Writing: Moment in Time - Down the Rabbit Hole

He glanced over his shoulder, scratching absently at his arm, feeling the skin peel off with every movement of his fingers. He needed to fix what was wrong with him, though he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. The world looked fine, what with its undulating sky, flame-like grasses, and monstrosities dressed in suits and ties. He felt the blood in his body flow out through his arm, watching it seek out a new home, perhaps one without a window that unexpectedly gets installed. He wondered, as he walked, what would replace the blood, but that thought soon left his mind as he saw a man staring at him. He couldn't tell who the man was, but the horns, tail, and pitchfork gave him some hints. He climbed up the sidewalk that tried to form into a roller-coaster loop and saw his destination. The only problem was that he had to walk through a large, milling swarm of those insurance agent-looking monsters. He shuddered at the thought of their insect-like arms and hands reaching out and touching, grabbing him, maybe thrusting pens and papers at him, begging in voices that sound like pigs stuck inside of a gristmill for him to sign off on a one-hundred percent profit venture. He wanted nothing to do with that, he only wanted to fill the emptiness inside himself since his blood voided its lease to his body.

Straightening his shoulders to the point where he feels his shoulders burst out of his leather jacket and form bone and sinew wings, he wishes that they were strong enough to lift him over those parasites, watching as they begin to devour each other and not a few of them begin to procreate right on the street, letting the ground that rolls beneath them as a sexual helper. He folds his wings in and squints his eyes, feeling the jelly inside them press against the inside of his head. He takes a step forward that shakes eyes and ground equally, alerting the mass in front of him to his presence, though they don't make a move. He continues walking forward, his arm itching so much he feels on fire, he feels so much on fire that he thinks he might be on fire. He begins to think how good fire would be to help him pass these giant bugs, but then again, behind on fire like the eye of Sauron won't help him here, he would only burn to ash before he could get what he came here for. He begins to pick up his speed, rushing into the pile as a linebacker through an opposing team. He feels hands and claws and tentacles and other appendages he can't even name grasp at him while all the time he hopes none of their reproductive organs search out those sensitive areas on his body. He drops to a knee only a few feet from the door, but his body turns to liquid as he flows over those creatures, drowning them in his own fluids, fluids he is surprised he has seeing as his blood probably bought a flat somewhere in downtown Buffalo at a reasonable rent in a good school district. As his body regains form, he flashes his wings in a flourish and steps through the door. Not opening it, he steps through it.

Once inside, he enters a land of gold and marble, almost as if he had entered heaven...or some form of high-end brothel. Maybe a brothel outside of Vegas or Amsterdam. He walks through those gold halls and up stairs and down stairs, sometimes he walks in circles, and sometimes he doesn't walk at all, but floats on a cloud of silk towards the upper reaches of this heavenly brothel. He finally reaches the top, the walls giggling at him and he bowing in return. He steps to the door and knocks politely, allowing the door to wake up and realize he is there and open. Once open, he walks through and steps towards the gentleman who rests upon a cross, looking around him with a bored expression, like a man who has beaten all his PS3 games and now has nothing to do. Once the cross-bound man notices him, he smiles and beckons him forward the best a man who is crucified can do. The cross-man points to a small bronze box and he opens it, taking the small sword from the box and sliding it against his arm where he scratched the hole in. The world suddenly jerks and flattens. He watches with amazement as the walls begin to peal away, almost like a Silent Hill game, and are replaced with torn wallpaper in a puke green color. The crucified man is suddenly no longer crucified and sits upon a worn and torn couch, boiling something over a small bunsen burner. Once the world straights into its hopelessness that he realized he was trying to escape, he glances at the man on the couch who looks up to him and, with glazed over eyes, says, "You want to go back down the rabbit hole?"

Poetry: We Will Not Die!

Oration,
Exploitation,
Innovation,
Reclamation.

Words stolen and
sold for pennies on the dollar.
Thoughts murdered
for the sake of prosperity.

