The New Guard

He felt an odd sensation come over him as he walked in. Something like swimming in the sea alone.

Welcome. My name is Gary Peirce. I am the head guard here, I’ll be showing you the ropes today.

He extends his arm towards Joseph.

How do you know I’m the new guard?

Shaking his hand.

By the simple fact that you’re not being escorted in, and I doubt you’re a visitor. Alright, let’s get to it.

Joseph follows behind as Gary leads him through the building informing him with what to do. Gary well points out how to work with the patients and how to deal with them if they just so happen to step out of line. While on his little tour Joseph peeps into the rooms of the patients all of who strike him as nail bitingly creepy.

All patients should be checked on every hour for a few moments to make sure that nothing is wrong. Some patients are required to take medication. During the time medication is being administered you may possibly be needed to hold a patient down. Are there any questions that you might have at this point?

Right then Joseph turns his attention to one of the patients. Watching him as he sleeps crouched on the floor in the corner of his room.

Yeah, what’s the deal with this guy? He doesn’t look like he should be here, he seems pretty harmless.

Gary, rubbing the back of his neck before crossing his arms.

He’s been here for just over a year now. And you’re right. He’s pretty well-behaved. Now, that is. The reason he’s here is because one night the guy went bonkers and whacked, well, killed his wife. Well, the courts found him unstable and sent him here while his son was sent to a foster home.


Joseph continues to stare.

Yeah but he should be getting out of here at some point. He’s actually a good guy. Anyways, let’s continue. I still have a few things to show you.



That’s Why, Mr. Roflived

After a month he was still stunned as if it happened yesterday. The question why echoed in his head bouncing back and forth against the barriers and walls as he does. The question always being filtered by the facts but, in the end, nothing comes out. it just gets looped inside the filter. Every day so far has been dipped in torture, sprinkled with pain, washed in a field of electrical volts. He’s not at all the man he used to be. He was once strong, proud and well-respected for his character. Now he tends to often shake uncontrollably and stare without blinking f or hours. Not much is said but he usually make some type of sound ranging from quiet whimpers to screeches of agony. And every now and then, a chuckle. His condition was similar to a grape half-dried in the sun. It’s funny how a question can be so crippling.


He had been screaming for over two hours. It was the same word, which riddled him so. Inside his head angels were choking devils as the devils clawed at their faces. Cats chased dogs, mice killed cats and the birds just watched. It was this chaos that filled one of the cages in his mind. He blinked and his cheeks rose. Something clicked. His screams morphed into laughter as he rejoiced in his own words.


Dream Of  The Savior

What was that?

She turned reaching over to her husband who laid undisturbed. She peeled away, pulling covers, poking her legs out from the edge of the bed where they dangled. Slowly creeping from the bedroom out the door and through the short hall. Inching down the staircase to investigate. Looking toward the window where the curtains whispered, she stopped for a second. she clutched herself tightly as she came forth steering towards the living room as her husband, in the comfort of their bed, tossed and turned to the dream he was experiencing.

First he saw the red curtains melt against the wall like wax down candles. Light turning to darkness, darkness turning to light. The floor beneath him turned from warm wood to cold dirt. The doors disappeared from their original positions and new ones appeared. Walking toward the first one it seemed to run away with any movement he made. There were two other doors. One was glowing with a bright light beaming from the frame. the door itself was steel and carried an odd echo of silence. Once through the door his clothes changed into a white gown, well-attired shoes, and clipboard in his hand. It was just one long hall with white walls and a glossy shine to it. He walked down only to feed his curiosity. As he travelled forward the echo got louder and soon enough it became a recognizable noise. Then it stopped and so did he. Turning to his side he could see a reflection of himself off a glass window. As he neared the window he could see a room full of newborn babies. All of them sleeping under gray blankets. Their arms tied to their sides and their heads in one end of handcuffs while the other end was clamped to the little cribs that they were in. He backed off, turned, and there was the door.  He returned to the original room. But upon his return the walls were set aflame and the floor was covered in snow. The third door was all white with a pasty look to it. Walking through it he felt much stronger and lively. All that was behind this door was a tall black staircase that looked as if it never ended. He had only shorts on. The floorboards squeaked with every step he took. The higher he got the bigger the steps became. Climbing over the last step he reached the top to find a portrait of his wife and him holding hands together but not as adults, as children. As he stared at the portrait they both began to age. He watched as he saw himself wrinkle and turn gray but he noticed that his wife had stopped aging. He turned and staircase wasn’t there anymore, just the door. He went through to the original room which was now completely black. The first door had disappeared.


