends further into nothing at all. The depths from under my skin. Flesh and blood. Meat without a taste. I can hear words as they echo out of the screams. Words played against a black screen. Images played to the silence of it all. A hollow sound that repeats. Blood drops, drops from somewhere though I am unsure where. A stream of red. A clue left behind? A whooshing sound blocks out the silence of thought. The blood pumps harder and faster within my head. Drip, drip. I can’t hear the noise. I can only feel it as I follow the trail. In circles I spin. Brushing up against the scattered pages of my mind. My bare legs chewed up amongst the pages. My blood bring new life to the words. Washing away letter for letter. Ideas for idea. Lost to the soul and pouring out of my head. A war fought bloody and hard. I continue to circle around the words like a vulture circles a dead carcass. I will find an answer to all this madness.

I haven’t showered in days. The new words keep pouring out all around me. The body riddled with sharp pains. I fear that I have become sick amongst the stacks. To quit now would mean that I should have never started at all. I’ve long since run out of paper. Resorting on writing scraps and bits of blood soaked left overs. I have lost track of where this is all going, but did I ever know? Follow the words. Follow the thoughts. Ideas set us free. Ideas separate the man from the beast. It is all here. Word for word. On display for any one with the time.

“A lost generation hoping for something to happen with the littlest effort at all. We all want to be millionaires, but no one has the heart to tell us that it won’t happen. No one has the heart to tell us shit.” Words cut out of my very chest. A pound of flesh I once called a heart. “They are all too scared, too afraid we’ll go shooting up the place. Our fragile minds can’t take the simplest of heart breaks. They fear that our trigger happy, unsympathetic, systematic minds with snap, and they are right for all the wrong reasons.” Man before the beast. Beast before the man. The call for blood of the innocent. The lives of a thousand sons and daughters. Is this not the calling of man? “Fear is nothing more than power. Fear is a manipulative tool used to take over the mind. They us the fear of it all to keep control. Governments, kingdoms, religion, and lies use the same tactics. Fear of the fear to keep control. Place in time. Fear equals control and control is fear. An impasse of conflicted ideas that have worked all too well.” Fitting in as the skin covers my mouth. Embraced by the society that birthed me. “A stabbed out swollen eye of infected corneas lathered so thick with bullshit that all we see is darkness. What about what is next? What happens in the end if no one stands up to the fleeting masses? The controls left in the hands of children. Evolution dictates that a change will cause adaptation to the original species. A rift will develop, slowly filling up with the lost illusion we once held.” Truth written in blood and disguised by lies of the mind. How could they ever lose control? More like them hidden amongst us like weeds that grow from the shit stuck in our eyes. “A river of deceit with a sediment so rich lies will grow like wild flowers amongst what is left of the masses. One could only hope. Giant man powered robots will reign supreme amongst the rubble of civilization. One great civilization shall rise from the ashes of our mistakes and in the end all the right will be wronged and all wrongs shall be righted.” A prophecy fore told in the shadows of the moon light on scrapped bits of paper. Cover the light with words and turn it off.

This is actually two ideas mashed together… a bit of a long post so I will keep it short… Nothing like a bit of madness to get your day started… Originally this was supposed to be used for a much bigger project about a writer losing his mind to the words… I got four pages deep when I realized no one wants to read about exactly what they are going through… So I chose all the best lines from that failed project… and tried my best to make sense out of it… or no sense at all… I just breathe the words… I don’t have to live them… and yet in some ways I do…

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Chewing On Glass Presents… Keep It To Yourself…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Something Different… Dancing Around The Poetry Fire…

Smile All Will Be Over Soon

Standing beside the devil at the gates of hell
There’s no heaven for someone like me
Laid down before Christ
Kissed his feet
Hoping I won’t be the only one that’s died
Best one could hope for a silent death
Stripping the flesh inch for inch
Killing the idea of you was never meant to be easy
Taking breath for breath, taking a life
Welcome home tattooed across my skin
In blood, in blood we learn what freedom is
Never forget who you really are
A devil saint masquerading as a demon
One in the fucking same, no different from the next
Who I am and what you’ll be
What is it that the world made me
A puppet, a pawn, my new plaything
Smile, this is all God ever asked from you
The blood only a part of the process
Smile, gave you all that you needed
Never good enough, no one ever will be
Need more to understand
What I’ve become
Same as you only worse
Never give anything
You aren’t willing to lose

