The Solitary Mode of Living?

I take
everything
for granted.

Never once,
do I stop
and realize
how lucky I am
to be alive,
in this day in age,
with all of these
conveniences
surrounding me.

No, no.

I am a pussy.

Hanging my head low
whenever something
goes wrong.

Anything aggravates me.

Disgusting.

Pathetic.

I must not give in
to this pussy
inside me.

I must break free.

I must,
for once,
be a man.

I'm not in the desert
in a war.
I haven't seen my mother or sister
killed or raped.
I hardly have a scratch
on my body.

I don't do shit.

Life is easy.

Life is a blessing.

I should treat as such
and marvel at every bit
of existence.

There is no other way.

Well,
I guess I could
lock myself in a room
until mother earth
sets us on fire,
but
forget it.

Too much waiting.

I'd rather
get out there
and die every second
with all of you.

This Year

I haven't seen her
this happy
in years.

Usually,
the winter is cold
and unrelenting
and long.

It's a constant reminder
of death.

This year seems
to be different.

Usually,
the punishing frost
makes her want
to slit her wrist
to the bone.

This year
it's a little bit
warm
and she
has a glow,
a confidence
in herself
that makes me smile.

This year
we can finally
celebrate
our lives.

Goddammit
we are
happy.

For now....

Some Things Never Change

We'd steal,
mainly chardonnay
or whatever we could get our
tiny little hands on.

We needed the rush,
the entertainment,
the escape
from our childhood miseries.

We didn't have any
video games.

We didn't read any
textbooks.

We were hoodlums.

We'd carry a duffel bag
around town
and steal alcohol
like other kids
stole candy.

Then, we'd cruise,
mainly to the creek,
or to the park,
or the rec center,
or even
back to school.

We were growing
into the bottle.

"My niece is that age.
It scares me,"
He said.

I didn't reply.

He wouldn't understand.

He still
plays video games.

He's 27.     I'm 28.

I'm fully grown
into the bottle.

I guess
some things never change.

Nothing Can Stop The Wheels

I have seen
my own death.

I was there.

I will be back there.

My life suddenly
nothing.

Just
distant sounds.

The screech of tires,
my body
smashing
against unforgiving steel.
my blood spilling
into silence.

I have seen this
with my very own eyes,
in broad daylight.

400 times.

It will be an awful
way to die,
however,
I must accept this.

It is my destiny.

Nothing can stop the wheels.

A Life Long Companion

When I was
a midget,
my uncle played me
a song.

This song
made me want to stick
a fork
in my ear
and the other end, the pointy end,
in an electric socket.

It was that horrendous.

My uncle asked me
to guess
what the lyrics were.

I gave in
and listened.

There was no fork in sight.

I replied,
"I wanna die."

He fell over,
hysterical.

Those obviously weren't
the lyrics,
but this memory,
this dip into the past,
made me realize
I have always been
fascinated by death.

The end,
I'm convinced,
has been on my mind
since
I was in the womb.

It's permanently
a part of my genetic code
and there has never been
a desire
to let this fascination
go.

My Words Will Eat Your Soul

My words
are yours.

They are for your
greedy little eyes
to devour.

Do with them
what you will.

Make them
inspire you,
make them
repulse you,
make them
wish you had no eyes.

Doesn't matter to me,
never will,
just as long as you
read them.

Capture a glimpse
into this weird soul.

Let me sink
into your heart,
int your subconcious,
and let my words
eat away
as that happy little voice
inside you
until there is
nothing left.

Always Listen to Your Mother

The box
stood before me.

Small and uninviting.

It was the only one
in the world.

It housed
thousands of zombies,
minature ones,
no taller than cats.

They even reproduced.

Outside,
it stood,
in my backyard,
at night and throughout the day
I could hear the sounds
of their repulsive
love making.

They never stopped fucking.

Thousands more
were born each day.

The box
was breaking,
cracks began to form,
hungry eyes began to show.

So,
we had to
expand
the box.

My mother demanded
I
do it.

No bother,
it was my reality,
I accepted it,
just like any child
accepts their parents
and their demands,
and therefore I accepted
the box
and my duty
without question.

I would tend to the zombies,
as I built their newly expanded home,
I'd feed them
pig brains
or whatever else was available,
anything to stop
their hunger,
their pain.

Over the next couple days,
their new home was coming together,
the other
being chewed away.

On the last day,
I was finished,
relief set in
briefly.