He heard her screaming for him. Springing forth from beneath the sheets he sputtered towards the dresser next to the wall, right of the bed. Frantically going through the drawers. He ran down the stairs, unleashing fury without a glimpse. He dropped the gun and ran over to his wife lifting her soul less body, streams formed down his cheeks as his jaw gaped. All he could hear were the cries of little Kyle upstairs in his crib.



NEVERLAND (the lost dream)

The first time I was there I walked slowly

Across the pebble pathway

The wind carried a wonderful warm scent of vanilla

Raising my head to breathe it in

Gazing at the sky

The sky a deep orange behind lavender clouds

At the end of the pathway sits a house

Surrounded by vibrant plants and flowers

Dark tree with red, pink and purple leaves

Falling gracefully on cobalt grass

I still can’t adequately describe

The feeling I felt there

As I neared the house

I could see a woman

Sitting on the front porch swing

with a child in her lap, a girl

And A young boy standing next to her

And I heard him say

“Look Mommy, it’s Daddy”

And then I woke up

dumbfounded, asking myself

Was that my wife, kids

I confused but mostly angry

Because I didn’t want to wake up

I didn’t want to leave

The second time I was there I didn’t walk

I ran

It was all the same

The vanilla scent, the soft warm wind

The colors of the sky

All of it

When I got to the porch the swing was empty

I sat and felt the smooth finish of the wood

Then I heard laughter in the back yard

I ran around the house and they were there

this time the little girl saying “Daddy”

Then I woke up

Every time I went back I tried to get closer

trying to see their faces

But I never could

I looked forward to sleep just to go back


The last time I was there

It was cold

Everything was black and gray

The house was empty

And then I saw him in the yard

The horned being with bloody eyes

And I knew what it meant

And I haven’t been there since

Going there was and is the reason I look forward to sleep

But I don’t get to sleep anymore

And I want to go home!

Because it’s more than just a dream


And I want my dream back

It’s where I wanted to be

It’s was my Neverland

But the pirates of the night took it away from me

And I haven’t seen it again

All I have left are the nightmares

And the devils

The devils come for me every night




As I stood in the cemetery, while my friend was being put to ground, many thoughts crossed my mind. Where does the soul go after one is laid to rest? Under this soil lay the bodies of youthful spirits. In many cases taken too suddenly. Should we know when our time is at its end? Would that knowledge benefit us? What do we really know about death? If I died today how would I be remembered? Will they remember me as the person who was always there? Or will I be remembered as the drunken asshole stumbling out of a bar? Have I done anything meaningful? How many lives have I touched? How many have I destroyed? Have I been here too long? I left the funeral and continues on to the graves of other loved ones who also lay in that same cemetery. First I visited the grave of my ex father in-law who I buried six years ago. As I kneeled down to clean his head stone I wondered if anyone else comes to visit his grave besides me. I thought of the memories I had of him. He was kind to me. From there I went to the grave of my uncle. I have no memories of him. Sadly he had taken his own life before I was born. All I had were stories of what he was like. Of how I was like him in appearance and personality. From there I went to the Grave of my grandmother. She too died before I was born. I always wondered what she was like. How did she sound? how did she smile? how did she laugh? I was immediately overtaken with sadness. I thought of the grave I couldn’t visit in that cemetery. I thought of the friend I lost this past December. I thought of being at his bedside in the hospital with his wife and children as he left this world. It was one of my hardest loses. I think of him everyday. I miss him. I left the cemetery and tried to regain my composure. I went to the bar. Had a few drinks and shots. And though I had friends there I couldn’t stop thinking. So I left before I embarrassed myself in front of them. I needed to be alone. I went home and sat in my backyard. I drank and I cried and thought of all the reasons of why life is precious. Life may be hard and painful. It may be full of heartache and sadness and horrific events. But life is delicate and beautiful and each day we have should be taken with gratefulness and appreciation. Time is unpredictable and we never know when our time is up.

