Something Different

Together Until the End

The thoughts like suicide loses meaning
If done more than twice
Never look back, Keep plowing ahead
None of this will matter when we are all dead
Nuclear holocaust, burning until there is no resolve
Whoever said the cold war had ended is dead now
I’m telling you to have something to say
Not that anyone would listen anyway
Who am I, amongst the masses
Who am I, amongst the depressed fascists
There can be no voice of a generation
If everyone is shouting at the same time
How is it that the dumbest rise above us
How is it that we could be so blind
Falling for the same tricks time after time
Maybe in the end, there is no intelligent life after all
Maybe we deserve each other, deserve the graves we’ve dug
At least in this, we will finally be one
Rotting and bleeding, once and for all

Unleashed Thoughts

Sweating bullets made of glass
Shattering on the ground
Pick up the pennies that have become
Worth barely more than worthless
Time is money, couldn’t trade time for money
Getting paid seems like an afterthought
To living at all
Breaking down the seconds into monetary value
Turning all the lies into regret
What has this become over time
A suspicion, a waste of energy
Give anything to take it back
But not what it takes to push ahead
Self-doubt is all there ever was
Broken mind and lost ideas of nothing
Spinning tales just to get by
Begging for more than there is to offer
Living in the present to only drown in the past

 

Broken Up Thoughts

I know everything I need to do but I’m just scared…

Everything lasts if only for a moment. A moment in time lost forever…

Feel so left out even though I was invited. Invitation still in the mail I suppose. Invited none the less. It was as though we could have sat this one out but showed up anyways…

The sadness grows infinite. Dripping down but never draining away. As though I exist without existing at all. A lost parallel to nothing wrapped in sentiment and sin.

Fun to watch from a distance as the distance becomes greater and greater. Their faces still smiling though only with the slightest hint of fear. Go alone into the great nothing or hold everyone close for dear life. Either option succumbs the same fate. There is no life after death no matter how much we pray.

Everything is different even if it is the same. We tell ourselves if only I could go back to this moment or that moment, but it is just shit we say to ourselves. Like one more and I’m done. Three more later our stomach-aches and we are left knowing why. Can’t go back only forward. Good or bad forward is all we know.

The world is changing but we are all staying the same….

We live in a play set world where death is an option not a way of life. We take every single breath for granted yet they still don’t mean anything. There will be more to come. Tomorrow is another day not the end…

How far must I go
To reach the end of the world
Staring off the edge of a cliff
The whole world laid out below
I feel the paradise but at a loss
I see everything that doesn’t need to exist
When the world goes
Will I remember any of this

Really stretching the meaning of this post with this one… I was trying to clear off some of the pages on my desk… random bits of paper… nine down… a thousand more dead trees to go… a massacre laid out amongst the rest… So many Broken Thoughts still scattered in my brain… a slow drip… driving me insane… A happiness… I could never find… a rotting of the core… They say I am great at nothing at all… Believed the lies and now I am on display… Displaced from a reality that I must live… Day to day… everything will be okay… Post script of the unimaginative…