Testing Out The Thoughts In My Head

Dragging the blade against the skin
What was it that you once said
No one could ever be a beautiful as you
Testing the theory that it was all in my head
How quickly you changed
Now who is the one begging I was dead
Dragging the blade against the skin
Tearing out all the dirty thoughts
Where do I begin, trapped within
No one could ever be as clean as you
Testing the theory that it was all in my head
How quickly I changed
Now who is the one suggesting medicine
Dragging the blade against the skin
Carving out all the pieces I adore
Being so selective never felt so good
What was it you once said
No one could be as perfect as you
I beg to differ on the subject
Testing the theory that it was all in my head
How quickly your pleas turn into threats
Now who is the one begging I quit
Dragging the blade against the skin
I wish I could live in
Worship me as I have always you
Be mine so we can end these stupid games
Promise me you’ll always be as beautiful
As I make you
Obsession leads to creativity
Testing out all the thoughts in my head

Got pretty dark in here… That first one started off as a Broken Thought… then it kept going… had to change the whole theme of my post… was originally going to talk about the sun and how life is so beautiful… really just the beauty of life… the normal things I like to talk about really… but then this dark cloud came out of nowhere… sometimes life is about riding the wave of emotions… maybe next time on Cuddling with Glass…. (That still sounds pretty painful… There’s nothing soft, warm, or fuzzy about glass… other options… Gluing with Glass… Blowing with Glass… if you came up with anything post it in the comments…)

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Chewing On Glass Presents… See Through the Light into the Darkness Pt 2…

“We’ve all gathered her once again. What is the purpose? What is the point of all of this my people?” The man asks the small coven before him. “To praise him,” they chant back. “To love him. To Honor him,” They continue. “Because?” The man asks enthusiastically. “Jesus is lord,” They answer. The woman at the man’s feet whimpers as she struggles with her restraints. Gagged she can’t say a thing, but she tries none the less. “That is right my children. That is so very right. We don’t do this for ourselves, but for him. We don’t hurt people we free them in the name of our lord. That is why we are here this evening,” the man kneels down towards the woman. Rubbing the back of his fingers across her face, “This woman, if you could call her that, needs our help this evening my children.” She flails her head as she tries to scream, “Hush my child. We are only trying to save you, help you. We mean you no harm.” The man stands back up and takes his place behind the podium. The air around him thick with silent anticipation. “See my children? See why we must help her? She doesn’t even know that she is lost. She doesn’t even know the devil has taken a hold of her,” He presents to them. “Free her. Give her back to Jesus,” they all responded back. “Oh, we shall. Strip her,” he orders to the two men beside the stage. The two men do as they are told ripping the woman’s clothes off of her. Her mesh shirt shredded instantly. She kicks and screams as her pale skin is exposed to the crowd. “Stand her up for my children to see,” the man orders. “Look my children. Look what the devil as done to this poor woman,” he walks from behind the podium and stands next to her. “These marks of sin all throughout her body. Tattoos not only where we can freely see, but even where only her husband could,” he runs his finger down her pelvis following the outline of the tattoos as he speaks. “And these,” he shouts to dramatic effect as he flicks her nipple rings. She struggles against the two men. “What on God’s green earth could these be used for if not for sin. What is the purposes of such atrocities? Don’t even get me started on her horns,” he chuckles to himself. “Set her free. Give her back to Jesus,” the angry crowd shouts unprovoked. “Oh, we shall my children, we shall. Kneel before Christ,” he shouts at her. The two men kick her legs out from under her and help her to her knees. Naked kneels before him as he steps up to her with a cup in his hands. He pulls out her gag with his free hand releasing a siren of screams into the room. “Hush now child,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. Moving closer to her face he speaks in whispers, “You had to know the day would come where you’d have to face your sins. Some one of your nature couldn’t be so naive. Here are your choices young lady. You drink this here cup of the lord.” Her face tenses up, “I’m not drinking shit.” He lets off a small amused smile, “I think you will because if you don’t you are going to know pain beyond anything even you could know. Drink the cup and accept Jesus into your body. You do that and we will let you go. Simple really. If you don’t. Well we will have to find another way to let Jesus in and the demons out.” Tears fall from her face, “I ain’t drinking shit.” He shakes his head, “Please, we don’t want to hurt you. We just want to save you. Save your soul from damnation. Drink the blood of Christ accept him into your heart and you are free do go.” He holds the cup within inches of her lips. “Okay, I’ll drink it,” she agrees. “She says she will accept Christ,” he shouts for all to hear. She continues to cry as the room cheers. He hold the cup up to her lips and she slowly drinks it, Take all of Jesus Christ into you.” She nods as she drinks from the cup. Drinks every last drop. “Let her go,” he orders to the two men. Scarred and panic she rises naked to her feet. She tries to cover what she can of herself as she runs down the aisle. “Let Christ consume your evil my child. Let the lord set you free,” he shouts from behind her. A smile stretched across his face. The sedative takes effect before she even makes it to the doors of the church. “How could I be so,” she falls to the floor. “Bring her to me my children. We have much to do before it is too late,” he orders.