Waking (A Short Story)

I wake as darkness is bleeding through the sky, soaking into sponge like clouds burning holes through time. I, restless as I am, crouch up into a sitting position scratching my head as I reach towards the counter. I grab my watch sitting next to an empty bottle of Jameson and glance at the time. I’m not surprised to see that it’s two in the morning. My mind ticks away as time does creating an annoying echo that I want to stop, but efforts seem meaningless. Images that were stirred up during my brief slumber are frozen in my mind. Some faces just won’t go away. It’s all just more to think about. I walk over to my dresser, pick up a vape pen and take a few puffs as I connect my phone to the stereo. I decide to play a Pink Floyd album as I sit down and go over my thoughts. Many things trouble me; one of such things is my health. It seems to be depleting more each day. My back has become more susceptible to pain. I should have taken better care of myself. All the while the faces still linger in my head. I realize that I’m not the man I used to be. I take another puff from the vape pen before placing it on the counter. As many people as I’ve lost in my life I’m surprised I haven’t lost myself, or my mind for that matter. Sure I’m a little crazy. Some would say I’m an explosion waiting to happen. Maybe they’re right. The faces just hang there mocking me, telling me I should have seen it coming. I question how strong I will be and the importance of my existence. Should I still be here? Singing alongside the lyrics of David Gilmour.

-How I wish, how I wish you were here,

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

Year after year, running over the same old ground

What have we found, the same old fears

Wish you were here-

Sometimes I wish she was here with me. Sometimes I wish I did things differently. Sometimes I wish that I could just forget everything. But wishes are far from reach and if they were any closer they wouldn’t be wishes anymore. They would just be undermined realities. That’s sad. I wipe the tears from my face. I realize that I’m still dreaming. I open my eyes and see that there’s light in my window. Time to wake up.


Prayers To The Wall (short story)

I grew up on the backside of the wall. That’s what we called it because all the pretty stuff was on the front like America, and then there were us, people like me. We were the ignorant and impatient. People like me don’t wait; we play for life while death stands back waiting for us.

Back before I was born I had an uncle who days before his twenty-first birthday blew his brains into the wall of his room. I never got to know him but I wish that I had simple because everyone says I’m just like him.

I was playing in the empty lot. Kicking cans and breaking bottles were some of my favorite games. A boy walked over to me, shoved me and said, “You’re a piece of shit!” then I picked up a brick and introduced his face to it. Then I got bored and decided to play another game, break the windows in the neighborhood.

He was standing in the front room practicing his strike moves. On the floor laid his artwork and markings he had been working on. The old man walked in, drunk. The old man is unpredictable when drunk. The old man grabbed him by the neck slammed him in the wall and put him in a back breaker.

Who’s your master boy?

Fuck you!

Ha, Ha! Its ok, you’ll learn.

He was dropped on the floor. His work spit on. He couldn’t move. He could only feel the pain in his back and the tears on his cheek.

My dog was a killer. He was this big German shepherd that no one messed with. I loved him. But he probably had to pay for all those cats he killed. I guess that’s why he committed suicide, hanging himself over the backyard fence. I think it finally got to him, the killing.

I never knew there were so many kids in the neighborhood. I saw them yesterday going to this place called school. I wonder what goes on there.

