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Wednesday, December 31, 2014


My old man taught me
Closure is in the bottom of a bottle.
He said,
Son, women don't feel love like men.
They manipulate, lie and bleed you dry.
My momma taught me
Closure is in never promising anything and
Never staying anywhere for too long
Because its always important to know
Where you're coming from
30 years down and I learned my lessons well;
I bounced from place to place
And bed to bed on my way to become a man
With a moral compass that doesn't always point north
Ever since my first baby momma taught me
Closure is in another man's balls and
That one swallow can ruin a marriage
And turn a family into a broken home.
In the end, nothing else matters
As long as my kid is made of rubber
With a bounce back that erases all my mistakes
So I can sleep at night
My head so full of dreams
Borm from the regrets I never wanted
After my second wife taught me
Closure is in the honesty
After it's been twisted and
Sharpened to a poisoned point
All to make sure the truth won't set me free
But rather shackle me to the whimsy of madness
Maybe my old man was right after all
Now that the bottom of the bottle taught me
Closure is in a line
White, on the bathroom sink tomorrow morning
With my head pounding the rhythm
Of the headboard
Smacking the wall
Of last night's mistake
And I tell myself I just need a little something
To make it through the day
Running from the voice in my head
Screaming shame, reminding me
With choice comes consequence
With love comes hate
With getting real, comes acceptance.
Because it was my husband who taught me
Closure is in breaking cycles
Being different is what separates man from beast
And sloppy seconds taste best when served used
Which leaves the moral of the story:
Life is life.
Closure is in learning to live it. 

Friday, November 14, 2014

Dinner Date

He picked me up at 7
Just like he said
All slicked back hair, shirt and tie
Perfect gentleman
Object of my desire
I couldn't seem to move
My breath a gasp
That caught in my throat
Held by the heroic heart in his chest
Saving the damsel from falling
At this Muse's feet
Because I will be who I am
All words, emotion and superciliousness
I will not be dictated to, controlled or held back
With the muse ready and willing as the
Vivid vessel for my viscid viscera
I will lay myself out here
Moral for your propriety
Naked for your pleasure
On a line that is so blurred
It's almost as invisible
As a line of coke
Snorted off my cock
But I digress

He drove me to Distraction
The favored diner for the preposterously psychotic
Perfect gentleman
Object of my creativity
I couldn't seem to speak
Because I will not move, bend or break
Here in the auspices of such company
The art will take control
The muse will stand on the table
And shout depraved and shameful desires
A test of the mettle for the most eager
Who will listen? Who has the balls?
And who will answer back
Climbing to meet him
I move as poetry with arms and legs
To lay down with him and whisper back
I want you inside me
Please come inside me
Grab this muse by the scrote
Just to pull him in
And he'll love every thrust
Until it all explodes in inked cum stains on the page
A Jackson Pollock of dark secrets laid bare
Before his broken promise to always be there
Cracked open, fragmented as the mind of
This musing Madman

And in the end
It will be me that is left standing
Boot atop the spent, exhausted muse
Fist clenched and ready to battle
Allegory, Alliteration, Simile and Verse
Because I will be who I am
All words, emotion and superciliousness
I will not be dictated to, controlled or held back
With the Muse ready and willing
I will lay myself out here
Armed with more words than can be spoken
I am my own muse.
Shirt and tie. Bearded smile
Object of your desire
Ready to catch you by the breath I grabbed from your throat
Nightmares playing reel to reel between your ears
Now I lay you down to sleep
Hear the depraved and shameful desires
That make you want me inside you
Walking through dreams from which you'll never wake
Waiting. Watching. Whispering.
I am God here
You will worship me.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


I used to sit down and the words poured out
The depths of my soul carried so much dark pain, beauty, love and poetry
I couldn't keep it inside.
These days,
The muse plays hide and seek
Showing its face to whisper in my ear
In that place between asleep and awake when dreams are real and life is hidden away
Today, I walk like a strung out porn star
Spilling out tried and true poetry with hat in hand for just a little coin
Exchanged for the good service of my verses
Interruptions to the process create a disjointed connection in the words
Taking me off course
Up, down and all around
Into the places I never wanted to go until
I'm here
Battered (but unbowed)
Bruised (but unbroken)
Bottled (but unbridled)
Now I sit down and the words are trapped inside
With no poetry to explain the things that are happening to me
When there are no words to convey the black and white shades in which I see the world.
I never thought a rainbow of gray would brighten my day
Yet here we are
On the Borderline
Approaching this crossroads 
And it finally becomes about choices
Do I choose to burn out?
Or do I choose to fade away?
Is it better to rule in hell?
Or is it better to serve in heaven?
What is real?
Or What is imagined?
I write like a child afraid of the dark
With just enough light to keep the monsters away
Sitting amongst all the broken mirrors
Never looking It in the face
But always scratching the itch left from healing wounds
Some self-inflicted and some received cash on delivery
When I already have IOUs instead of fucks to give
And I find myself praying for the peace of a coma
The calm of knowing I'll never let you down again
Instead I sing the words
"It's just a trip not a way to ease your pain"
Coming down to place the mask securely over this facade
I realize that the Monster's Muse is shared through the magic of alliteration
And I no longer need a mirror to see
The twisted parts inside of me
And the face only a mother could love
As she walks out the door
Promising a better life
Delivering better lies
And so here we are
On the Borderline
Drawing me closer
Ready to sell my soul
Signed, sealed and delivered
Soaked in the blood of innocents
While I pretend I'm amazing
Walking in the empty trail left by my lies
Toward the promise of a love
Secure in a sense of belong
Until that secret weak spot shows
And I'm left
On the Borderline
Standing alone while I fall
Just to feel better

Thursday, October 16, 2014

My Friend

Will you be my friend?
When daylight fades to darkness
And I call you beautiful in the moonlight
Will you hold my hand?

