He knew he should just go home and sleep it off, but the liquor still burned in his veins, clouding his thoughts and holding his body hostage. Looking at the water below him, he becomes entranced by the waves constant movement. He thinks he might be crying, but he cant tell. His ability to feel his surroundings faded hours ago, so the hot tears running down his chill skin flow unnoticed. Closing his eyes and arching his head back he feels the rush of a mind shutdown by artificial means. His world spins and he loses his grip slightly and lurches forward.
Catching himself before he falls, he opens his eyes in complete calmness, staring down at the undulating waters in that same emotionless wonder. The lights from the city flicker in the waves, shining like tiny beacons, welcoming him to enter them. He lifts one tentative foot off the ledge and dangling it over the edge, mocking fate and tempting death. Stepping backwards, he slips and falls off the barricade, his head slamming against the ice cold concrete of the walkway.
Minutes, hours, days, pass by, he has no idea. Waking a small pool of his own blood, he feels his body once again. Pain wracks his limbs as he struggles to raise his head, the sticky pool below him growing. He struggles to sit up and looks out to the sun rising over the bay. He was about to kill himself, his mind strains to tell him. He wants to laugh at himself for saying that, eight years of medical school told him he succeeded. His vision begins to fade as the pool grows and grows. He feels the tears streaming down his pallid cheeks and the warm blood flow down his back. He gently lowers himself back down, breathes deeply, and dies.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Poetry: Perfect Woman
Her hair gleams,
like the bright sunshine.
She makes me smile easily,
making my life sublime.
Her voice like crystal,
ringing clear and true.
Her eyes shimmer in the light,
glowing an icy blue.
She is the perfect woman,
everything I could ever want.
She lights my soul,
my angelic debutante.
She dances with abandon,
like a leaf in the wind.
She laughs with all her heart,
the feelings I have for her I will never rescind.
I have never met her,
but she is the perfect woman to me.
She may not exist out in the world,
but in a vision only I can see.
So now I search,
over hill and over dale.
I hope to find her someday,
and not end up chasing my own tail.
like the bright sunshine.
She makes me smile easily,
making my life sublime.
Her voice like crystal,
ringing clear and true.
Her eyes shimmer in the light,
glowing an icy blue.
She is the perfect woman,
everything I could ever want.
She lights my soul,
my angelic debutante.
She dances with abandon,
like a leaf in the wind.
She laughs with all her heart,
the feelings I have for her I will never rescind.
I have never met her,
but she is the perfect woman to me.
She may not exist out in the world,
but in a vision only I can see.
So now I search,
over hill and over dale.
I hope to find her someday,
and not end up chasing my own tail.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Poetry: Dark, Mysterious, and Obviously Out of Your Mind
You intrigue me,
dancing the way you do.
I am hypnotized,
locked to the flow of your body.
You're dark and mysterious,
also quite obviously out of your mind.
I cant help myself or my idle hands,
they want you and your touch.
You're like liquid cocaine,
igniting as it flows through my veins.
You're the worst type of addiction,
the one I actively try to keep.
Where do we go now,
my dark and mysterious psycho?
You hold me in thrall,
and I cant be happier.
Lead me deeper into the night,
like a pied piper you control me.
Kiss me until I drown in ecstasy,
death will never feel so right.
dancing the way you do.
I am hypnotized,
locked to the flow of your body.
You're dark and mysterious,
also quite obviously out of your mind.
I cant help myself or my idle hands,
they want you and your touch.
You're like liquid cocaine,
igniting as it flows through my veins.
You're the worst type of addiction,
the one I actively try to keep.
Where do we go now,
my dark and mysterious psycho?
You hold me in thrall,
and I cant be happier.
Lead me deeper into the night,
like a pied piper you control me.
Kiss me until I drown in ecstasy,
death will never feel so right.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Writing: Dark Angel
The sounds around me fade, the lights flicker down until only shadows of their former selves. She turns towards me, her eyes shining in the dim light. Step by step she moves closer. My eyes try to soak in everything, yet details escape me. As she moves towards me, her raven hair flowing back and forth in sway with her hips, I forget where I am, what time it is. Step by step she gets closer, her perfume swimming around the air and softly caressing my face, intoxicating me. Her red lips part slightly as she keeps her painfully slow pace, her eyes now shining with more than light.
I lose myself in her kiss; her touch. I feel her pressed against me. Her soft skin pressed against mine play ecstatic counter to the iron grip of her fingers in my hair. My arms slide around her, feeling her melt into me. Sweet scented breath flows into me, which I drink like a man dying of thirst. She is intoxicating, my dark angel.
We knew that the night wont last forever, but we behaved as if it would. The sun stained the sky with its iron, warning us that soon we would have to leave. She sighs, her breath cascading across my chest. I held her closer and softly kissed her sweat soaked hair. The sun, villain to the velvet curtain, rose higher in the sky.
I pack my bag; she sits in the middle of the bed. We talk of nothing and everything, both avoiding the topic which soon will come. A horn shrieks from the street, announcing that the time has arrived. A quick rush of footsteps on the carpeted floor and her arms fly around me. I feel her shake against me, her arms gripping me tightly. I tell her it is only for a short while, holding her close while the horn sounds again. I push dark strands from her face and kiss her soft, upturned lips, tasting her one last time before my exile.