How does it feel?

I’m bleeding and my vein’s been cut, how do you think I feel?

All right, we’ll go to the hospital.

I can’t believe that someone actually had the balls to stab me. Well he got his. I’m sorry but I didn’t want to do that to him, he made me. I was defending myself! Who cares you never listen anyway. I don’t know why I still talk to you.

The first time he talked to the wall was when he was five. Someone told him that since he had no friends he might as well just talk to the wall. He did.

I can’t remember feeling so good. And now I question why I felt so good, why did I enjoy it? When I held that person by the neck and saw the fear in their eyes and the pain in their face, I felt this sense of euphoria. Hurting him made me feel good inside like a nice pat on the back for a job well done. I like doing good jobs.

I think this was right around the time I started to change. Seeing that girl get hit was wrong but I couldn’t do anything about it. If I made any moves my neck would be on the line and the streets, the streets are unforgiving. I think it’s time for me to go.

I don’t want to hurt people anymore! All I know is how to hurt and worse. I want it all to go away!

I’m the first to admit that I won’t hesitate to hit someone who deserves it. Loyalty was hammered deep into my mind. But what I was being loyal to wasn’t loyal towards me. That makes me angry.

The streets were angry when he wanted out. That was right around the time the situation occurred. This was a problem. The street weren’t ready to let him go.

I’m scared. I’m scared what’s going to happen. I’m scared of what I might do.

He started going to school. He was excited. He wanted to make friends. He started to get exposed to new things like books. He was curious as a child but now there was so much more to explore. He liked exploring.

I learned something today. I learned that if I hurt my friends they won’t like me anymore. No wonder I had no friends. But I’m grown up now, next week I’ll be ten.

BY Oscar Torres Leon




What does the individual mean to the world, to you?

Tell me, what does the individual

Mean to the individual,

Can you tell me that?

I remember a man

Who used to walk around his neighborhood,

Smoking a pipe,

Carrying two loaded guns with extra clips

And lips that never move,

This man hated himself,

Was full of anger and rage,

Gained pleasure by making others bleed

Piercing into their flesh, WHY?

Because he liked the sound that it made,

Because it turned him on,

It turned him on

To hear people screaming for their lives,

Because in some ways it was better than sex,

It was the emotions he saw

Pouring out of people that he was addicted to,

He liked seeing emotions he couldn’t feel,

After some time

Seeing those emotions was no longer enough,

He had to feel those emotions,

Experience them for himself,

He wanted to feel happy,

Fear death,

To love,

But most importantly he wanted to be loved,

So he set out on a mission

To become another person,

To become that


Socially accepted

Liked person,

He started by changing his reputation,

He no longer wanted to be the man all feared,

He stopped

His evil ways


His criminal actions,


Smoking his pipe


Carrying his guns

And stopped

Stabbing into people’s flesh,


He pierced into their minds

With his intellect

And into their hearts

With his kind actions

And newly found giving nature

He acted like he cared

He started to care


To fell sympathy


To feel compassion

Learned to love,

He started

To feel alive,

This man who could not wait to die

Started to feel alive

Started to fear death

Because he knew if he died

He would not be able

To feel these wonderful emotions

He started to be happy

And now all he wanted

Was to be loved by someone special,

But there stood the brick wall,

Because no one special came,

Sure he met some amazing girls,

But none loved him back,

He drove 90mph into a brick wall,

And he started to hurt,

He exposed himself inside out,

Only to get punched in the face

Stabbed in the guts

And kicked in the nuts

But no pain can equal that of a heart

Exploding from the inside,

He knew it would be hard to change,

As nice as he was now,

Everyone still saw him as

A criminal,

The weird guy,

One crazy bastard,

Then that man thought to himself,

It’s fucked up,

But now he knew he would have to become

The man he once was again,

He had to

Give the people what they want,

He had to

Go back to

Smoking his pipe

Go back to

Carrying his guns

Go back to

Being angry

Ready to kill at any moment,

Because that’s what he was trained for,

And tragically,

He had to once again be unhappy

Waiting for death

But you know what’s the most fucked up part of this story?