“Is she ready?” The reverend asks. “She has been drained of all her blood,” one of his followers answers. “Good, take her down and lets proceed to the chosen sight,” the reverend orders. “What of the others?” The follower asks. “In time my child. In time they will all receive their penance,” he answers. Bodies of men and women hang from meat hooks bound by the wrist. The truck bed shifts a bit. “Will someone tell the driver to be a little more careful? We have precious cargo with us. Can’t afford to get caught now. Not this soon. So much work left to do,” The reverend says with a smile. The follower disappears to the front of the trailer to talk to the driver. The reverend touches her face with the back of his hand, “Could have truly been so much more in this world.” A female follower standing next to him speaks up, “She will be more than she could have ever been in this life time. Praise him.” He turns to her, “How right you are my child. How right you are.” He takes the followers face into his hands, “Praise him. Praise him we shall.” The refrigerated truck drives for a few more hours until it reaches a stretch of road in some unknown town. “We have arrived my children,” He announces. The followers that he has brought come from under their warm blankets. Steam releasing from their bodies as they rush to get the others awake and ready. “The sun will be up soon and we have even less time than that. Put the gloves on and take her to the tree. No one without gloves is allowed to touch anything,” the reverend commands. Slipping on his own gloves he takes three large industrial size nails and the hammer from the end of the truck. They slip out of the truck and rapid fashion. Silent as the night as they carry her dead corpse with them. Sitting her down in the grass they untie her hands and place her in a cross formation. They stand waiting around the body in a circle as the reverend makes his way to them. He places the nails next to her body before taking one. Placing it in the palm of her cold dead hand he hammers it in. “For the Lord,” he says before taking another nail. Palm to ankles he hammers the nails into the body. “For the Lord. Praise him,” his followers chant. They all go silent as he hammers in the final nail firmly through her ankles. Pinned against the grass they all stare at her lifeless corpse. “The sinner and the whore has been redeemed for your blessing. We give you back your lost child. We give, we do all that you have asked of us. For we are the children of the one true God. We are the warriors upon which you seek. Praise the Lord. Honor the Lord. Children of Christ. Amen.” The followers raise their arms to the sky as it begins to rise. The shadows of evil slowly receding at the dawn of day. “Praise him. Praise the Lord,” the followers say in unison one last time. Into the early light they disappear back to the truck. They leave no traces of ever being there and the insects begin to feed. Because even in the south the dead don’t rest in peace.

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Something Different… Q & A… We Dance Once More…

So if you don’t remember I used to do this for a second… it has been a long ass time since the last one so I’m not going to link it to this one… sorry… not really… haha… the point of these type of posts is to have fun… learn a little bit about me… and you… feel free to answer the questions in the comments if you want… or make fun of mine…

The basic idea is that I answer questions from an old ass game… The Ungame… I found at a Goodwill… well that is it really… so it is clear… I am drawing these cards at random… let’s get going…

like I said… old ass game… good luck finding a copy…

Turn 1… What Would You Do If You Had A “Magic Wand”?

Created a magic lamp… rub it… get three wishes… Make Hogwarts a real thing… go back to school with my “Magic Wand”… major in Defense Against the Dark Arts… too easy… Also I love how magic wand is in quotes… as if it was someone else’s idea… “Fine Carol we will add Magic Wand, but I just want to make it clear that this game has nothing to do with Satan. We simply heard of this so called magic wand.”