Will you be my friend?
After everything and
When Everyone has gone away
Will you be the one?

Will you be my friend?
Everlasting and steadfast
When I stand alone against my own rage
Will you sing to soothe me?

Will you be my friend?
As the sun rises over the horizon
And your eyes light up my world
Will you see my smile return?

Will you be my friend?
 A lone voice above all the others
Will you help me return to Atlas' shoulders
When the weight of the world has gone wrong again

Will you be my friend?
After everything
Will you take my heart away and leave
Me and you against the world

Me and you against the world.
My friend.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Please Don't Kill Yourself

Please don't kill yourself
The simplicity of the words shock me
And in the moment I hear them I realize that no one has never asked me not to do it.
I mean, sure, sometimes people would tell me it was dumb
or that I shouldn't be thinking that way or even giving me the laundry list of things I have to live for which proves that they don't understand what depression and suicidal ideation are like to begin with
but to say "please don't kill yourself"
And in the quiet and simple request I found a pause
A single moment
Frozen in time and light as leaves fluttering on the autumn breeze
And I danced in raindrops that would never hit the ground
Moved between my own thoughts that would never reach my consciousness
I  shouted poetry so loud it echoed off of the walls of my own empty mind
Taking up the pause with the simple beauty of realizing
Everything that broke me no longer makes me who I am
And in the quiet and simple pause I found a fear
A single thought
Running through my veins like ice frozen to sharpened stakes in the cold winter wind
And I dodged them as they fell at my feet
Until I stood caged in a wintery prison of my own making
Bashing my head against fear itself never knowing
That breaking is not a reason to bleed
This juxtaposition of pause and fear
Holds a quiet dignity and beauty all its own
A majesty and poetry that I live for
And as I write the words
I know that therein lies the key to my salvation
And I dance in raindrops that would never hit the ground
And I dodged them as they fell at my feet
Everything that broke me no longer makes me who I am
Because Breaking is not a reason to bleed.
Please don't kill yourself.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014


This is a poem
To tell you what you're going through now is worth it.
I mean, that's what you always say.
But I want you to remember it.
I want you to feel it and know it.
Take it inside you and let it really fill you up
No. I mean REALLY fill you up, like a lover with a horse cock.
So that when you look in the mirror
All strung out with dark circles and tracks from dried tears drilling lines in your face
You'll know
You'll remember.
I want you to look at the sink and see
Crimson black, spilling into the water
The mess you've made of someone's dream
Go on, look at it
And remember
Remember every second of it
Lay in your bed alone
Cold and scared as a child of the dark
Too tired to sleep and too afraid to dream
Do you remember yet?
Good! That's real good.
Now start telling yourself its worth it.
Try to get up and lift that weight from your shoulders
Nevermind that you knew that's where it would fall
Go on, get back up you piece of shit
Get up and deal with it because this is what you wanted
Isn't it?
That's it. Just relax and let it happen.
Let it inside
Feel it in every corner of who you are
And let it embrace you, hold you
The only one who ever understood you
And you want it.
You know you want it.
Let it inside you, fill you with its seed
Make it a part of you
Your dark lover, your steady friend, your ongoing nightmare
Always remember that this is worth it.
Always remember that you asked for this.
Always remember what you really are.
Remember how special it really is, this relationship
Remember it when you cry at the beauty of the sunrise
When you think to kiss your lover like its the last time
Think to today, with blood on your hands and darkness in your heart
And laugh with your child
Never forget this pain and never push it away
Because you wanted it
You welcomed it
This is a poem to remind you that you chose blood, bile, tears and pain
All for Love, and poetry and beauty and laughter
Now look around at the ruins you've made
For a few moments of peace and a few hours of pleasure
Look at it again.
It was worth it.

Monday, August 18, 2014

January Friend

Shall I call you,
January Friend?

Funny we should meet,
In pure imagination.

Your embrace is but a memory,
Wrapped in smooth opium silk.

It caresses me softly,
The image of yesterday's tomorrow.

Forever you will be,
January Friend.

With halo slipping,
Dancing with the dark.

A liquid waltz,
Around deceptive pillow talk.

Little lies,
To inspire a respite of dreamless sleep.

Here we'll be,
January Friend.

Alone in the stars,
Separate and together.

A perfect yin and yang,
Proud in its equilibrium.

From infinite possibility,
I'll heal without you.

Monday, July 28, 2014

What's the Endgame?

I've been doing this a long time. Feeling the feels and then explaining them with all the words in the lexicon at my command. The problem is, words can't explain feels. You can't apply logic to the beauty of a sunrise. Talking about love is like dancing about architecture yet I can build an empire and defend all the lands in my dominion with the very same words.

Acting like I'm in control, watching it all meander through my wispy consciousness. It rises from my head like the steam from the first cup of coffee in the morning. Bitter and sweet and keeping me alert at all times. Take it in, tasting all of its acidic truth; the seduction of its arresting intensity an elegant testament to the subtle art of bullshit.

I set out upon the road less traveled; a trip to ease the pain. Driving so fast and far away I forgot what I'm running from, blasting music and lyrics so loud I can't hear the voices in my head anymore. A trip to ease the pain, I can laugh at the sad clown in the corner and I can cry for the Harlequin waiting in the room for the happy ending that will never come.

