Broken Thoughts

Inventory of Thoughts

Fading in and out
A song on skip and repeat
A rhythm I can’t get out of my head
It haunts rather than drives me
Where will I go from here
Where were we headed before this
A sick sad feeling I couldn’t resist
Pieced together with broken thoughts
Taking notes on nothing at all
Inventory of thoughts that don’t matter anymore
We sit and stand only to sit again
As though we had anywhere to be at all
Given in and letting go seems so hard
Understanding must be for the weak
Tomorrow though will be a time to reflect
On all the things we hate, we hate it all conveniently
World keeps burning along with these feelings
A dark cloud hangs over the sky
A misting of piss and shit fills the air
Beating down upon me
As if yes
This is nothing more than nothing

 

Why didn’t you just drag me threw glass
Replace my teeth with broken pieces off the floor
You knew it it would be like this
So you left me to suffer, Fuck you
I get it, but Fuck you
Why didn’t you just smash in every bone
Replace them with pins unable to move
You knew it would be like this
So you lead me on that it would be okay
Fuck you, I get it, but Fuck you all the same
Why didn’t you just throw me off a cliff
Replace my skin with jagged rocks on the way down
You knew it would be like this
Could have at least done me the favor
From the beginning of this life, Fuck you
I get it but fucking really
If I haven’t said it before
Thanks Mom

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Some deep cuts today… Yes… I am aware… that I missed Monday’s post… I have no excuse… I wish I did… just completely forgot to even get on the computer… Been working on a short story… and by that I mean I’ve written two lines in the last week… so I have been kind of avoiding the computer… working a lot… just not at what I want to be working at… it is a soul crushing feeling… but some times these things have to be done… I’m sure a lot of you have been where I am now… and know that it is only a passing moment… do what has to be done and get out… spend too long and it becomes the norm… I don’t plan on staying for to long… taking care of what need to be taken care off… and I’m out… 

But that means that I won’t be posting as much… well not as much as before… more or less when I can… or when I remember… Hope all is well…

Ambrose… 

Sympathetic to Your Needs

“Am I being recorded?”
“I hope you don’t mind. It is for journalistic purposes. Try to not let it affect you or your responses. Best to think of it not being there.”
“Okay.”
“So you wanted to tell me something about where you work and how it pertains to my story?”
“You won’t publish my name right?”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“From my perspective, I don’t see why racism in America is even happening. I mean at what point do we move past it and grow as people?”
“I’m not too sure. That is why I am working on this piece. I want to find out what real Americans think about racism.”
“How many real Americans have you interviewed so far?”
“Quite a few. All walks of life, but I want to hear your side of the issue.”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“I have been doing this a number of years.”
“Seems like it can be difficult talking to people. I’m not sure I could do such a thing.”
“It can be at times. The hardest part is staying objective to the subject at hand. Often find that there is way too much excessive talking. It becomes a distraction.”
“What is that?”
“Oh, this? This is nothing.”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“Are you even a real reporter?”
“Of course I am.”
The sound of weeping. “Why are you doing this?”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“You shot her in the fucking face. You sick fuck.”
The sound of rustling. “Just wait and see what I do to you.”
The sound of choking, sounds of a struggle. A faint whisper,” Please… help…”

“Click,” I eject the tape. “How many are there?” I ask. “How many what? Tapes or victims?” My partner asks. “Either,” I say as I put my cigarette out. I leave it resting in the ashes. Burying it with the others. “Hundreds of tapes, but we are still unsure of the number of victims. Been doing this for years. Some of the tapes are legitimate interviews as you heard. Others are as close to being there as you can get. I mean let your imagination run wild.” He stares at me as I light another one. I offer him one from the pack and he declines. “It makes you wonder why? Even after all these years on the force. Still left with the same question,” I reach for another tape. “The answer isn’t there or in any of these tapes,” my partner assures me. “No, but there are facts and facts leads to answers.”

“Do you think that this will make me famous?”
“It has been my experience that anything can bring you attention. But not all attention is good attention. To answer your question though. In this case, it might.” The sound of a power drill coming to life and screams washes over the recording.

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Wanted to try something new… A story that could only be done on the website… and about as close to a script that I want to get… It is hard to not write every action each voice or character is doing… My hat goes off to those of you who write scripts… I have no idea how you do it… drives me crazy… lack of control?… what does that say about me?… haha… 

Still selling bits of my soul over at Threadless and Amazon… Don’t worry… I’m as cheap as I can get… 

Post Script of the Unimaginative

I can see her crying. Tears stream down her face like open rivers with no place to go. She is but a stranger in a sea of them. She is different. She stands out as her tears fall to the ground. No one pauses to help her. A glance and they keep on going. Beyond my very own observation, I am no better. I don’t care. We are all dying inside. One step from our tears joining together.