Turn 2… If You Were Lost In The Woods And It Got Dark, What Would You Do?

Who said I was lost?… The first thing you should ask yourself is how did you end up in these woods to begin with?… Did I drag you here?… Was it through a portal in the game?… Why am I holding this knife?… Have you always look as though you were carved to pieces?… probably best to not go into the woods with me… : )

Turn 3… If You Were A Doctor, What Ailment Would You Like To Cure?

This is a tough one for me… without hesitation I would say depression… that is what I would cure if I could… but… there is always a but… I don’t know if I would… I am torn… full of hesitation… I can think of so many people in my day to day life that I could help… and countless others around the world that could be helped from my answer… but in the same breath… I know of so many things in my life that I love and that I live for that wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for depression… My favorite books… my favorite music… my favorite films… the idea that we could lose so much art… is depressing in itself… then again I have seen depression destroy so many things that I love and live for as well… which is also depressing in itself… sometimes simply wishing something away isn’t so simple…

So if I could cure anything with a worry free answer… I guess I would cure addiction… getting rid of depression would help a lot of people… if we could cure addiction safely and make it stop forever… I think we could save and help everyone… I think it would even help other ailments like depression to a certain extent… it wouldn’t cure it… but even just a little bit of help goes a long way… I know it could help me a lot… though I wonder if more people would try certain things because they know that they could get “clean” at any point?…

This question is an education on how my brain works… I do this with everything in my life… Should I do the laundry? yes I should… but if I don’t I could do this… I can see how doing the laundry and not doing the laundry could help a lot of people…

Turn 4… Are You Remembering To Keep Your Answers Brief? Take another card !

Yes?…

Turn 5… What Bit Of Advice Would You Give A Young Man About To Get Married?

Young man?… I may be too hypersensitive… because of where I live and the period of time we are living… but does this question feel a little sexist?… I guess I will answer this question… though it goes against my moral code…

If I was going to give anyone advice on marriage… I would say to never lose communication… never forget that it is you and this other person against the world… not the world against each other… and the world is always coming… will you always agree?… haha… that would be something wouldn’t it?… doesn’t matter… if you agree on every little thing… what matters is that the other person knows you have their back no matter what… good or bad… that is the hard part… because it is so easy to say anything with nothing going on… but when the shit hits the fan… when one of you or both of you fucks up… because you will… we are all human… are you, can you stand up with them no matter what?…

I think marriage is an institution… it means something different to the people involved… as it should… because it is about the two of you not everyone else… to me marriage isn’t important… and it is… I didn’t need to marry my wife… if we weren’t married… I’d feel the same way about her… which is why I got married?… or married to her… I don’t know… what I do know is I found the person I wanted to take the world on with… the person I love no matter what… nothing is perfect or easy… life happens… shit happens… but through it all… that feeling… that idea… has never changed… so my advice is that if you aren’t willing to stand next to this person as they burn at the stake… shielding them from the flames… then you aren’t willing to stand next to them ever… (yes… advice to means a long rant… best not to ask advice from me unless you got time…)

Turn 6… Give One Word To Describe Each Person In The Group.

asshole… haha…

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Chewing On Glass Presents… Education In Absolution…

“Between one doctor to another I don’t really see how what I’m convicted for was really wrong,” the old man shifts in his chair. “That is why you have been placed under my care here rather than facing the death penalty someplace else,” the middle aged man says from across the table. “Do you think what happened was wrong?” The older man asks. “Are you asking if your actions are wrong or the act of what happened was wrong? Because what transpired on December eighth of last year is nothing short of fascinating,” the doctor closes the file in front of him. “I was only trying to train them in the procedures of the class,” the old man smiles from ear to ear. “They were basically children Dr. Kreleason,” the doctor stands up. “It is such a beautiful day outside. We should take a walk around the grounds no use wasting it sitting in here,” the doctor suggests. The old man stands up and takes a small bow, “After you.” The doctor smiles, “No, I insist. Age before beauty of course.” The old man walks out the door, “Of course but with age comes intelligence.”