In the cab, I sigh loud enough for the driver to ask me if I am okay. I assure him I am, yet clearly am not. He looks towards the window and turns his face to me and nods. I glace up to her window, the curtains shivering in the wind, and see her standing there, wrapped in their soft arms. My dark angel, framed in gray, casting her silent command to return to her. A command I will not disobey.
I lose myself in her kiss; her touch. I feel her pressed against me. Her soft skin pressed against mine play ecstatic counter to the iron grip of her fingers in my hair. My arms slide around her, feeling her melt into me. Sweet scented breath flows into me, which I drink like a man dying of thirst. She is intoxicating, my dark angel.
We knew that the night wont last forever, but we behaved as if it would. The sun stained the sky with its iron, warning us that soon we would have to leave. She sighs, her breath cascading across my chest. I held her closer and softly kissed her sweat soaked hair. The sun, villain to the velvet curtain, rose higher in the sky.
I pack my bag; she sits in the middle of the bed. We talk of nothing and everything, both avoiding the topic which soon will come. A horn shrieks from the street, announcing that the time has arrived. A quick rush of footsteps on the carpeted floor and her arms fly around me. I feel her shake against me, her arms gripping me tightly. I tell her it is only for a short while, holding her close while the horn sounds again. I push dark strands from her face and kiss her soft, upturned lips, tasting her one last time before my exile.
In the cab, I sigh loud enough for the driver to ask me if I am okay. I assure him I am, yet clearly am not. He looks towards the window and turns his face to me and nods. I glace up to her window, the curtains shivering in the wind, and see her standing there, wrapped in their soft arms. My dark angel, framed in gray, casting her silent command to return to her. A command I will not disobey.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Poetry: Meaning (Finding the Way Back Home)
There used to be meaning to the things we do;
a reason or emotion evoked from a gentle comment or touch.
Today an old question is much more poignant "where are all the good men dead,
in the heart or in the head?"
We live in an age where compliments are insults,
a form of insincerity though they often come from un-forked tongues.
This is an age where casual sex and sexually laced touching is rampant,
we have lost the magic in these once intimate acts.
Chivalry is dead and we are all to blame,
murdering it in cold blood then innocently asking why it's gone.
We are hypocrites to the highest order,
driving an admirable aspect of humanity to extinction then complaining it's no longer around.
If there is an answer to the problems of our own doing,
it lies in the minds, hearts, and souls of the next generation.
We are too set in our selfish ways to change the direction of the ship,
all we can do is hold tight to the tiller and pray we survive the storm.
a reason or emotion evoked from a gentle comment or touch.
Today an old question is much more poignant "where are all the good men dead,
in the heart or in the head?"
We live in an age where compliments are insults,
a form of insincerity though they often come from un-forked tongues.
This is an age where casual sex and sexually laced touching is rampant,
we have lost the magic in these once intimate acts.
Chivalry is dead and we are all to blame,
murdering it in cold blood then innocently asking why it's gone.
We are hypocrites to the highest order,
driving an admirable aspect of humanity to extinction then complaining it's no longer around.
If there is an answer to the problems of our own doing,
it lies in the minds, hearts, and souls of the next generation.
We are too set in our selfish ways to change the direction of the ship,
all we can do is hold tight to the tiller and pray we survive the storm.
Observations: Funny (Obvious and Obscure)
I was walking back from my class this morning and was bitter because of the chill wind blowing through the campus. I walked around the library and suddenly was washed in sunlight. It was like a switch in my mind flicked. The wind seemed less cold, my life less hectic, the day just seemed to become so much better.
Weaving in and out of shadows, figuratively and literally, it's funny how simply changing your path can effect you. My friends believe I change my mood more often than an actor changes their wardrobe. I cant disagree with that. Too many things have an impact on me, some obvious, but some are dreadfully obscure. Watching a squirrel run across my path, stop, look at me, then scamper up a tree delights me. Birds flying in formation or hearing the lone cry of a proud eagle, these are things that raise my spirits. A cup of warm coffee listening to light jazz calms me. The color orange makes me smile. Some obvious, some obscure.
Weaving in and out of shadows, figuratively and literally, it's funny how simply changing your path can effect you. My friends believe I change my mood more often than an actor changes their wardrobe. I cant disagree with that. Too many things have an impact on me, some obvious, but some are dreadfully obscure. Watching a squirrel run across my path, stop, look at me, then scamper up a tree delights me. Birds flying in formation or hearing the lone cry of a proud eagle, these are things that raise my spirits. A cup of warm coffee listening to light jazz calms me. The color orange makes me smile. Some obvious, some obscure.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Poetry: Million
Economic woes and
foreign foes.
A million ways to die,
but no way to really live.
Time's flying by and
money woes make the strongest cry.
A million ways to fall,
but no one to catch you.
Hope in short supply and
debts at a record high.
A million reasons to give in,
but no reasons to go on.
How do we stop the free fall,
when the odds are stacked against us?
Where do we turn,
when no one is there to help us?
Look to the sky and
find the clouds up high.