When the voices fade,
the song is lost.
When the singers leave,
the show is over.

Raise your voices,
as well as your pens.
Shout to the heavens,
'We will not die! '

Ovation,
Exploration,
Intuition,
Imagination.

Break out from the bindings
and free your minds.
Write as if possessed and
sing as your heart would break.

Life is waiting
for you to take hold.
I am waiting on the other side,
baring my soul through my writing.

Poetry: We Can Start Over (All We Need To Do Is Hit Restart)

I showed you how much I cared
to the point I did things I never dared.
What good did it do me
when every night you're in the arms of another?

If you want me to abandon you
tell me and I will let you go alone.
Don't act as if nothing is wrong
when you play these games.

Let's just say no,
this was all a misunderstanding.
Let's backtrack a bit,
and let me introduce myself again.

We'll get off to a better start,
one where words were never said.
Maybe then I can delude myself,
forgetting I ever liked you more than a friend.

Poetry: Giving in to it All

Cold metal on soft skin,
clawing at my life,
seeking my heart,
but it's already gone.
Given to another
for safe keeping,
held in security deposit,
where I can't hurt it more.

If I am giving in,
thinking the battle lost,
I could let the metal in,
but the war hasn't ended
and my heart still beats,
hidden in hands,
gentle and loving.

Defiance raised like a flag,
scars shown that they tried,
but I won.

Poetry: Yes is the Answer (Until We Are Famous)

Yes, give me your heart
and everything attached.
My kiss in no magic spell,
but its potency is unmatched.

Yes, give me all you have
and everything in between.
I will rain ecstasy upon you,
likes of which you have never seen.

Yes, just say yes
and I will give what you need.
You will tremble at my touch;
from my hands you will feed.

Yes, you like it my way
and you will never leave.
You know I am what you want,
only you are afraid to believe.

Yes, take my hand
and walk away with me.
I will never betray you,
until our names light up the marquee.

Writing: Moment in Time - Temporary Respite

He sat and watched the world through the double-pained glass, feeling the heat of the vent mix with the chill outside, his thoughts as chilly as the weather. The conversations around him buzzing and echoing in his head, blotting out thought and tease his attention in irritating seductiveness. The voices grating on his nerves as he turned and glanced at the world inside, hidden from the elements. Cold coffee. Hot vent. Tan hat. Checkered jacket. Nothing but impressions skitter across his mind. His brain reaching out, grasping, trying to hold to something, but, like trying to hold grains of sand, they do nothing but slide through his fingers.

He stands, feeling the years press down on his shoulders, giving him a dread sense of mortality which sends his mind deep into a chasm to which he wishes would close and remain gone forever. He wonders what is on the other side, what awaits him as he draws his final breath and leaps into the darkness. He wants to think that there would be a light and a deeper understanding of the universe, but the feeling that there is nothing but the darkness and eternal loneliness beyond the human understanding intrudes into his fantasy. His steps are slow, calculated, as he walks to the door, as if his feet were trying to savor each step he takes. He can feel each step echoing through his body as if it would be the last one he takes. The cold handle of the door in his hand chills his entire body, mixing with the heat in his blood which is drained away as it gives in to the cold.

The sudden rush of cold, cleansing him deep into his soul, washing away the dreams and nightmares indiscriminately. The sun washing over him as he steps through the door, feeling the ground fade from beneath him as he imagines himself crossing the chasm. The sun strikes him and his eyes close with a languid pace, trapping the light inside his body, allowing it to reignite his soul from the cold flame that had grown there. He reaches into his jacket, slides a smoke between his lips and hears the click of a lighter and the momentary heat of a flame until he breathes in slowly. His eyes open and he takes another step, then another, continuing until he passes his destination. He simply walks, beyond where he had gone before and continues, his thoughts finally solidifying with each step he takes from the world he knew. He knows he can't stay away forever, but for this moment, this single moment, he is free from himself.