Reaching in my chest I pull out a patchwork heart; every stitch tells a story. A tale for the heartbroken and a happy ending for the heartbreaker. Its cracked and scarred surface recounting endless nights alone wondering which turn was the wrong one. Every handicapped beat pumping the last drops of hope into the chasm of loneliness that can never be filled.

Yeah, I've been doing this a long time. I've stepped on fuzzy landmines, I've laughed through bottomless pits and pratfalls that make it all look like well choreographed slapstick. Never forgetting to make them laugh and keep them guessing, because the truth is boring and just a little bit wrapped up in itself. This clown demands applause at his show.

So I lay here, bleeding, battered and bruised; and all I can think is what an awesome alliteration that really is. I can't move but dammit I'm poetic! I experiment with the words, shape them into my armor and wear them to hide it all away. Meanwhile, I bleed out all the aspirations of yesterday, drowning in my own sin, sinking to the Great Below.

The truth is, my shoulders hurt from carrying the weight of the world and every wrong laid at my feet; building a cage around my heart. There's this post-traumatic thing, letting all the coldness of honesty seep through the cracks of the foundation; but I've always said the truth is best when spoken brutally. Look at the teeth that want to bite the hand that feeds; they're in a pool of blood on the floor.

Timing is everything and this time was all wrong. A clock-faced mirror showing a raw, open wound draining blackened puss onto my head for no reason other than, "I don't know." The reflection clouded by the power of a breaking heart, hidden by all the bad intentions I'm guilty of. A defining humiliation that knocks at the door demanding attention.

I dare not ask why all I see are barbs and wire inside of me. Surrounded by monsters of my own design, shedding tears of joy at the beauty of their torment. Here in this room built with my own two minds; walls both old and wise in a hiding place where I can never hide. Still I'll walk against the wind resisting the temptation to give up changing all that resists giving into change.

Arriving at last, the devil's face in front of this sad man; are the tears a sad goodbye or a happy arrival to the inevitable hell being built all these years? I couldn't reveal the point if I'd written it myself. This is not a way to ease the pain; a sad man with hands in a bloody sink. The flip side of sanity is to play this game to its end. Declare the winner. I've been doing this a long time.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Less Than Three

I can give myself to you
Body, soul and spirit
I can stand between sky and Earth
Grounding the Heavens for you to claim
I can summon Anu, Bel and Ea
Professing devotion to your beauty
Because it’s less than three

I can bring you light and heat and life
Through every atom of existence
I can protect you from mother, maiden and crone
Guiding you on the path of the warrior
I can protect you from seductions of lust, wealth and profanation
To keep your aura pure
Because it’s less than three

I can build your houses in all the realms
For you to make a home of hell, Earth and sky
I can create beauty in your name
Capturing essence in matter; the spirit of Godlike visage
I can offer laughter in grace and games for play
All to share in the joy of your being
Because it’s less than three

I can write verses
Symbolic, allegorical and esoteric
I can stand in the currents of life, sound and light
A conduit for all you desire
I can share devotion
From Druid and Poet to Soothsayer
Because it’s less than three

I can dedicate a sacrament
Thought, word and deed
I can live outside of time
Unrestrained in past, present or future
I can supplicate
Before the Creator, Preserver and Destroyer
Because it’s less than three

I can manifest reality
Length, breadth and depth
I can join magic, intuition and fertility
To bear the fruit of your invention
I can bring order
Combining power, wisdom and love
Because it’s less than three

I can capture treasures untold
Mirror, sword and jewel
I can claim armies for your rule
In the name of truth, courage and compassion
I can give myself to you
Birth, life and death
Because it’s <3

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

I Belong

The sun shines
The weather is clement
Yet nature's beauty is separate
Hidden behind walls that
Hold captive an animal
How I long for the taste of honey wine
Passed to me from sweet lips
How I long to lounge in the shade of a tree
A meditation on my belonging
Here as a part of your nature
There as a part of His energy
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Music plays
A joyful tune to mellow
A savage beast
Falls upon mine ears
Deafened by cannon blasts from
Wars long fought and hard won
How I long for the sound of the pipes
Shared from the breath of Gods and Kings
How I long to dance
A movement of my perfection
Here as a part of your melody
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Fire burns
An inferno worthy of Dante
Yet cold in my belly
Embers dampened in
Tears shed long ago and far away
How I long for the burning passion
Shared when reverent lips touch mine
How I long to knot together body, mind and soul
Becoming one perfect, holy gift
An offering of sensual salaciousness
Here joined together, One!
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Gardens grow
Reaping the seeds that were sown
A bountiful feast
To quell the hunger inside
Which cannot fill this stomach
That has no taste for such ceremony
How I long for the thrill of the hunt
Baptized in freshly spilt blood
How I long for the smell of the fire
Musky in its seduction
Here wrapped in its warmth
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Cognitive Dissonance

The plains of the north
Sown from seed sprinkled
In dawn’s dew
Grows in the language
Of poetry

Hungarian snow
Blown across
The Western horizon
A good-bye kiss to a leaving lover
That lingers just a little too long

So I move across the sea
Humbled in my discovery
Separating from parentage the original sin
My laws are all of attraction
Staring, wide-eyed into the moon

I come alive
Giddy in the night
Flying straight through
This curtain of every color
Into Heaven’s gate

Back to my nest
Besotten of Human Condition
Sprinkled in sensitive discernment
Clear-eyes see things anew
Sight expanded by callings from beyond

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

The Will of Pan (Ode to Pan)

Evening mists
That creep and crawl
Must give way
To the Summer sun
Grasses drenched
In sodden dew
Will glisten in
The caustic hues of afternoon

Such is the will of Pan.