A silver lining exists there somewhere,
but a million dark clouds stand in between.
foreign foes.
A million ways to die,
but no way to really live.
Time's flying by and
money woes make the strongest cry.
A million ways to fall,
but no one to catch you.
Hope in short supply and
debts at a record high.
A million reasons to give in,
but no reasons to go on.
How do we stop the free fall,
when the odds are stacked against us?
Where do we turn,
when no one is there to help us?
Look to the sky and
find the clouds up high.
A silver lining exists there somewhere,
but a million dark clouds stand in between.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Writing: Flick, Snap
The cold stones feel strange under his feet. Uneven and unbalancing, they reflect his emotions. His dirty brown leather jacket is flecked with moisture from the mist eddying around the city. He flicks the cap off an empty prescription bottle and snaps it back on. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Over and over he does it as he walks. Turning down roads and walkways, he moves with no destination, but a determination that overshadows every thought but one.
He adjusts his belt, making sure his knife is still hooked in a loop. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Road after road, he walks left, then right, then right, then left. No rhyme nor reason to his path. Suddenly stopping, he see's where he was going. An uncontrollable shake rattles through his body. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. He knows there is something he should remember about this bottle and he remembers something about this place, but he cant lift the fog from his mind. Taking the steps two by two, he reaches the door, finding it locked. Absently, he breaks the glass and lets himself inside, whistling a meaningless song.
Climbing flight after flight, time slows to a crawl. The fog growing deeper in his mind, so thick he feels that if he could cut his head open, you could scoop the fog out with a spoon. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. He never realizes when he reached the door. He never remembers knocking, nor feeling the knife he didn't have in his hand a moment ago slide into the man's body. The fog erases all remaining thought as he stares with marvel at the pool of blood forming around his feet. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. He thinks he should be sad about the man dying at his feet, but doesn't know why. The knife slides limply from his hand as he walks away. He opens the door, smiling although not knowing why he came here. Walking down the stairs, he whistles the tune of his favorite song, well, his new favorite, if only he could remember where he heard it. Glancing at his hand, he stops, staring at the sticky red liquid covering him. Where did this come from, he thinks. He shrugs, telling himself that when he gets home, he really should wash his hands and take his pills. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap.
He adjusts his belt, making sure his knife is still hooked in a loop. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Road after road, he walks left, then right, then right, then left. No rhyme nor reason to his path. Suddenly stopping, he see's where he was going. An uncontrollable shake rattles through his body. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. He knows there is something he should remember about this bottle and he remembers something about this place, but he cant lift the fog from his mind. Taking the steps two by two, he reaches the door, finding it locked. Absently, he breaks the glass and lets himself inside, whistling a meaningless song.
Climbing flight after flight, time slows to a crawl. The fog growing deeper in his mind, so thick he feels that if he could cut his head open, you could scoop the fog out with a spoon. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. He never realizes when he reached the door. He never remembers knocking, nor feeling the knife he didn't have in his hand a moment ago slide into the man's body. The fog erases all remaining thought as he stares with marvel at the pool of blood forming around his feet. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. He thinks he should be sad about the man dying at his feet, but doesn't know why. The knife slides limply from his hand as he walks away. He opens the door, smiling although not knowing why he came here. Walking down the stairs, he whistles the tune of his favorite song, well, his new favorite, if only he could remember where he heard it. Glancing at his hand, he stops, staring at the sticky red liquid covering him. Where did this come from, he thinks. He shrugs, telling himself that when he gets home, he really should wash his hands and take his pills. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap. Flick, snap.
Poetry: Sonic Boom and Glowing Firefly (A Love Story)
Sonic Boom and
Glowing Firefly.
They lived together once,
forsaken lovers in a troubled time.
Sonic Boom worked all day,
suffocating in a suit and tie.
His skin shed when night fell,
moving from club to club with deafening speed.
He lived a life of music,
playing in his rock band.
He lived at sub-sonic speeds,
stopping only when her fire got his attention.
Glowing Firefly moves with grace unseen,
her light mixing with the neon signs above her.
She dances and moves like the wind,
her glossy lips shimmering in her smile.
She worked in retail hell,
selling food and drink to the starving masses.
Nighttime left that world behind her,
but that was before she met him.
They met over a bottle of vodka,
falling in love on the dance floor.
Sonic Boom and Glowing Firefly,
they began their journey that night.
For months they owned the night,
traveling bar to club to party.
Many daywalkers disapproved of their love,
but it didn't matter because the night was theirs.
The feelings of those in the light grew,
forcing the lovers to make a choice.
That night Sonic and Firefly met,
that night they left the city forever.
Sonic Boom and Glowing Firefly,
star-crossed lovers who defied the odds.
It is said they moved to another city far away,
where they continue their love under the neon lights.
Glowing Firefly.
They lived together once,
forsaken lovers in a troubled time.
Sonic Boom worked all day,
suffocating in a suit and tie.
His skin shed when night fell,
moving from club to club with deafening speed.
He lived a life of music,
playing in his rock band.
He lived at sub-sonic speeds,
stopping only when her fire got his attention.
Glowing Firefly moves with grace unseen,
her light mixing with the neon signs above her.