Her tears only spell weakness in a world so harsh watching someone die seems to be the real past time. Why should I care about her and her problems? I don’t know her and I don’t really care to get to know her. She keeps on moving and I keep sitting. The world turns even in deep sadness. Judgment past in but an instant. Not enough thoughts in my mind to care anymore.

We all live in our own perfect tragedies. Incentivised by our very own pain. Layer after layer added until it becomes too much to bare. Crushing under the defeat of our own simple emotions. We create so much pain to dwell on. When in reality nothing beyond what is in front of you matters.

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We often overlook true pain even when it is staring us right in the face… It wasn’t my place to ask what was wrong… Maybe I could have helped her?… Maybe she didn’t need my help?… No idea… But it was enough for past me to dwell on as I waited for my bus… 

ThreadlessAmazon… You know while you are waiting… Something to pass the time… 

A Lie Preview

And I’m Back Again

The woman plops down every sex toy we have in the store, which isn’t much but she has managed to find every single one we offer. She’s found every single lubricant, every vibrating touch, she even brought up every men’s vibrating razor, and every battery to back them up. There is now a large pile of cherry, pineapple, warming, and her pleasure lubricants I now have to sort through piled up next to my register. I can’t lie and say that this doesn’t happen often because it does, but this has to be the largest assortment I have ever had to ring up. The woman gives me a look that says I don’t give a fuck. “What are you doing after work,” she asks? “Busy,” is all I can muster to her question. She’s not bad looking even for her age, but I have no interest in women right now. I already have too many problems to deal with in my life. “That’s too bad,” she sighs. “We could have had a good time,” she says. I nod my head to show her that I am listening. She isn’t even bothered that I turned her down. I know I am no catch or even that attractive, but it stings slightly in my cold dead heart that she doesn’t even care that I want nothing to do with her. “I’m dying,” she says out of nowhere as if this is something strangers say to each other every day. I start to bag up her purchases. “I have this fucked up cancer. Doctors say a couple of months and I’m dead. So, I decided what the hell I’m going to go on a trip. I’m going to go all around the United States and I’m going to have sex with anyone that has the slightest interest in me.” I have to admit that her desperation is turning me on a little bit, but I just nod my head again as if this is an acceptable response to what she has told me. “Figure I wasted most of my life being the conservative type and in the end, I’ll only die alone. So, who cares about what there is on the other side waiting for me if I already wasted this life so far,” tears start to form in her eyes. Truth be told I have no idea what to say to this lady. Inside I am dying, but inside she is truly dying. She hands me the money as we stand in silence. “You might want to get some condoms,” I finally say. She laughs as I hand her the change and tears fall from her cheeks. She takes the bags of supplies and begins to walk out of the store. I tell her good luck as she leaves.

My night went from bad to worse and most of it was all my fault. Have I rationalized suicide as an easy way out or am I really as fucked up as I think? I am confused about what I want and how things should be. A sheltered life has left me wondering if there’s something more or am I really living all there is to live. My lifelong depression kicks in and despite all my self-medicating I sulk the rest of the night wondering what or where it is that I went wrong. As if life is based on actual roads and at some point I just took a wrong turn, and all I need to do is turn around. I’m back here again, but what if I never left this place, to begin with? What if I never took a wrong turn I only got stuck in the mud? I still have time. I could still get out and make the right choice or even the wrong one but at least I wouldn’t be here. Where I am right now. I hate when I get like this. It’s like my mind gets so murky and sludge like that my thoughts make no sense to me, but yet I can’t shut them off. Even with the drugs, it’s like my thoughts are stuck in my head. I start to regret everything I have ever done or thought or felt and realize that no amount of regret can undo anything in a lifetime. Life is nothing more than an unfair existence and a waste of time. I could kill myself right now but what would be the point? What would I really be saying if I did it now right here stuck in the middle of nothing? All I would be saying is that I am weak, that I am pointless, and I don’t believe that I am any of these things at all. I may not be a good person by definition but I am not a bad person either. I’ve spent too much of my life on the line and just like that lady I fear that one day there will be nothing that actually defines me. Other than words like waste, pointless, and regret. Too many thoughts in my head.

 

Yes… she is a reference to the same woman in Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk… I’m not ashamed that I took something from someone I admire… we all take something from someone… if you haven’t read Fight Club… please do… though Survivor is a much better book… the kind of book I wish I could write but Chuck already did it… asshole… 

We’ve got shirts available over at Threadless… books written by an asshole over on Amazon… but I’m sure you are all linked out by now… haha… 

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A Lie Preview

I Want You to Realize What You Do

I feel as if I’ve seen this before. I feel as if I’ll hear this once more. Like a cold draft coming in, I’m blown out the door. My allergies take me places I’ve been before. Like the hallway and out the door. I think I wanted to just feel the norm of society and everyone before. Jumping up and down. Nowhere to go. Pushing from side to side. Nowhere to go. If this is my last life I wish there was more. If I had a choice I’d have wanted more. Well, when you look back do you see the fun? Or the hard work it took to win? By the end of life, I won’t remember what was what like a baby to the womb or an old man to his tomb. People keep asking me, “Where are you from?” People keep wondering where you’re from as if it matters because we’re all going to the same place. In the ground and back to the sun. Life keeps circling in a cycle that was spun a long time ago before we knew it was done. Jumping out of my skin. Fate has already begun to win. My minds going with my body and I’m stuck here with nowhere to go. My life’s gone way out of my control. I follow the lines as if I was told what to do, what to say, and in its own way my thoughts are not my own, but the people before me. My own self-loathing is a learned behavior. My society is large, but with many layers. People just make me want to jump, falling down hard my body rolls taking the hard way down into the ground.