Flaming skirts
Of autumn leaves
Orange, and red, and gold
Dance upon
The zephyr of twilight
Falling silently
To sleep
Upon His domain

Such is the will of Pan.

Winter's breath
Upon my neck.
Icebound lips of blue,
They do kiss the snow
Before blowing away
Lost to the evening's
Befrosted paths
Lighting the way to the unknown

Such is the will of Pan.

The soft
Grass born of the
Frigid night
Returns to the light
The grandeur of Day
While trees bow
Gracefully in their homage
To the birth of all life.

Such is the will of Pan.


I've come here to sing your praises
To lay prostrate at your feet
The newest disciple of a dogma
Long since turned to dust.

I've come here to offer myself
Once again on the blank page
Piously offering words and verse
Ignoble is my reverence.

The words are all I have.
The words are all I am.
And I offer them to you.

I've come here basking in your beauty
To offer faith in perpetuity
Professing a love I've not felt
For what love can a mortal offer a God?

I've come here to feel again,
The sanctuary of your embrace
The solace offered by your smile
The pleasure of your penetration

The words are all I have.
The words are all I am.
And I offer them to you.

Awakened from your love
Forever changed by your touch
Cast down from Olympus
With a piece of heaven to share

Alive in your shadow

Fertility as divine copulation
Born of an ancient one's seed
What have I to give in return?

The words are all I have.
The words are all I am.
And I offer them to you.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Wednesday, April 30, 2014


Still yourselves and quiet your mind
For the Heartsmith is near
Nary a word will he utter
Nor will he shed a tear
Fixed is his purpose
And you're what draws him near.

Dreams of great love
Shall slay the Mare of the night
When the Heartsmith has arrived
Standing ready to forge with might
That which has been tossed away
He will repair what has made you contrite

And by his lessons do abide
Gather in your hands the million little pieces
Present them to the Heartsmith, child
Then step back to hear his thesis
The Heartsmith has heard tell, I promise
And knows a broken heart shan't cause true love's decreases

The unforgivable past
Leave your heart, broken, in his care
Allow that which has been unspoken
Now to be laid bare
The Heartsmith will hear your tale
He will repair your heart, and never will there be a fare

Grows anew
From a seedling of hope
Leave behind fear and sorrow
For 'unlovable' is naught but trope
The Heartsmith knows of no challenge
With which you can't cope

See what the Heartsmith has brought
A breathtaking, perfect work of art
That which was torn asunder
Shall never again be apart
For by adding his own unto yours
He comes to present, your repaired and unbroken heart!

Monday, March 24, 2014

A Million Reasons (Draft)

There exist about a million reasons
When taken as a whole they paint a picture so complete
It could make the Mona Lisa smile
And when they're taken apart . . .
Fractured, fractal patterns of organized chaos
All beautiful and terrifying
A kaleidoscopic melange
A yin with its yang
Shining a light in the dark that exists within the light
Drawing in as the proverbial moth to the flame
Seeming not to notice that
An angel cannot fly with burned wings
And a man cannot climb
Under the weight of a million reasons
All collected in perpetuity
A million reasons
With a million, million justifications
A million reasons
A million reasons
A million reasons
A million reasons
A million reasons
A million reasons
It is true what's been said before
Razors pain and rivers are damp
Acids stain and drugs cause cramp
Guns aren't lawful and nooses give
It still isn't enough, just to live
The truth hasn't set anyone free
There is no ascension to any mountaintop
Because among a million reasons
With a million million justifications
The literal one in a million speaks softly

There are no beautiful suicides

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Beautiful Boy

Beautiful boy
Sleeping so soundly
What dreams do you have
In your peaceful night's slumber?

Beautiful boy
So much awaits
In the many days to come
So much life yet to live

Beautiful boy
My heart aches for you
For wounds already dealt
For hardships yet to come

Beautiful boy
Sleeping so soundly
I promise my best
And I hope you'll understand

Beautiful Boy
I'm always here
Even when we're apart
I'll always be with you

Beautiful Boy
So innocent and free
I hope you know
You're loved beyond measure

Beautiful Boy
I hope you know

Beautiful boy
I hope you know

Life is But a Dream (Draft)

I can feel my heart thudding in my chest
I don't know if it's the drugs or the passion;
Either way it burns in my chest and pulses in my ears like bass at a rave
Sitting here now, with full intent to write it all down, get it all out,
Exploding in familiar loquacious ejaculation making the mind
As spent as the body
Sitting here now, the words won't come because the cum already came
So I write uncensored and unfettered
Far above your mortgage
and your car
and your bank
and your politics
and your chemicals
and your your war
and your death
Floating on a stream of consciousness

Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily
Life is but a dream

Monday, February 17, 2014

The Road to Recovery


"I really don't know why I'm here, you know." Said Charles Greene,

"It's been weeks. Honestly, Doctor Mattel, I don't think there's any reason to continue this charade."

"Now Charles, we've been over this." Said the man named Doctor Mattel, looking up from an open manila folder, over black rimmed glasses that were perched on the tip of his nose. His stubble looked scratchy and at the point where it was difficult to tell if he was growing a full beard or was just too exhausted or lazy to shave. The circles under his eyes betrayed that it was the latter.