She dances and moves like the wind,
her glossy lips shimmering in her smile.
She worked in retail hell,
selling food and drink to the starving masses.
Nighttime left that world behind her,
but that was before she met him.
They met over a bottle of vodka,
falling in love on the dance floor.
Sonic Boom and Glowing Firefly,
they began their journey that night.
For months they owned the night,
traveling bar to club to party.
Many daywalkers disapproved of their love,
but it didn't matter because the night was theirs.
The feelings of those in the light grew,
forcing the lovers to make a choice.
That night Sonic and Firefly met,
that night they left the city forever.
Sonic Boom and Glowing Firefly,
star-crossed lovers who defied the odds.
It is said they moved to another city far away,
where they continue their love under the neon lights.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Poetry: Then You Came In
I was fine with where I was,
but then you came in.
You sent me higher than high,
only to put me lower than before.
Was it amusement for you,
some kind of wicked game?
I was your puppet,
dancing on barbed strings.
I was hollow,
but then you came in.
Filling me up with what I thought was real,
but all I was filled with was regret.
I thought you were the one I wanted,
a kindred spirit in a sea of humanity.
You thought I was another boy to string along,
a notch in your egotistical belt.
A freedom today,
at the cost of a buried past.
A sacrifice at your altar,
at the fact I still love you.
but then you came in.
You sent me higher than high,
only to put me lower than before.
Was it amusement for you,
some kind of wicked game?
I was your puppet,
dancing on barbed strings.
I was hollow,
but then you came in.
Filling me up with what I thought was real,
but all I was filled with was regret.
I thought you were the one I wanted,
a kindred spirit in a sea of humanity.
You thought I was another boy to string along,
a notch in your egotistical belt.
A freedom today,
at the cost of a buried past.
A sacrifice at your altar,
at the fact I still love you.
Writing: Moment in Time - Day Dreaming
He sits in class, barely hearing the droning words from the teacher at the front of the room. He was smart, this one. He placed himself strategically in the back of the room, near a door for added air flow, but not far enough away to draw attention to his day dreaming. This class is required for him, but he does not use it for what the college says he should. Sitting in that sterile, white painted room, he lets his mind wander, but his thoughts always seem to go to her. She is the lodestone to his metallic thought. Attracting him with magnetic fastness.
His thoughts on her are non-typical, which isn't a surprise because he is non-typical himself. He acknowledges her physical beauty, smiling in his mind as he thinks that only a fool would not think her physically attractive. His thought instead turns inward on her, burrowing beyond her looks, into what she really is, and what she really is always stuns him when he thinks of her. The aspects of her outward appearance only give slight insight into who she really is. Her smile is glorious, a shining sun brightening his day, but what is behind that smile shines like a thousand suns and that is what he now sees whenever she smiles at him. He dives deeper into the canvas of her in his mind, falling for her over and over again. A helpless man trapped in a beautiful trap of shimmering brilliance and stunning depth.
With all this insight, albeit in his mind and maybe not reflecting the reality of who she really is, he often finds it difficult to understand why others do not see what he sees. He is not so lost as to think her perfect, only a fool would think another person perfect, but he does think highly of her. Sometimes he wants to shake people who know her, wildly asking how they don't see what he sees. He would never do that, of course, mostly because he would be committed, but in part because she is content in relative obscurity. He agrees, to a point, that her staying out of the lime-light is a good idea, but he also knows that is his selfish mind intruding into his analysis. If he is the only one who sees and knows the true her, he has something on the rest of the world. Something they may never fully understand.
The words "have a nice weekend" snap him back into reality. He looks up and at the people gathering their belongings. Not able to help it, a smile plays across his face, the people around him glaring at him, knowing that he is finding something funny at their expense. Gathering up his jacket in almost slow motion, he wonders when he will see her again, deep in his mind almost wishing he wont. He curses himself for thinking that, but he knows that seeing her always seems to turn the real, mundane world inside-out and into an explosion of sensation and brilliance, with her as the epicenter. He steps outside, the cool air whipping around him and a gentle mist spraying across his face. His eyes close as he takes it in, almost euphorically lost, still savoring the small traces of the still fading essence of the thought of her.
His thoughts on her are non-typical, which isn't a surprise because he is non-typical himself. He acknowledges her physical beauty, smiling in his mind as he thinks that only a fool would not think her physically attractive. His thought instead turns inward on her, burrowing beyond her looks, into what she really is, and what she really is always stuns him when he thinks of her. The aspects of her outward appearance only give slight insight into who she really is. Her smile is glorious, a shining sun brightening his day, but what is behind that smile shines like a thousand suns and that is what he now sees whenever she smiles at him. He dives deeper into the canvas of her in his mind, falling for her over and over again. A helpless man trapped in a beautiful trap of shimmering brilliance and stunning depth.
With all this insight, albeit in his mind and maybe not reflecting the reality of who she really is, he often finds it difficult to understand why others do not see what he sees. He is not so lost as to think her perfect, only a fool would think another person perfect, but he does think highly of her. Sometimes he wants to shake people who know her, wildly asking how they don't see what he sees. He would never do that, of course, mostly because he would be committed, but in part because she is content in relative obscurity. He agrees, to a point, that her staying out of the lime-light is a good idea, but he also knows that is his selfish mind intruding into his analysis. If he is the only one who sees and knows the true her, he has something on the rest of the world. Something they may never fully understand.