Asking you

What do I mean to the world?

What do I mean to you?

What do I mean to myself?

This is a short story about, no wait, a collection of poems about things that have happened in my past with references to my upbringing and how that has, and still is shaping my character. I don’t really expect much of this to be understood because I don’t understand it myself. I as a person am looking for meaning, or better yet a reason to live. And if I don’t find that meaning I expect to die. But as I go through this search for meaning I have been altered as a person and I wonder if that has altered the minds around me.


The blind man told the Devil to shut the fuck up,

The Devil told the blind man,

“Hey look at that!”

It’s amazing how easily you can piss someone off,

All you have to do is poke at their flaws

The Devil decided to fuck with the blind man some more,

He said to the blind man,

“Hey watch me do this!”

The blind man said

He wished he could stab the Devil in the face,

The Devil said,

“Hey weren’t you watching?

I already did”

Now what kind of man

Would stab himself in the face?

I’ll tell you,

One who has nothing to lose.


I started my new year’s eve as always, drunk! I woke at 5:30am and ate a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs with a nice tall mug of vodka and orange juice. I was feeling pretty good. By 12:00 pm I was prancing in a liquor-ish heaven. Hey! I was feeling pretty good. An hour later I showered and got dressed. By 7:00pm I was at a party sitting by myself watching my friends dancing, laughing and enjoying themselves. I was jealous. At 10:30pm I stepped outside to do a little smoking. I know, I know, it’s a bad habit. But hey, what you going to do, you know. I took off the wrapper and as I started smoking my first cigarette I thought about, well, I thought about myself actually. See, about a few years back I decided to become a better person and although I have friends now I feel as if I’ve made little progress. Actually I’ve made a lot of progress but I was just missing something. At 11:55pm my friend came out and brought me a bottle of wine, just in time because I was on my last cigarette. He told me to hurry up so I could join them in the countdown. I told him I’d be there eventually. Before I went inside I noticed that my car was parked across the street. That’s funny, I don’t remember driving here.


I am the physical frame of embodied pain

Stained with shame same guilty pleasures

Two waters in a rain

I came to this world as a saint

But visible paint

Brought me less faith

And even more hate

They view me as a pagan

When they ritually feed on each other

In respect to Satan

Tell me, what should I name them?

Come on! Even cruel cannibals have limitations

Patience has become a forgotten virtue

Aggravations with this nation

Give me reasons to hurt you

As new thoughts burn through

A dying carcass

But should you care if I die

If you consider me heartless

When I confess I once made ends

By crossing names off a list

Balling fist and shattering hopes,

I’m no pope!