A Lie Preview

Classes Start

It’s ten a.m. and I’m nearly a hundred percent certain that I am in the wrong class room, but I have no plans of leaving. The teacher, a young woman who is probably a few years older than me with rather large breasts, passes out the syllabus to the class. A two to three page document detailing everything we are supposed to go over in the course of the semester. Fucking gag me, the syllabus is more or less an excuse to mow down a few more acres of trees in South America. Considering our teachers will flood our emails with the same shit anyway. I’m sitting in the far corner of the room, far away from everyone else. The teacher goes into a speech about showing up late, her breasts bouncing with each word. Is she even wearing a bra? I find myself more entertained with her bust line than trying to figure out where I even am. Her words bleed together and I can’t tell if it is me or her who is not making sense of the words. It takes a moment but I finally look down at the syllabus to figure where I am. The paper says that I am in public speaking and I can start to feel the blood drain from my face. Things only get worse when I start to realize that each student is standing up and telling everyone in the class their name and a little bit about themselves and why they are in college. Most of the students here are going for degrees in criminal justice or something as stupid as that. I can feel my heart rate go up and I begin to wonder if anyone else can hear the pounding of my heart like I can. It sounds like an Edgar Allen Poe story in here. Am I fucking dying or am I losing my mind? I hate speaking in front of a single person and speaking in front of all thirty people in the class is making me feel like I am having a heart attack. I can feel the sweat bead up at the top of my head and drip down my face. I was not prepared for this nor would I ever sign up for this. I calm my shaking hand long enough to grab my backpack and slowly make my way to the exit in a near crawl. How this isn’t any worse than just standing up and saying my name is beyond me. The latest victim stops speaking as the teacher asks me where I am going. I stand up from my crouched position and give her a blank stare before running out of the room. My heart is racing a mile a minute as I wander the halls for what seems like days. Everything feels as though it is in slow motion but I keep trekking on. Wandering the halls isn’t an unusual thing for me. I do it a lot. Despite the fact that I hate this school I just can’t seem to leave. I’m never in class, but I’m never not at the school on school days. As confusing as that sounds I think it is because I feel guilty for not attending classes and it also has to do with the fact that I can’t afford to put more gas in my car. So, I might as well stay here and make the best of it. It doesn’t hurt that my drug dealer takes a lot of classes here as well. He says it helps him expand his mind. “Always got to be smart for the streets man, always.” When really he is just going to the school to expand his business, which has worked out pretty well for him in my opinion. It is here in a class for retards that I first met him. The class in question was a basic English course that all students have to take if they didn’t score a certain amount of points on the assessment test to get into this prestigious college. It can’t be over stated that I never wanted to go here so the idea of even trying wasn’t an option when I took the test. I just breezed through the test selecting any answer without reading the question. I was hoping that maybe they would deny me, but nope they accepted me with cash symbols in their eyes since my whole first term wasn’t worth a single credit. I decided today that I will walk around the campus. No use going through another embarrassing first day. The first day doesn’t count anyway. I stop by the bathroom on the first floor before heading outside in the cold. The ground looks much more interesting when I’m high on drugs. The school uses a special kind of salt that is blue-green in color and it does a really good job of clearing off the sidewalks. In the center of campus there is a pond that has long been frozen over. I walk across the wooden bridge that goes across the narrow part of the pond connecting one side of the campus to the other side. In the summer this is where I like to stand, but in the winter the wind comes across the pond and hits me like a cold hard slap to the face. I’m starting to really feel the trip as I walk past the library and head for the main building. I’m making my way to the cafeteria to purchase the overly priced food I really can’t afford and steal one of the overly priced energy drinks. I usually don’t steal things, but I’m not paying three fucking dollars for something I could get for a lot less someplace else. Plus, what’s the worst they could do to me? Kick me out of school? I walk into the cafeteria from the side door of the building. This door is on the opposite side of the student union, a place I try to avoid at all costs. I can’t stand this school and I can’t stand the students that go here even more. Most of them are so pretentious it makes me sick. Half the time I get trapped in some stupid conversation with one of them, and all I want to do is scream, “Look the fuck around.” They all like to live in some fantasy world that they are learning or attending some place that is giving them a higher education and we are not. I get nauseous thinking of the conversations I could get trapped into, but it is probably only the food.  The cafeteria is nearly empty, there must still be classes going on. I walk up to the cooler and pretend to get a drink, but really I just slip one of the energy drinks on the lower shelf into my jacket pocket. No idea what I grabbed but it is that simple, and free and simple is the name of the game. Today’s menu is beef stroganoff prepared by the master chefs the school hires. The smell from the food is close to that of a bowel movement. I never get the prepared meal so I decided on a cheeseburger that I am pretty sure is made of ten percent rubber. This is more of an impulse buy than a decision after the glorified lunch lady asks me if I was going to get anything or just sit there staring at the food. Don’t get me wrong I like being high but it has its negative effects too, such as time and how much of it is not perceived by my mind. After dropping three dollars and fifty cents on a cheese burger even the shittiest fast food place wouldn’t sell, I head back outside and walk to the Art and Science building to eat. Once inside I pound the energy drink down as fast as I can, hoping that the shit tasting cocktail and the drugs will keep me awake long enough to get through the next class. If I decide to even go to that one. My eyes feel like anvils as I eat the only food I will probably have today. A nasty side effect of the drugs is that I don’t eat and in the last couple of months I have lost over twenty pounds. I have always been a little bit heavy set so losing twenty or more pounds really isn’t as drastic as it sounds. Since I can’t afford new clothes no one has really noticed either way, but for once in my life I’m starting to think that I look better than ever. Maybe I will get my own commercial on TV from all the weight I’m losing like that fat fuck did from that restaurant chain or those fat bitches from the eighties. Then again I will probably die and everyone will forget about me. Good lunch, now I’m all set for more drugs. It is best to not have a full stomach or an empty one, this rule stands more tested before bed as the odds of dying in your sleep on your own vomit increase with such activity. I randomly use nearly every bathroom on campus on any given day, I even use the women’s room in the main building once because the men’s was to full. I use the bathroom on the second floor before checking to see what my next class is. Despite my best efforts I am ten minutes late for class, but it is the first day so no one notices. I take my usual place in the back of the room. The teacher, this time a man, passes out the same piece of paper I’m pretty sure I already have detailing what we will be doing in class this semester. It takes me a minute to actually realize that I have in fact seen this paper because I have already taken this class. Maybe it will be easier the second time around, who gives a fuck. I’m starting to feel even more tired now that I know it doesn’t matter.