The words "have a nice weekend" snap him back into reality. He looks up and at the people gathering their belongings. Not able to help it, a smile plays across his face, the people around him glaring at him, knowing that he is finding something funny at their expense. Gathering up his jacket in almost slow motion, he wonders when he will see her again, deep in his mind almost wishing he wont. He curses himself for thinking that, but he knows that seeing her always seems to turn the real, mundane world inside-out and into an explosion of sensation and brilliance, with her as the epicenter. He steps outside, the cool air whipping around him and a gentle mist spraying across his face. His eyes close as he takes it in, almost euphorically lost, still savoring the small traces of the still fading essence of the thought of her.
Poetry: Complaints and Grievances
I shout to the heavens complaints that are never answered,
"We'll get back to you as soon as possible".
Fist to the sky I move on,
giving the world a mouthful.
Listen to my complaints and grievances,
I have a long list to go through here.
Pull up a chair and get comfortable,
I'm about to let loose.
Now that I have you sitting,
my smile breaks the gloomy mood.
Soft kiss on upturned lips,
wanted reaction a success.
I have no complaints nor a single grievance,
I'm here with you.
Dark and sarcastic and sensual,
three things that first drew me to you.
A moth before a dark flame,
I flutter around you with rainbows trailing behind me.
I'm upbeat to the extreme,
the remedy to dark musings.
Now that I have you here,
I can do what I want to you.
I will steal a kiss and your hand,
throw you in a car and drive away.
We will drive with no destination,
until the moment is right.
When the car stops and we get out,
you will see the reason for all of this.
You will see I just whispered all this in your ear,
you never left your chair.
You open your eyes to my smile;
my kiss cures darkness.
"We'll get back to you as soon as possible".
Fist to the sky I move on,
giving the world a mouthful.
Listen to my complaints and grievances,
I have a long list to go through here.
Pull up a chair and get comfortable,
I'm about to let loose.
Now that I have you sitting,
my smile breaks the gloomy mood.
Soft kiss on upturned lips,
wanted reaction a success.
I have no complaints nor a single grievance,
I'm here with you.
Dark and sarcastic and sensual,
three things that first drew me to you.
A moth before a dark flame,
I flutter around you with rainbows trailing behind me.
I'm upbeat to the extreme,
the remedy to dark musings.
Now that I have you here,
I can do what I want to you.
I will steal a kiss and your hand,
throw you in a car and drive away.
We will drive with no destination,
until the moment is right.
When the car stops and we get out,
you will see the reason for all of this.
You will see I just whispered all this in your ear,
you never left your chair.
You open your eyes to my smile;
my kiss cures darkness.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Writing: It's Like Dying, Only Slower
He feels the pressures of what he life has become overtaking him. He walks at a brisk pace, trying to keep the wind out of his eyes, but no luck being had there. His mind as gray as the clouds racing across the sky. He tramps through puddles, lost in thought, until, from the corner of his eye, he sees a blur approaching at tremendous speeds.
He couldn't have dodged out of the way. There was no time. The car was so close that his body had no time to react to the warning from his mind. If it wasn't for a hand pulling him backwards and on to the ground, he would have died that day. Soon as his heart slowed, he glanced to his guardian angel, only to make his heart beat faster than near certain death did. Wreathed in the shimmering sunlight defused through the dark clouds, a dark angel stood before him. Her shoulder length raven black hair shone despite the lack of light. Her pale skin, glowing like alabaster, was flawless. Her huge, dark eyes looked down at him and stole away every possible thought he had. Rising to his feet, he could only stare stupidly into her perfection. She spoke to him in a voice that played like a song and made him want to dance, instantly trapping him in love.
A slight distraction averted his gaze and then she was gone. He looked around and no one nearby knew who she was or where she went. All that was left was a yearning to see her again. Slowly, like a patient worm in an apple, love gets hold on him, though he knows that unlike the apple, he wont die from it. She gave him another chance at life, but took away another chance at happiness in the same breath. He gathers his belongings and continues walking alone, thinking that it feels like dying. . . only slower.
He couldn't have dodged out of the way. There was no time. The car was so close that his body had no time to react to the warning from his mind. If it wasn't for a hand pulling him backwards and on to the ground, he would have died that day. Soon as his heart slowed, he glanced to his guardian angel, only to make his heart beat faster than near certain death did. Wreathed in the shimmering sunlight defused through the dark clouds, a dark angel stood before him. Her shoulder length raven black hair shone despite the lack of light. Her pale skin, glowing like alabaster, was flawless. Her huge, dark eyes looked down at him and stole away every possible thought he had. Rising to his feet, he could only stare stupidly into her perfection. She spoke to him in a voice that played like a song and made him want to dance, instantly trapping him in love.