I’ve made many mistakes

As this world is filled with dopes

With the old ropes I tied myself a noose

I’d hang myself for this world

But what would be the use

Abuse is self-induced

By those who want to be amused

Laughing at themselves

Blood fills a mind bruised

Infused with scared emotions

And lost devoting drifting off in oceans

I ease the burn with lotions

Drown the pain with potions

Motions cause impulses

We forget to smell the roses


I sat and pondered about things

Events, memories

Repressed urges


Sparks without voltage

I thought of time and beginnings

Ends of nothing

Nothing becoming a child

A child becoming a monster


I thought of innocence…


God said I was innocent

After I kicked him in the ass

And told him he’s not real

I was innocent

When I stabbed that man

And didn’t feel guilty about it

He was innocent

Before I stabbed him

But now he’s dead

He can never be innocent again

A dog is innocent

When he licks his own balls

He’s just trying to clean himself up

As a child

I had a wonderful upbringing

Full of self-induced intoxications

Backed by heightened levels of beatings

Conditioned to believe

That murder is a good thing

Then when I was six

I found out

You could go to jail for killing

Rambo and those other TV shows were a lie

And then I lost my innocents

My belief of what was

True and Pure


But would solidify

With new perceptions of purity

And would evaporate

And would solidify

Drinking’s not good for you

But it’s ok when you’re 21

Watching people have sex

Is a NO-NO

Until you’re 18

Because then

You can watch your porn flick

And have a cigarette with it

But now

You can’t kiss all the girls

Like you did in kindergarten


Don’t kill, don’t do drugs

We don’t listen

Don’t steal lie or cheat

We don’t listen

Don’t do anything immoral

We don’t

No matter what is said

We don’t, we don’t listen

As I’m reflecting through time

I witness the crime

That many combine with

Getting out of line

I witness the murders

Of righteous men, of burglars

Of deadly men with

Weapons you never heard of

But one memory comes back to me

The death of morality

And from it

Came the birth of a surreal reality

Imagine me

Killing cats for loot

Burning the pigeon in the coop

Grinning before I shoot

I always told myself

Kill with a smile

If the heat is too hot

Put the play on pause for a while

But where am I now

Lost in the mist of hate

Locked behind hell’s gate

Trying to bend the bars of fate

By recreating myself

Toss away the jewels the wealth

Toss away the guns the drugs

Find myself some help

By helping others change

Reinvent the game

But I find it’s hard

To alter what is instilled

In conditioned brains

Environmental frames

Lined with cocaine

This world’s insane

My eyes are sore

Can’t look away anymore

Too much I never saw before

Don’t kill, don’t do drugs

We don’t listen

Don’t steal lie or cheat

We don’t listen

Don’t do anything immoral

We don’t

No matter what is said

We don’t, we don’t listen

What happened to these children?

Look at the way they’re living

Lives committed

To blood spilling and killing

Now their ill actions

Have surpassed that of villains

And how are you feeling?

What kind of emotions

Are you concealing?

The dealings have dealt you

A hand full of clubs

As they become

Surround themselves by thugs

I think they need a hug

Love is something they gave up

As the poison fills the cuts

They contaminate their guts

With misguided trust

They’re bleeding through their pours

Bleeding through their wars

Bleeding through their floorboards

Bleeding through their cases

Facing the unseen faces

They never thought they’d see

Facing the unseen problems

They never thought would be

It’s all fantasy

But fantasy makes things worse

If blindness is your curse

You’ll be riding in a Hurst

There was light first

But in a moments burst

Light has turned to darkness

The heartfelt have turned heartless

So this is where my heart is

To help them out regardless

But the shortest distance

Is now the farthest

My part is

To teach them understanding

Give them a place to hide

When hell’s rocks come a landing

But demanding better

Is only an intention

When will we actually

Move in a new direction

Don’t kill, don’t do drugs

We don’t listen

Don’t steal lie or cheat

We don’t listen

Don’t do anything immoral

We don’t

No matter what is said

We don’t, we don’t listen


It’s bullshit!

The way we kill for a dollar

It’s bullshit!

The way we make sweet things turn sour

It’s bullshit!

The way we trade our souls in for guns

It’s bullshit!

Load the nine, cock, squeeze and run

It’s bullshit!

The flower can’t grow a single bud

It’s bullshit!

We rather grow weed than grow love

It’s bullshit!

We rather waste money on the waste

It’s bullshit!

Media creates hunger with a taste

It’s bullshit!

The way some live without a cause

It’s bullshit!

To think we won when we really lost

It’s bullshit!

When the shining lights go out

It’s bullshit!

When no food reaches a starving mouth

It’s bullshit!

We rather kick off wars than save nature

It’s bullshit!

When you spread the love and everyone hates you

It’s bullshit!

When all of this only scratches the surface

It’s bullshit!

To think that you’ve already heard this

Your deaf and don’t know

That that is what your curse is


Blind caused blindness

Deaf stole people’s ears

Slowness retarded life

Fright gave man fears

Crazy caused craziness

Lazy caused laziness

Then failure

Turned man’s dreams into tears


Just put on a happy face!