Class sucked today and she still hasn’t texted me back. She’s a fucking whore. Fuck her. These drugs are fucking shit. Mother fucker sold me the wrong shit and of course, I have no choice but to keep using them because I have nothing else. Fuck off.

 

We’ve all been there… hopefully you haven’t personally… I know I am every other day… not the drugs… but at this point, I’m starting to think maybe I should be… just kidding kids… “Drugs are bad… Alcohol is bad”… venting your frustration through writing is the best way to clear your head… get that shit out before it gets out in negative ways… because as sure as you believe it won’t… it very much fucking will… take care of yourself and it will pay off… take a fucking moment and write that shit down… no idea why I am cussing so much… haha… 

I’d vent my frustration on a shirt… but who the fuck has the time to read that shit?… that’s why I put it in book form… for when you have the time… Don’t forget to drop a review… I might even read them… when I’m done venting my frustration…  

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Postscript of the Unimaginative

“The world shatters around me. Falling shards of a broken mirror reflecting all the past actions of my life. Regret is something that can only happen after everything is said and done. How I wish I could take them all back, but I can’t. Each broken shard plunges into me and through all the pain. Through all the despair all I have left is tears and regrets. Open wounds that will never heal and maybe that is for the best. I’ve wasted too much time already on what if. Maybe now is the time to move on from all the pain and anguish. I’m not trying to justify my sins or the things I have done. I am only trying to move on, take credit for the things that I have done. In the past where they should stay. Stealing, robbing, threating, and who knows what else can’t be undone. Maybe it is time I told my tale. Confessed my part in everything that has unfolded in all these years. Maybe it is time.” The cold barrel presses against the back of his head.

Laying in a pool of his own blood the words fade away into nothing. No one leaves this world the way they envision. You either leave willingly shitting yourself until it is your time or you get put down like a dog. Rabid useless monster you never knew you’d become. Turn states evidence. Turn up dead. You signed the contract before it was written. One in the same. Only one of us was stupid enough to try and live. The other as stupid as the day we met. The point is to keep your mouth shut.

“Your debt is paid. You have proved your loyalty,” his voice as grime as the day we were introduced. “What does that mean?” I ask him. “You are free,” he smiles. I stare into his eyes. The gun still heavy in my hands. A weight that I can’t understand. “Like I asked. What does that mean?” He never blinks only stares back at me with those cold dead eyes, “It means that you and I never need to see each other again. Your husband’s debt is paid. We will take care of the rest.” I refuse to look away. Gripping the pistol tighter. My husband’s blood still splattered against my face. “Unless you would care to join him?” He asks me as though the question is really an option. I know as soon as I turn my back he will kill me. My husband told me everything about this man, this monster. Never trust a monster. “You going to stand there all night?” he asks me. Slowly I back away from him. Making my way towards the door. I want to speak, but it is only a waste of words. I back into something heavy. It doesn’t move as I step away from it. “You know I could use someone like you. A cold-hearted woman such as yourself,” he states. The heavy figure grabs me from behind “I know I could find a good use for her,” the heavy figure says into my ear. I know better than to struggle. The gun still in my hand, “I want no part of what you are selling.” He finally looks away waving his hand as he does. The figure lets me go. “I think you do,” he states. “I think you are at least curious to what I have to offer you,” he pulls a contract from his jacket pocket.

“You think of me as a monster and you are right. But it goes much deeper than that. I don’t care that your husband went to the authorities. Doesn’t even matter. None of this even matters. You taking my offer or not doesn’t even matter,” he picks up the pen from my husband’s desk. “We both know that it is too late for you to take another path. You’ve already chosen in fact. So this can end in only one way. Work for me. Replace your weak husband as one of my own,” his eyes light up and smoke pours out of his mouth. “What about my children?” I ask the monster. “They are already gone. As I stated before you are free. One last parting gift from your dearly departed husband,” he laughs in a cold methodical tone. I raise the weapon at the desk. He stops his laughing and stares me down once again. I fire two bullets into the back of my husband. The anger of all that I lost shaking me to the core. He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t move at the sound of the gun discharging. “Where do you want me to sign,” I sigh.

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…

https://chewingonglass.threadless.com/