A slight distraction averted his gaze and then she was gone. He looked around and no one nearby knew who she was or where she went. All that was left was a yearning to see her again. Slowly, like a patient worm in an apple, love gets hold on him, though he knows that unlike the apple, he wont die from it. She gave him another chance at life, but took away another chance at happiness in the same breath. He gathers his belongings and continues walking alone, thinking that it feels like dying. . . only slower.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Poetry: The Tale of Destructo
Her hair has been abused,
one day it's black and the other it's blue.
Her smile twists with sarcasm,
hiding intelligent comments in witty banter.
Her name is Miss Destructo,
she commands legions of ardent admirers.
A queen upon a throne of laughing skulls,
she taps her foot while the peasants dance.
Ultra-tall and classically swank,
she has a mind like a razor and clothing to match.
Music replaced her blood years ago,
she is a living discography of awesomeness.
Her name is Miss Destructo,
and she lives up to her name.
Like a black rose covered in thorns,
look at her beauty though don't touch.
This is a personal piece to one of my closest friends. Straight off the top of my head, no polishing nor editing. Everything written was written without prior thought. Everyone should check out Miss Destructo's blog, for it is one of the best on the web. http://www.missdestructo.com/
one day it's black and the other it's blue.
Her smile twists with sarcasm,
hiding intelligent comments in witty banter.
Her name is Miss Destructo,
she commands legions of ardent admirers.
A queen upon a throne of laughing skulls,
she taps her foot while the peasants dance.
Ultra-tall and classically swank,
she has a mind like a razor and clothing to match.
Music replaced her blood years ago,
she is a living discography of awesomeness.
Her name is Miss Destructo,
and she lives up to her name.
Like a black rose covered in thorns,
look at her beauty though don't touch.
This is a personal piece to one of my closest friends. Straight off the top of my head, no polishing nor editing. Everything written was written without prior thought. Everyone should check out Miss Destructo's blog, for it is one of the best on the web. http://www.missdestructo.com/
Writing: Life of a Thief
While I am not a man who is squeamish at the sight of blood, I was glad even the silvery moonlight was covered with the velvet-like darkness one notices deep at night. As I ran down the garbage strewn alley, my hand firmly holding my side as to stop the blood from flowing, my mind replayed the series of events that led me to this disastrous night.
“I don't know. A house is one thing, but breaking into a manor is usually a bit more difficult. They keep dogs the size of me in them usually.” I said as I sent my tankard down, a bit of the still green ale spilling on the split log table. I glanced around to make sure no one was too close to listen into my private conversation. People in my business that get overheard talking shop can end up on the wrong side of the headsman's block.“Listen, it is going to be a quick in and out job. I need you to go in because poison would not do. This man has people eat his food before he does, he is that paranoid,” the unnamed man paused thoughtfully and chuckled, “rightfully so in this case. Anyway, the pay is good. Do the job and I might have more for you.”
Being a man that does not turn down a job, or a pouch full of gilded silver coins in this case, I eventually took the job. One does not just agree to kill a man, one needs to be sure the person doing the hiring is sure the person needs to be killed. I left the tavern after laying a few small bronze coins on the table and waved negligently at the tavern keeper and walked into the cool dusk air. The air had the scent of rain in it and the stones of the road shone with slick water. I passed by merchants hawking their wares to anyone who might be out late and need a little trinket or a small loaf of bread before heading home. I stopped at my own home briefly to get my tools of the trade. A thief and an assassin is nothing if he does not have the tools to do the job correctly. I left my small, but fairly clean, house and made my way casually, as to not raise any suspicions, to the manor house that I was hired to service this evening.
I slowly walked by the outer wall, taking in as much as I could. Solid stone wall, about five feet tall. No spikes, or sharp objects to stop a person if they really wanted in, definitely a shoddy job, but a burglar's delight. The outer wall stood a good fifty yards from the manor, a few ancient and gnarled oak tree's swaying in the soft breeze stood in the park like grounds between wall and house.
Not bad, I thought to myself. I could have used more cover, but we work with what the Lord gives us. As I passed the gate, I took a short look at the manor itself. Lying in splendidly serene settings, the manor was a very ugly building. Very squat and not exactly well constructed. The windows could have used a good cleaning and the large red oak doors showed signs of weather damage. I walked beyond the gate and took a quick look behind me to make sure the street was clear and another furvitive look at the surrounding houses, only to see darkness coming from the darkly stained homes.
I took a leap and grasped the edge of the wall and pulled myself over, landing with the grace of a cat. I took a quick glance to the house and gate to make sure I was not seen then, content I was not seen nor heard, I quickly ran on silent feet, from tree to tree, hiding in the deep shadows of the overhanging limbs. I reached one of the lower floor windows and slowly peeked my head over the windowsill. Empty, very good. I worked the dirty window open, thanking the Lord that, while dirty, the windows were well oiled. I crept into the house and made my way to the main bed chamber.
I entered the bed chamber slowly, turning the brass handle with great care. Old manors like this usually creak and moan under the slightest touch. Another well oiled entrance, my luck was holding true tonight.
Rich tapestries covered the walls, although the moonlight drained the color from them. Ornate furnishings were spread throughout the room. Small tables, a few deeply cushioned chairs and a small cabinet, full of assorted liquors. Now, being a man of work, I have been known to taste a few beverages at the expense of the person whom I just serviced. Unfortunately I did not have time to even approach the bed to do my duty.