"Yes, we have Doctor Mattel. And I am completely aware that I need to forgive myself for what happened. I understand the logic and the science behind it."

"Indeed you do, Charles. And yet I don't believe you've done any such thing. Forgive yourself, I mean. I think you're telling me what you think I want to hear. I can't imagine that discontinuing your treatment now would be of any use to you; and worse than that, it would be irresponsible of me as your Doctor."

The two of them moved smoothly through the conversation, betraying the fact that they'd had it many times before. Charles rolled his eyes and looked at the Doctor again, his eyes suddenly hooded, dark and intense.

"Doctor Mattel, what do you think you can do for me in here? I watched my fiancé butchered by Zombies in front of me."

"Now Charles, you know that they're not 'zombies.'" Doctor Mattel interrupted.

"I don't give a fuck what you want to call them," Charles answered, his voice slightly raised in frustration.

"Bath Salt addicts if you like, I don't know what they really were, I just know what I saw." he continued.

"I watched him eaten to death by those things. They pulled him off of me in the middle of fucking. Not just any fucking, no, no! This was hot, sweaty honeymoon fucking! They dragged him to a corner, and they ripped his flesh from his body and they ate it. Right in front of me."

Doctor Mattel no longer had a response, instead scribbling furious notes into the open file folder in his lap. Charles' voice was haunted, but unwavering as he relived the nightmare.

"They never touched me. They looked up at me, each of them, one at a time, but none of them touched me. They just ate him, in front of me. Until there was nothing left. They left him there, his intestines spilled out in front of him, broken bones jagged and sticking out through his skin. His eyes were open, but he just stared at me. Then they left, one by one. They never touched me. They never made a move toward me." his eyes were wide, and far away; frozen in horror. Then, they suddenly cleared and he looked up at the Doctor again. A background in psychology was not needed to understand that Charles relived this moment over and over in his dreams.

"And it's been weeks. And I don't understand why they didn't come after me now any more than I did then. Everything I told the police is still true."

"I know, Charles," Doctor Mattel said.

"Your story hasn't wavered since you were brought in. We-" he stopped, correcting himself.

"I believe you." he said soothingly.

"But we can't ignore how a trauma like that can affect you. But after several weeks, it's been determined that you are no longer a danger to yourself or anyone else. I want to be honest, Charles that I opposed and voted against this decision, but I was overruled."

"What decision?" Charles asked.

"I came here today to tell you that we're ready to move your treatment to an 'outpatient' status. You can go home today."

Charles didn't move. His face betrayed no expression.

"Did you hear me Charles?"

"Yes. I heard."

"Do you have anything to say?" Doctor Mattel prodded.

Charles looked up at him, tears beginning to stream down his face.

"While I've been in here it's been a dream, Doctor. I could never be sure it really happened as long as you kept questioning what I saw and what really happened. Now I have to figure out how to live without him." his voice broke and he began to sob unashamedly.

"That's perfectly healthy, Charles," Doctor Mattel said gently.

"That tells me you're on the road to recovery."

When recounting the story to others, Charles would recall that everything beyond the initial conversation that day passed in a blur. He was allowed to put his own clothes back on, he was allowed to rest in his room while the discharge papers were processed and his continued course of treatment was agreed to and signed by him; like some sort of contract. The entire process took the better part of a day and when he left the hospital with pills in hand, he'd never felt more alone.

He took the taxi provided by the hospital as far as his neighborhood, but got out to walk the last few blocks. A knot of anxiety had begun building in his stomach as soon as Doctor Mattel had told him he'd be going home. What would he find there? What would be left of the horrific scene he'd been dragged out of? What would happen when he walked in? All of these things stacked up inside him until he reached the front door of his building and collapsed on the steps/ He clutched his stomach and doubled over in pain. He'd expected to see yellow tape that boldly proclaimed "Police Line: Do Not Cross" or blood on the street, or the door that had been broken open to allow the creatures entrance. He'd not been prepared to see . . . nothing; the streets clear as if the entire thing had never happened. The rewriting of his history continued as he entered the building, noticing that nothing had changed there either. Soon, he was face to face with his own front door. He stood before it for a long while, willing it to change in appearance. He'd read something in his childhood to the effect that it was "dangerous business stepping out one's front door," and he smiled wryly realizing the ironic truth of the statement. Putting all he was into making it appear as it had that fateful night. In his mind's eye he could see the splintered wood of the frame and the blood smeared on its surface; today, though, he saw an ordinary door; an ordinary door with a lock that had been changed.

"Shit!" he howled, realizing that he didn't live there anymore. The locks had likely been changed as soon as he'd been taken away.

"And why shouldn't they be?" he said to himself,

"It's not like anyone had any reason to expect I'd be back."

He tried futilely to open the lock again before howling in rage, and passive aggressively breaking the key in the lock. Once again calm, he turned and walked from the building as if he believed for himself that nothing had happened. Behind him, at the door of a residence he no longer resided in; laid a bag of pills he knew he couldn't stomach.


Charles passed the next several weeks in a blur. News of the so called "Zombie Outbreak" became more and more prevalent, until it was finally something he couldn't escape from. He laughed in mock humor whenever someone with an official sounding title stared directly into television cameras to state very carefully that no one was calling the "things" Zombies, while the screen split to show camera footage of bodies in various states of decay moving through the streets attacking people. The video footage was always taken from grainy cell phone cameras and lacked so much detail that the supposed "Zombie Outbreak" could be mistaken for Big Foot sightings. Walking the street at night had become a nightly display of courage for most. As for Charles, he preferred to darkness. He enjoyed watching the parasites crawl out of the holes in which they slept away their days and wondered that he should feel more at home among the dregs and the undead than he should among the living. Such thoughts occupied his mind, offering just enough distraction from reality that he could avoid the horror behind his eyes.