My drug abuse doesn’t allow me to sleep as often as I would like. My depression and my drugs have very different ideas on the topic, but when I do sleep I dream of many things. I dream that I am a woman in a minivan and I’m emptying a shopping bag onto the passenger seat so I can place it over the head of one of the crying children behind me. I scream things as I hold it there. The words don’t make sense but given the context what would it really matter any way. I dream that I am chasing a school bus in a place that I once lived. The sky is blood red and all I can hear, all I can see is the children laughing before vomiting gallons of blood out the window of the moving bus. The blood washes over me as I run with everything I have. I never reach the bus and it never stops. Wave after wave till finally I give up. I dream of her, touching her, feeling her, fucking her. I roll over after coming and fall off the bed into nothing. I can’t move as I fall and I try to reach for the bed that has long since disappeared in to the darkness. I just keep falling and falling with no end. Farther and farther, and I never stop falling, never stop feeling confused until I wake up. I dream in blood and I dream in liquids. I dream so many things that sometimes it is hard to figure out what has been a dream and what has been reality. I often wake up confused to where I am or if I am even alive anymore. I imagine myself standing in the middle of Times Square with a gun to my head screaming, begging for someone to help, but no one stops to help me. I imagine that I pull the trigger and I can feel the bullet digging into my skull in slow motion so, I can feel every bit of pain as it rips through my head and exits the other side. I snap out of my state and realize that I am now sitting in an empty class room. I wonder if I am awake or am I still dreaming. There is a note that sits in front of me. It is from my teacher, “Maybe next time you can try to make it more than ten minutes before falling asleep.”

I stop by the bathroom one more time before going outside to smoke. I decide to blow the rest of the day off and return to my tomb. I get into my car and I sit there. I can still feel the bullet hole in my head. It is twenty degrees outside, but I don’t turn on the car. I don’t do anything. I just sit there. I sit in my car until I can no longer feel my toes from the cold. I sit there and I feel nothing. I sit here and think of nothing. I take another hit and begin my trip back home.

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People With No Name

“Is there anything I can help you find?” The customer looks over from the entry way of the store at the short stubby clerk standing behind the counter. The customer only came in for one item and has no idea where in this store it could possibly be.
“Yes you can I’m looking for. Oh it’s right there. Right in front of me the whole time.” The customer smiles as she reaches for the simple item on the shelf in front of her.
“Glad we could be of some help,” the clerk smiles. The customer gives off a short laugh as she carries the item to the counter.

“Me too. Does that happen a lot?”
“What do you mean?” The clerk asks the customer.
“Someone asks you where something is and they find it right in front of them?”
“Yes it happens a lot. They say it’s my gift.”
“That’s funny. Who says that?” the customer asks.
“The people with no name.”
“Who?,” the customer asks puzzled.
“The people with no name,” the clerk says calmly.
“Is that other customers?”

“No, I’m sorry I’ve said too much. I didn’t realize you didn’t know, never mind.”
“Know what?” the customer asks taken back.
“I’ve said too much. Are you ready to check out?”
“Where are these people you speak of?”
“If you must know they’re all around us. Can’t you at least feel them?”

The customer shakes her head and starts to become even more confused.
“They control everything and everything controls them. How do you not know about the people with no name?”
“Is there a manager or someone I can talk to?” the customer asks politely.
“Of course there is but why would you need to speak to them?”
“Because I do. In private if that’s okay?”
“Of course, of course just a moment please.” The clerk turns his head and begins to whisper as if someone is there, but there is no one the customer can see.

“The manager will be here in a moment.”
“But you didn’t even page or call anyone.”
“Yes I did,” the clerk says sternly.
“No you didn’t. Can you please page the manager for me?”
“Ma’am I already did and she will be here in just a moment.”
“What the hell is going on here?”