Torches and the steely glint of swords came rushing from an anti-chamber towards me. Deftly, I blocked a blade away with my forearm, but took a slice across my side. Grabbing one of the chairs that were in the bed chamber, I flung it towards my assailants and just as quickly snatched my sword from its scabbard. I moved for the door, since jumping out of the window surrounded by men wanting to kill me was out of the question, and escaped out into the hallway. I made my way down the stairs as lights flickered into life all around me. Dashing into the room I entered in, I found two men waiting for me. Sword meeting sword, I fenced my way towards the window, cutting one of the men down in the process. Parrying a strike, I smoothly ran the other through. As I pulled out my short bladed sword, I noticed each of them wore uniforms of the law. Wonderful, I was set up. I thought it was about time to leave this party.
I ran with all my strength across the grounds of the manor, the wound on my side leaving a bright red trail behind me. I leaped over the wall and into an alley, which takes me to now. Now, being set up is not what I call good business. It would be very irresponsible of me to let that happen without any repercussions.
I made my way to my home, twisting this way and that, as to not lead people back to me while I am resting and recovering. As I slowly made my way to my front door, I thought that it may be time for a change of employment. This line of work was getting too dangerous. Maybe a merchant would be nicer, selling my wares out in the fresh air. That thought occupied my mind as I entered my house. That thought was still in my mind as two lawmen, who were waiting for me in the darkness of my living room, subdued me and shackled me. That thought was most definitely with me the next day as I walked to the headsman's block.
“Last words, murderer?” snarled the magistrate.
I looked at him for a moment and laughed, “I should have been a merchant.”
“I don't know. A house is one thing, but breaking into a manor is usually a bit more difficult. They keep dogs the size of me in them usually.” I said as I sent my tankard down, a bit of the still green ale spilling on the split log table. I glanced around to make sure no one was too close to listen into my private conversation. People in my business that get overheard talking shop can end up on the wrong side of the headsman's block.“Listen, it is going to be a quick in and out job. I need you to go in because poison would not do. This man has people eat his food before he does, he is that paranoid,” the unnamed man paused thoughtfully and chuckled, “rightfully so in this case. Anyway, the pay is good. Do the job and I might have more for you.”
Being a man that does not turn down a job, or a pouch full of gilded silver coins in this case, I eventually took the job. One does not just agree to kill a man, one needs to be sure the person doing the hiring is sure the person needs to be killed. I left the tavern after laying a few small bronze coins on the table and waved negligently at the tavern keeper and walked into the cool dusk air. The air had the scent of rain in it and the stones of the road shone with slick water. I passed by merchants hawking their wares to anyone who might be out late and need a little trinket or a small loaf of bread before heading home. I stopped at my own home briefly to get my tools of the trade. A thief and an assassin is nothing if he does not have the tools to do the job correctly. I left my small, but fairly clean, house and made my way casually, as to not raise any suspicions, to the manor house that I was hired to service this evening.
I slowly walked by the outer wall, taking in as much as I could. Solid stone wall, about five feet tall. No spikes, or sharp objects to stop a person if they really wanted in, definitely a shoddy job, but a burglar's delight. The outer wall stood a good fifty yards from the manor, a few ancient and gnarled oak tree's swaying in the soft breeze stood in the park like grounds between wall and house.
Not bad, I thought to myself. I could have used more cover, but we work with what the Lord gives us. As I passed the gate, I took a short look at the manor itself. Lying in splendidly serene settings, the manor was a very ugly building. Very squat and not exactly well constructed. The windows could have used a good cleaning and the large red oak doors showed signs of weather damage. I walked beyond the gate and took a quick look behind me to make sure the street was clear and another furvitive look at the surrounding houses, only to see darkness coming from the darkly stained homes.
I took a leap and grasped the edge of the wall and pulled myself over, landing with the grace of a cat. I took a quick glance to the house and gate to make sure I was not seen then, content I was not seen nor heard, I quickly ran on silent feet, from tree to tree, hiding in the deep shadows of the overhanging limbs. I reached one of the lower floor windows and slowly peeked my head over the windowsill. Empty, very good. I worked the dirty window open, thanking the Lord that, while dirty, the windows were well oiled. I crept into the house and made my way to the main bed chamber.
I entered the bed chamber slowly, turning the brass handle with great care. Old manors like this usually creak and moan under the slightest touch. Another well oiled entrance, my luck was holding true tonight.
Rich tapestries covered the walls, although the moonlight drained the color from them. Ornate furnishings were spread throughout the room. Small tables, a few deeply cushioned chairs and a small cabinet, full of assorted liquors. Now, being a man of work, I have been known to taste a few beverages at the expense of the person whom I just serviced. Unfortunately I did not have time to even approach the bed to do my duty.