"Chuck?" a female voice interrupted his reverie, and startled him into anger.

"Dammit Marcy! I told you not to sneak up on me!" he snapped.

"Jesus, Chuck, sorry." Marcy said defensively,

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he snapped irritably.

"You look like shit, man. What happened? Hey, wait . . . aren't those the same clothes you were wearing last week?"

"Who the fuck knows, man." he said, laughing.

"You see what's going down out there?" he poked a thumb at the street behind her, just outside the entrance to the alley where he now stood. The girl stood in the street, illuminated in the glow of a street lamp, while Charles retreated into the shadows.

"Everyone's seen it, Chuck." she said, her tone soothing as if trying to calm the man,

"No one believes it."

"Well, they goddamn better well start!" he snapped, angrier than before. He accentuated his anger by pounding a fist into a nearby brick wall. Marcy could see that he'd left a smear of his blood in the wake of his fist. Blood that she now saw dripping to the ground.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed,

"Fuck! Fuck you Charles! Fuck!" she was frantic now, backing away from him.

"What? Marcy, get the fuck back here. Where are you going?" he came out of the alley, wincing as the light hit his face.

"You know that blood draws them out. You know that the smell of blood makes us change." she said, her face ashen.

"No, not 'us,'" he said,

"Them. It makes them change. If you were one of them you'd already be eating me." there was no humor in his voice, yet his face twisted in an obscene smile. 

"I don't care, Chuck." She spat,

"You want to get yourself eaten that's fine, but leave me alone."

"They won't eat me, Marcy." Charles said, suddenly calm and nearly whispering,

"They don't want me. I don't know why." He shook his head, as if to clear it and then looked at her again, clear-eyed.

"Do you have what I need?" he asked, simply.

"Fucking weirdo." Marcy said, producing a simple brown bag,

"I've got your stuff." she said, handing it to him,

"It's the usual deal."

Charles handed her a wadded up ball of bills and snatched the bag from her, grunting a thank you. Marcy looked at him with a cold sympathy.

"I gotta get home, Chuck. Patty will be waiting. She asked me to grab a couple things from the store on my way, so I gotta jet."

"Marcy, do you remember what it used to be like?" He asked, softly.

"You mean before ... it ... happened? Yeah, I remember."

"I can't remember anymore. What was it like?"

Marcy pulled a phone from her pocket and quickly typed a text message while she spoke.

"What do you mean? The world or us?"

"Us. All of us. You, me, Patty, Franklin..." he answered, trailing off.

"C'mon Chuck." she answered with a softer, friendlier tone.

"We've always been besties, you know that."

"Yeah, I know. It just, it seems so far away from here."

"That's because it is." she said, her voice laden with compassion.

"You lose Franklin ... that was a big deal. It literally changed everything. It changed you."

"But you're still here." He said with a smile,

"You're still my best friend."

"And I always will be." she said, closing the gap between them to peck his cheek.

"Marcy, it's all over. Isn't it?" he asked,

"Everything's changing and it's never going to be how it was again."

Her face became a mask of fear and resignation.

"No, Chuck. It's never going to be like that again. Look, I really do have to go."

He grunted something at her and waved her away in acquiescence. He'd pulled the contents of the brown bag out and was inspecting them carefully. He held the small bag of pills up to the light and was counting them.

"Tell me you'll be okay?" she called over her shoulder.

"I'll be fine." he said back, walking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" she asked,

"Maybe we'll meet up later?"

"It's Friday night Marcy. I'm going to observe the American tradition of getting fucked and fucked up."

"That's my boy!" she said grinning.

He waved at her one last time and stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground as he walked, unconsciously fingering the pills he still held in his hand. 


Hours later, Charles stood in the midst of a throng of very hot, very sweaty people in various states of undress all moving and gyrating in dance to very loud, bass driven music.  Clearly out of place as the only person who wasn't dancing, he struggled to make his way through the densely packed flesh to the bar. Nearly falling into the bar as he finally arrived.

"Easy there!" the comment was accompanied by a strong hand closing around his forearm. There was strength behind it that Charles was instantly attracted to.

"Thanks," he said, looking up.
"Almost wiped out there." He locked eyes with his rescuer and felt immediately at ease at the soft blue/gray that was scanning him for injury.

"Are you hurt, um ..." he trailed off, waiting for a name.

"Charles, and no. I'm fine. It's just uh, it's been a while."

"Sherman." the man said, offering his hand. Charles shook it and felt his attraction to the man deepen at the firm grip.

"Thank you Sherman." he said with a smile,

"What are you drinking?"

"House Mead." he said, accepting the unspoken offer.

"Sounds great." Charles said, taking position next to the man. He flagged down the bartender and ordered the two drinks.

"So it's been a while, eh?" Sherman said, sipping his Mead.

"Yeah. A while to say the least."

"So what brings you out after so much time? Just trying to 'get back out there?'"

"You could say that," Charles said,

"I'm not even sure it’s a good idea. It hasn't been all that long since I lost-" he stopped abruptly.

"Lost what?" Sherman asked.

"It doesn't matter." Charles waved it away.

"The point is that I'm here, doing this again. Whatever this is."

"Indeed," Sherman said through a sip of his Mead.
"What is this?"