“How may I help you today?” A female voice asks.
The customer turns around to face the woman. “Are you the manager?”
“Yes I am, how may I help you?” She asks again.
“I need to talk to you in private,” the customer says as if to test the manager’s sanity.
“We have a non-believer,” the clerk informs the manager.
“Just because I don’t hear voices that make me a non-believer in something?,” the customer asks irate.
“You don’t hear them?” The manager asks politely.
“Hear what?” The customer demands.
“The people who have no name,” the manager says.
“There are no people here. Have you two lost your minds?”
“Ma’am there is no reason to be rude,” the clerk says.
The manager turns her head and begins to whisper and again no one is there.

“They say you are just not ready.”
“Not ready for what? Are you saying I’m not ready to hear voices in my head?”
“We don’t hear voices in our head ma’am. The voices are all around us. I tried to explain that the people are all around us, but I don’t think she understands.”
“How can she understand anything we are talking about if she does not believe?” The manager asks as if the customer isn’t even there.
“This is all just madness. I am calling someone I hope you know that and I’m never shopping here again.”

The customer throws her item up on the counter and storms out of the store. The manager calmly walks over to the counter and picks up the item, “Some people just aren’t ready yet.”
“I know it saddens me, but maybe one day.”
A hand reaches out from behind the clerk and rests on his shoulder.
“One day they will all believe,” the owner of the hand reveals.

Something Different

Breakdown

Working towards something
Pushing myself to the edge
The brink of everything that’s real
The point at which I am dead
Keeps digging, the mind wants more
Keep reliving, the memories I deserve
Stains on broken glass
Visions left without words
Bring to life everything that I fear
Bring the innocent to their knees
Beg for forgiveness though no reason why
I belong to everything, now that is a lie
Working the words into something
Something ugly, the way that I feel
I’m sure by now you can tell
I don’t care about you and how you feel

With Our Ideas On Fire

Broken visions of a better day
Longing fears of something real
A daily grind with a cross to bare
I think I know what it means
I think I’d be wrong
Following in footsteps made of glass
Drowned with air made of poison
A daily grind with our knives on display
I think I know what it means
I think in some way I’d be wrong
Forgiving misgivings yet to happen
Sympathetic to reasons already written
A daily grind with a knotted noose
To be you, to be me
I think I’d be wrong
In assuming I’d have any idea at all

 

 

Broken Thoughts

Another shitty night bleeds into another subconscious day
Locked into nothing at all, fight to stay awake
Breaking bones to stay in the game with no goal
If only I had known the rules might not have tried at all
Gave it away for nothing at all, Giving it away
A cause and effect of a generation gone by
The words change but they always mean the same thing
Killing the weak to prove I’m strong for no reason at all
Another shitty week produces yet another worthless year
Feel the time pass without doing anything in between the seconds
Fighting with myself, against myself for reasons unknown
The rules were etched in stone, lost in time
Dictating how we live or not at all
The words make no sense but always mean the same thing

“Lost and Walking in Place Become Adolescent, Immature”

Gave up on my dreams to settle for anything
Wrong turn or in the process
What’s the difference if you aren’t willing to try
Sitting in the dark amongst the shadows
A homeless mind with too many responsibilities
Clutching to all the broken dreams
A shattered reality pieced together
This was to be my only way out
Now I’m searching for a reason
To not end it all
Suicide used to be the fuel
Now it is only the fire
Burning myself alive for what
Sacrificing myself to an unholy satisfaction
Give in is to die but I’ve been dead for so long
Retrospective and digging at the past
Need an answer and no religion isn’t it
Faith in anything isn’t cutting it anymore
Need someone to have faith in me
Though what I need always seems to be the wrong thing
Drug against the grain, maybe I have gone insane

Not cold enough to snow, Cold enough to realize I can die
Think it is forever, life is a short amount of time
Lasting forever is an immortal thought left to the damned
Heaven is a lost idea of freedom, Heaven is nothing more than a tool
Conditions will not improve until we improve them
Always waiting for someone, someone to fix the problem
Our own salvation lost in the lazy complications we create
Bleed for your freedom, stop believing in imaginary things
Die for the things you want, Do you still want them for the threat
The threat of losing it all is it worth it for nothing at all
Heaven is a place on earth, Hell sowed right beside it
Choices are made with or without your consent
Decide which side you stand on

 

A Lie Preview

Distance

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

 

 

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

 

 

As If We Learn From Our Mistakes

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

 

 

Paranoia is a Real Bitch

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

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