Torches and the steely glint of swords came rushing from an anti-chamber towards me. Deftly, I blocked a blade away with my forearm, but took a slice across my side. Grabbing one of the chairs that were in the bed chamber, I flung it towards my assailants and just as quickly snatched my sword from its scabbard. I moved for the door, since jumping out of the window surrounded by men wanting to kill me was out of the question, and escaped out into the hallway. I made my way down the stairs as lights flickered into life all around me. Dashing into the room I entered in, I found two men waiting for me. Sword meeting sword, I fenced my way towards the window, cutting one of the men down in the process. Parrying a strike, I smoothly ran the other through. As I pulled out my short bladed sword, I noticed each of them wore uniforms of the law. Wonderful, I was set up. I thought it was about time to leave this party.
I ran with all my strength across the grounds of the manor, the wound on my side leaving a bright red trail behind me. I leaped over the wall and into an alley, which takes me to now. Now, being set up is not what I call good business. It would be very irresponsible of me to let that happen without any repercussions.
I made my way to my home, twisting this way and that, as to not lead people back to me while I am resting and recovering. As I slowly made my way to my front door, I thought that it may be time for a change of employment. This line of work was getting too dangerous. Maybe a merchant would be nicer, selling my wares out in the fresh air. That thought occupied my mind as I entered my house. That thought was still in my mind as two lawmen, who were waiting for me in the darkness of my living room, subdued me and shackled me. That thought was most definitely with me the next day as I walked to the headsman's block.
“Last words, murderer?” snarled the magistrate.
I looked at him for a moment and laughed, “I should have been a merchant.”
Poetry: Limited Time Offer
You are given your ticket,
yet never any directions.
Trial and error is your guide,
spinning around in circles until the end.
Life is a limited time offer,
revoked at a moments notice.
Precious as a jewel,
but coveted like lead.
Short and hopefully sweet,
life can pass you by easily.
Keep your arms around it,
never letting it slip from your grasp.
You're not alone,
though you will think otherwise.
You're looking to the sky for help,
but someone is much closer than that.
Fall into my arms,
I'll never let you fall.
I'm a limited time offer,
only able to help for so long.
Let's walk this tightrope together,
traversing life's perils hand in hand.
I love you and everything you do,
though I will sometimes act like I don't.
I'll write you a promise,
here and now.
I will never leave you alone,
even when the stars go dark all around us.
yet never any directions.
Trial and error is your guide,
spinning around in circles until the end.
Life is a limited time offer,
revoked at a moments notice.
Precious as a jewel,
but coveted like lead.
Short and hopefully sweet,
life can pass you by easily.
Keep your arms around it,
never letting it slip from your grasp.
You're not alone,
though you will think otherwise.
You're looking to the sky for help,
but someone is much closer than that.
Fall into my arms,
I'll never let you fall.
I'm a limited time offer,
only able to help for so long.
Let's walk this tightrope together,
traversing life's perils hand in hand.
I love you and everything you do,
though I will sometimes act like I don't.
I'll write you a promise,
here and now.
I will never leave you alone,
even when the stars go dark all around us.
Birth of a Sound
Welcome to my mind! Well, welcome to the textual representations of my thoughts, most of which are skittering through my mind at the speed of thought (haha..oh bad jokes, I love thee). Most of what you will read here are a collection of thoughts, mixed with my writing, with a strong dash of my poetry. Never hesitate to comment, for good or ill, if you want!
A little about me, I guess. I am currently a student at SUNY @ Purchase College in Westchester, New York. I was born and raised in Buffalo, but have spent a good portion of my life down in the Sunshine State. I am a sarcastic, off color joke loving, random movie quoting, nice guy. I rarely have harsh words to say about people, though I wont lie and say I don't say them on occasion. I love hockey, the NHL's New York Islanders, and follow it almost religously. I am a Psychology major, 1 semester away from wrapping up my BA.
I have been published in small publications here and in the United Kingdom, but am always looking for more exposure. I am an exposure whore, to be honest. The more people that see my work, the better chance I have at getting published in something somewhat bigger than a 10,000 print collection of writers (thank you Samuel [UK], you made my year with that opportunity!).
So, without further adeu, I give you my latest work I have pumped out. Expect a couple a day, so subscribe and sit back with a cup of coffee (make sure you pour me one too! My blood has been replaced with fresh ground coffee, I swear) and enjoy!
Your friendly neighborhood interweb crawler,
Sonic Boom
A little about me, I guess. I am currently a student at SUNY @ Purchase College in Westchester, New York. I was born and raised in Buffalo, but have spent a good portion of my life down in the Sunshine State. I am a sarcastic, off color joke loving, random movie quoting, nice guy. I rarely have harsh words to say about people, though I wont lie and say I don't say them on occasion. I love hockey, the NHL's New York Islanders, and follow it almost religously. I am a Psychology major, 1 semester away from wrapping up my BA.
I have been published in small publications here and in the United Kingdom, but am always looking for more exposure. I am an exposure whore, to be honest. The more people that see my work, the better chance I have at getting published in something somewhat bigger than a 10,000 print collection of writers (thank you Samuel [UK], you made my year with that opportunity!).
So, without further adeu, I give you my latest work I have pumped out. Expect a couple a day, so subscribe and sit back with a cup of coffee (make sure you pour me one too! My blood has been replaced with fresh ground coffee, I swear) and enjoy!
Your friendly neighborhood interweb crawler,
Sonic Boom
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