Blow things up,

Play with chemicals,

Burn things,

Start fires,


You gotta do-






Come on,

Let’s go on a,

Explosive expedition,

And say,

That hell has risen,

But I don’t want to be the messenger!

Hey, how about you,

Bang your head against the wall,

Beat yourself with bats,

Prick yourself with needles,


Why not?


Burn cars,

Sever a limb,



Fire looks cool,

Just bleed yourself dude,


Come on destroy,

Come on,

You know you want to,





Just put on a happy face!

Just put on a happy face!


I met someone. Someone that could possible rid me of all this darkness that is built up inside me. There’s not much I can say except that, I can’t get this smile off my face.


She said she was a dork in her first year of high school

And I liked her because of that

Because she was herself,

Because she was real,

All my life

I have been plagued by darkness

By storms of violence

Raining blood and tears

Thundering events that

Still rumble through time

And lightning

That still strikes me

But worst of all

I have been plagued

By crazy women

Who dare not love,

Or appreciate me

Women who have literally

Stabbed me in the back

And made attempts on my life

I always had this vision

Of what I thought

Would be the perfect woman

She would have these eyes

That every time you looked into

Would seem like

The most beautiful paradise in the world

She would have this smile

That would

Remind you of a sunrise

She would have this spirit

That was so alive and lovely

That it would remind me of an angel

She would be my vision of heaven

She would be my heaven

And for me

Life without heaven is hell

And for years now

I’ve been in hell

Scared that heaven may never exist

But then I realized

She sat across from me

In the same room

And I see that she is



My dear…

Maybe everything gets annoying now,

Maybe I’m saying too much

I think I found my heaven,

I think I’ve found happiness


I knew it was too good to be true. She said that she wanted to get into my head, and into my heart. Why did she say that if she was going to walk away? It’s fucked up when you have to watch all your happiness pick up and leave. I feel more confused and empty than ever before. Even my writing is lacking. I care less and all I want to do is smoke my pipe. I wonder what God is doing.


God like to wear a Devil suit

And every now and then

God likes to make fun of blind people

God like to laugh

God also likes to kick me in the ass

Slap me

When I’m not looking

Trip me

When I’m running

God likes the way I fall on my face

God also loves to tease me

Throw things in front of me

And say,

“You can’t have this!”

Making me want it even more

Stomping feet

God calls me Mr. Grumpy pants

God like to laugh at me

At least I can make God happy


As the smoke rises

Life is blocked out

Light falters

The shadows awaken

Existence yields

It thinks…

If you are blood,

Can you bleed?

If you are a tear,

Can you cry?

If you are a book,

Can you read?

If you are dead,

Can you die?


Yes you can!

You see

Everyone is blood

Everyone is,


Created from someone

Someone before them,

Blood of blood,

Blood to blood,

Bad blood, good blood,

All blood bleeds,


Is what blood does…

And in the mist

Of the clouded atmosphere

Leaked wine

From a flesh container

The wine,

Wants to run away

And the container,

Wants it to,

Wants it to,

Enjoy the darkness


Who am I?

The individual,

The reject of society,

The unemotional killer,

Torturer of those with emotion

The one they can’t see as normal

Or am I

The lunatic

Mr. Multi-persona

The three characters

Boxing in my head


To gain control over the others

Or am I

The bitter human being

Pissed off because

He can’t find a love of his own

The guy angry with God

Blaming God for everything

Tired of existence

Tired of not existing

Who am I?

I don’t know,

I don’t know,

I don’t know…

At the end of this voyage a man saw in himself the darkness that existed and within that darkness lived a hidden obsession to be loved. That obsession which will live with him to the end of his days sadly may never be fulfilled. And that man realizes that. He will live on only to suffer for a passion he feels is worth the torture of an eternity.