"Flirting." Charles said abruptly, and bluntly.

"Really terrible flirting."

"I don't know. I don't think it's such a bad attempt. I'm here sharing a drink aren't I?" Sherman smiled.

The smile did something to Charles. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt all his stress melt away and he saw genuine affection behind the other man's beard and gorgeous blue/gray eyes. His eyes misted and he blinked to keep from crying.

"Thank you." he breathed.

"For what?" Sherman asked.

"For sharing the drink." Charles smiled, opening his eyes again.

"And for helping me realize something."

"What's that?" Sherman prompted. His amiable and laid back demeanor made it clear that he was hoping to make something happen with Charles while still holding an attitude of distant non-expectation. He'd moved to face Charles with his whole body, his legs becoming more relaxed and therefore slightly open at the thigh. Charles notices all of this and turned his body to match, allowing the body language between the two of them to drive the desire he was sure the other man felt. He took a sip of his mead.

"Unusual to have Mead in a place like this, isn't it?"

"It's the best kept secret in town." Sherman said. The music stopped as he said it, increasing the volume of his voice ten-fold. Charles smiled and waited to speak again until the next song started up.

"It is delicious." he conceded over the new thrumming bass that seemed to be the same as the previous thrumming bass.

"So uh, Charles," Sherman said,

"Where was this flirting going to go?"

Charles looked at him and smiled.

"I think we both know where that's going to end up." He finished the Mead and ordered another. When it arrived he produced the bag full of pills and swallowed a handful. The bag's contents were nearly gone with only a few remaining, he offered these to Sherman.

"I never mix booze and pills." Sherman declined.
"Don't want to end up like Marilyn."

"Unless you do." Charles said wryly.

"I like you Sherman, and I haven't liked anyone in a really long time."

"I like you to, Charles." Sherman said, moving in closer and putting a lingering hand on Charles' arm.

"What are those pills?"

"They help me take the edge off in large crowds."

"I bet! You swallowed at least a dozen of them."

"Two dozen actually." he held up the bag, which had only four pills remaining.

"Gotta save something for the afterglow." he winked at Sherman.

"Like I was saying Sherman, I like you. I think we have a connection. Ya know?"

"Well, I think there's some attraction there, sure." Sherman said, moving his hand from Charles' arm down to his thigh and around to his buttock.

"I mean beyond that. Sherman, I'm going to level with you about something."

"Ooh! Mysterious!" Sherman said, leaning in even closer. The two men were now close enough that they could kiss if they wanted to. Charles took full advantage of Sherman's forward nature and grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him furiously. The kiss lasted for minutes, the two of them fighting for control of it. Charles attacked with all the ferocity of a starving man given food for the first time in days. Sherman was more reserved, allowing Charles to lead, but remaining steady in his resolve, keeping the kiss going in the way he wanted and only for as long as he wanted. When they finally broke apart he looked at Charles, smiling once again.

"You kiss like you've never kissed anyone before."

"Like I said," Charles replied,

"It's been a long time."

Sherman looked him up and down, deciding to see where Charles was willing to take things. He leaned back, putting some distance between them but staying close enough that they could still touch.

"What were you going to say?" he asked.

"I was going to be honest about something."

"What's that?"

"You're my first." Charles began."

"No I'm not." Sherman scoffed.

"No one who swallows pills like that and kisses like that is a virgin at anything!"

"I didn't mean my first ever. I mean you're my first in a long time. See, I had this thing happen to me a while back. I won't bore you with the details but it was bad. Really bad. I spent some time in the hospital and only got out a few weeks ago."

"What happened?" Sherman asked, suddenly cautious.

"Well, I had just gotten married. We didn't have much money so we went home and had our honeymoon at home in our own bed. We were," he stumbled over his words.

"Uh, we were fucking and that's when it happened."

"When what happened?"

"They came in all at once, just broke the door down."

"Oh my god! What happened?"

"They pulled him off of me and held him in the corner while I watched. They left me alone. I never figured out why they left me alone. But they took him away from me and made me watch while they did it. And this is the part I need to be honest with you about. It messed me up pretty bad. I spent some time in the hospital, just to get my head right. They let me out a few weeks back; deemed me "not a threat to myself or anyone else."

He paused here, and looked up at Sherman, gauging the other man's response. For his part,
Sherman still sat looking at him, completely calm and listening intently.

"That's awful!" Sherman said, taking the cue that he should say something.

"And this was only weeks ago? Are you sure you're ready for anything at all with anyone else?"

"I'm more than sure. I wasn't when I came in here, but I am now, more than ever. Sherman, I think you were meant to save me." he put on his best smile for the other man and moved in closer, putting one arm around Sherman's shoulders and the other arm in his lap, blatantly groping the generous bulge he found there.

"Will you take me to your place so we can finish what we started?"

Sherman smiled halfheartedly.

"Look, it really sounds like you've been through a lot and you leveled with me so let me level with you. I'm not looking for anything serious. I'm here to hook up. Nothing more and nothing less. Hell, I've sucked 3 dicks in the back," he gestured to a door dividing the front of the club from the back,

"Just tonight. I'm not really sure I'm what you're looking for."

"No, no. You are." Charles soothed.

"You're exactly what I'm looking for. I promise this isn't going to last any longer than tonight. What do you say?" he groped Sherman again and nuzzled his neck. When he broke away the look of desire on Sherman's face was now as obvious as what the hand in his lap was doing.

"I say you've convinced Me." he said, grabbing Charles by the arm and heading for the door.