The sun beats down on the two men as they walk on the edge of the court yard. “Modern medicine is so barbaric,” the old man says with no prompt. “Is that why you did what you did?” The doctor asks. “No, medicine has always been barbaric. I was simply trying to teach them what they should have already have known. I was trying to teach them a lesson,” the old man looks up to the sky. “I’d hardly believe allowing your students to perform open heart surgery on one another while under the influence of hallucinations a lesson. Let alone entertaining. So, your smile seems vastly inappropriate,” the doctor says. “I was smiling at the sky. You don’t remember or know how beautiful it is until you can’t see it anymore. Until it is hidden away from you like a lost treasure. I was smiling at the simplicity’s of life. But obviously you weren’t there doctor because had you have been there you would have found it most entertaining. I know for a fact that the ones the survived found it very entertaining,” the old man turns his attention back to the doctor. “I find that very hard to believe,” the doctor quips.  The two men stop at one end of the court yard standing face to face. “Believe it or not doesn’t change the facts of what I witnessed that day. Besides how could you or anyone else for that matter not find the situation the least bit hysterical? I warned those students well ahead of time that failing my class would have grave circumstances,” Kreleason laughs deeply with an almost howling effect. The sounds of birds flapping their wings surrounds them.

“What I don’t understand is how you got those students to perform the procedures voluntarily. I understand why you are laughing at the sick thoughts of what you did. I’ve interviewed enough of you monsters to know why. But those students were the head of their class. Straight A students and you got them to hack each other up like it was an everyday thing,” the doctor stands there confused. “The hallucinations help Doctor, but the rest? You really think that was that hard to accomplish? They were fucking sheep. I could have told them in order to pass my class you’d have to rape the person next to you and once one did it they would all follow suit. Could have turned that classroom into a full on orgy of deceit, but that is simple minded. Where is the fun in that? The hallucinations were nothing but a fun game. The real lesson in all of this. I knew what the outcome of their behavior was before it even began, but to prove it? That was satisfaction,” the old man states before starting to walk again. “Sheep? That’s the best way to describe your students? Those students?” The doctor asks. “That is the best way to describe this whole generation of students. They do as they are told and the ones that don’t are so deep in the gutter that they don’t even matter,” the old man boasts. “Are you referring to your cadaver victims from early lessons? I hesitate to call them lessons but a lack of a better word leads me to call them that,” the doctor muses out loud. 

“Victims? You really see them as victims to my lessons? They were victims of a broken society before I found them. They were helpless before I gave them a purpose. They served a better purpose helping science then they would have otherwise. Tell me doctor do you have a problem with my methods of thinning the herd or do you have a problem with me? I haven’t been able to figure that out yet,” the old man challenges the doctor. The doctor ignores the question. “Those helpless people had families. They had lives before you ripped them apart. What about them?” The doctor asks him. “It really is a pity we couldn’t have dissected them as well, but we wouldn’t want people to think I was disturb in anyway,” the old man smiles. “Because murdering people undeserved of punishment is a normal every day occurrence?” The doctor fires back. “You act as though they didn’t volunteer. You act as if I went out into the night hunting victims for my own personal gain. They came to me. They wanted something from me and I from them. They were little more than transaction, interactions between two willing parties,” Kreleason explains. “You are sick. Truly disturbed in your thoughts and actions. It is truly fascinating the way you think,” the doctor says.

“Now you are getting it. I like to think that my goal here on Earth is to enlighten those around me. We all must have a goal. A purpose. For so long I didn’t know my own purpose and then I found it. Tell me doctor have you found yours?” The old man asks. “I thought I had, but now I know for sure. Maybe I knew all along or maybe you convinced me. I’m unsure of that. But what I do know is that there is no justice for monsters like you. There is no lesson in absolution. There is so little to learn from the nature of evil. Broken is the best and only way to describe people like you,” the doctor says into the air. “Unhinged, we are unhinged doctor. From reality and responsibility. The clock ticks and it tocs, but it never stops. Tell me doctor do you know who you are? Do you know where you are? Do you know what you have become? How is it that we even got here?” They look up to the sky once more. A voice in the distance cuts through the silence, “This is Thompson I found him in the court yard, over.” The security guard walks up slowly and speaks in a soft voice, “Dr. Kreleason if you could please come with me. Nice and easy. No one else needs to get hurt.”

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