Until,
a piece of flesh
was torn off my leg,
I felt nothing but pain
and teeth.

They were out.

I tried to escape,
but as soon as I tried the door,
it was locked.

Mother was outside.

I was trapped.

"Let them
destroy you baby,
before the world destroys
you.
It's much easier this way,
trust me."

These were
the last words
I ever heard.

The zombies
came at me,
devouring my feet,
my hands, my stomach,
my brain.

I watched them eat away.

I did not put up
a fight.

I knew I was the sacrifice.

They could only eat pig brains for so long,
and I had to stop
their hunger,
their pain.

Hell,
we all have to die
sometime,
I didn't mind,
and mother always knows best,
she knows me too well.

I always wanted to be the hero.

This was the only chance
to die
with a smile on my face.

Thank you mother,
I don't know how I would have died
without you.

To My Muse

My life
is dedicated
to you.

From the moment
I was pulled out of your stomach,
I knew
I was in the hands
of a goddess,
so gracious, elegant, beautiful,
so self-sacrificing.

What I didn't know
was how much love
she would give me
throughout my life
and how she would guide me
through the cruelties
and the tragedies
of the world
and teach me
how to deal with them
all on my own.

She gave me complete freedom.

As a boy,
I could roam
anywhere,
even shit on the lawn
and beat up small children.

Of course,
I was in trouble,
daily,
but my punishment
was just and deserving
and she never demanded much
in return
for her boundless understanding.

She was the perfect mother.

Other men
came and went,
taking advantage of her devotion,
but she would still
give her all
to those who came
next
and she never
put her children
last.

Not much
could break
her strong spirit.

She was my super hero.

She continues
to inspire me
everyday
and I vow
for the rest of my life
to show her
the same devotion
and love
she has always shown me.

I will give her my all.

I will make you proud, Mo,
I promise.

A Chance for Forgiveness

How do you
react?

The person
who just killed
your only brother
walks in
through your door.

He's in front of you,
crying,
forever cursed
by a moment
no one could prevent.

A thought of
VENGEANCE
strikes the mind
and is somehow
forgotten.

There's simply
nothing
anyone can do.

My only reaction
was to
forgive him.

In my heart,
I still do believe
I made the right choice.

There's nothing
I will ever know.

How would you
react?

The Proposal

Work
kills us.

With every second
we waste our lives
there,
the more meaningless
our lives become
elsewhere.

There must be
another way.

The solution:
Why not let us drink?

Yes,
let us be drunk
and merry at our jobs.

It beats being
pissed off
and on the verge on tears.

The advantages:
production value,
customer service approval,
employee approval,
would all skyrocket
whichever corporation
would be willing to do this.

They could hire
top notch drunks,
fully functional alcoholics
to get the job done.

People would be lining up
to get at job there,
especially me.

This is my proposal
to all corporations
and I am willing sign
any sort of insurance papers 
you want me to sign,
just do it
and let us work,
and sit back,
you fat pig,
and watch your filthy money grow.

Some Prefer a Tornado

We could hear

the sound of death

coming toward us,

coming 

to tear the world 

apart.

Beneath our feet

the ground 

threatened to open

and swallow our souls.

We held on 

for dear life.

The walls 

moved

unnaturally

and shook our portraits,

our sanity,

down,

the floor

was an ocean,

moving in waves.

We were drowning in fear.

It went on

and on,

and I thought,

we might have to 

live like this

forever.

Then,

silence crept up,

time froze,

the earth was still.

No one died,

no one had a scratch,

we even 

cracked a smile,

and began to put the portraits 

back up.

Our house was saved.

Some are not so fortunate.

Some are burned alive,

some have their skin ripped off by the wind,

some drown with their children,

some freeze and remain frozen in hell.

We have the grip of death

shaking our homes,

destroying our precious valuables,

but it's ok,

materials mean 

nothing

to us

here in sunny California.

We prefer it.

Stick Around A Bit, Will Ya?

She jammed a large
potato peeler
right into her jaw
and worked it up
higher and higher,
trying to reach her brain.

The blood,
he said,
the blood,
pure red 
and terrifying.

His dream was about
resurrection.

He was a dolphin
and something or someone
was showing him
exactly what would happen 
to his mother,
to his family,
if he pursued 
his dream
too quickly.

Hopefully 
he recognizes this
and realizes that
the torment he faces 
almost everyday
is nothing
compared 
to what we will feel
when he is gone.