It was a short distance to Sherman's apartment. The Club was his regular spot and he walked there to avoid drinking and driving. Within ten minutes they were walking through his front door and within fifteen they were naked in his bed.

"You really don't waste any time do you?" Sherman said breathlessly.

"No. I really don't." Charles replied with a smile.

"Last chance, you sure you want to help me do this?"

Sherman smiled,

"I couldn't stop now if I wanted to."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Charles said. He pushed Sherman down on the bed and straddled him. He used his hips to lock Sherman into place and braced himself on his shoulders.

"See, I knew you were the one who would save Me." he said.

"Consider yourself rescued." Sherman said, yielding to Charles' strength.

"Now, let's get down to how you're going doing it."

"I don't think I need any instruction there." Sherman said, with confidence.

"Not everything is what it seems." Charles said. He got off the bed and walked to his pants, crumpled on the floor nearby.

"Wait? Are you going? I thought we were just getting started."

"I'm not going anywhere. I just need to be sure of something first." Charles said. He produced the baggie of pills from his pocket and held them up.

"These pills ... I wasn't lying. They're to help me take the edge off. I took more than enough to make sure. If this works the way I think it will then I'll be saved before you can do anything else. If it doesn't work the way I think it will then you'll save me by calling 9-1-1 and giving the paramedics these last four to identify what I took."

"What the fuck!?" Sherman exclaimed,

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Charles produced a butterfly knife from his other pocket, as if in answer. He deftly opened it with one hand and drew the blade down his left arm from elbow to wrist. It was a surface wound only, not enough to be lethal, but enough to make sure that blood would flow.

"What the fuck are you doing? You psycho!" Sherman screamed. He was off the bed in a single, smooth movement and grabbing for a phone in his own pants' pocket.

"Now," Charles said simply,

"Save me." He lay on the bed, silently, as the blood dripped from his arm onto the sheets where it spread as the fabric absorbed the liquid. He closed his eyes; suddenly afraid to witness what he knew would happen next.

"Save me, Sherman."

Sherman was staring into space, his demeanor suddenly changed. He was no longer panicked and looked at the cell phone in his hand, dumbly. He shook his head as if trying to clear it before dropping it. Charles heard the clatter of the phone on the floor and smiled. With his eyes closed he was unable to see what happened next but his ears registered the sudden, guttural growl that came from his would be lover.

"I knew it." Charles said.

He laid perfectly still, his heart beating in his chest, though he didn't know if it was the adrenaline of the situation or if it was the drugs he'd overdosed on, finally ready to take his life.

"You can eat me, like you ate him," Charles said,

"But I won't be here for It." he laughed.

He felt Sherman move closer to him and felt his breath near the wound on his arm. A clot was beginning to form, slowing the flow of blood. Sherman sniffed at the wound, and licked at the blood; growling all the time. Then, without ceremony, he moved away from Charles, heading slowly for the door. Charles opened his eyes and looked.

"Where are you going?" he called after Sherman. The other man looked back at him with a snarl. Charles could see the dead eyes and understood that all life had left the other man.

"Just like before." he said, dejected.

"Why won't you take me?" he cried, sobbing. The tears flowed and he howled in rage and pain. Sherman watched him expressionlessly until the sound stopped. Then, he turned and with no further fuss, left the apartment.

Charles looked after him, then at his bleeding arm. He lay back on the bed, naked and calm.

"It doesn't matter," he said to himself as he lay there staring at the ceiling, expressionless and calm. He thought he could hear the faint sound of sirens nearby and he smiled, knowing that they weren't for him. With a final, peaceful breath, he allowed his eyes to close once again.

"You still saved me."

Monday, January 27, 2014

Yesterday is a Memory (1st Draft)

Thought can't stop
The world's constant turning
And I'm caught in a storm
Battered by winds of uncounted suffering
Swept away through rivers of flowing tears
I'm lost in the current
Drowning in my sorrows
Regretful of a life wasted away to nothing

Until it came, a soft breeze to dry my tears
To calm the choppy waters and brings peace to my soul
Whispering to me
Yesterday is a memory

A dream to be awoken from
Pulling the teeth from the monsters of the night
Shattering the dark into light
Brighter than the day

I can open my eyes to see
The stars have come out
Bringing beauty to the heavens
I can feel your arms around me
And the soft breeze; your breath
Whispering the softly spoken spell
Today is to come
Yesterday is a memory

I know peace
Through your love
And I am whole again
I know passion
Through your kiss
And I feel flames again
With thought aimed toward tomorrow
Yesterday is a memory

Wednesday, January 15, 2014


In my mind's eye I can see you
Not today
But the way you used to be
The way we used to be
With the sun in your hair
With the stars in your eyes
And I'm weary from the weight it takesTo carry this image in my head
Choking me with the fire of the lie

Bits and pieces show the past
Illuminating the shadows of what you are
And what we were
Leaving me to wonder

What will I do without you?

How will I live without your lies and
What is left of me after your abuse
How will I live in a world of happiness and joy
When all the while I'm expecting pain and suffering
How can I say goodbye
When your pain has been a companion for as long as I can remember

What will I say?
To the blank page that begs me to spill the agony
On it's waiting, depthless countenance
Where will I put the baggage?
Once forced to carry
Now empty, light and useless
What will come of my time?
Now filled with laughter and love
In the wake of such censure and condemnation
How will I feel
When the beautiful snowflake
Melts, only to fall and be wiped away
As an ordinary tear

In my mind's eye I can see you.
Not today.
Not anymore