Fiction/Poetry

I’m gonna be late
I’m gonna be late
I’m SO gonna be late—
Oh, I made it.
“Good morning.”
And yet, there he is.
I swallow and nod, simply acknowledging him.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
I express my bothered feelings with an annoyed face, and stand my ground.
“I see. Good luck, today.”
And he’s gone.
Okay, heart, resume beating.
12,34,56,78..
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8…
1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8
Good.
Oh, what am I going to do about him?
I can’t avoid him.
“Get iiiin, we’re going to be late!”
My sister leads me in.
——-
The sun is setting.
She’s gone home.
Too tired to come back with me.
Work is done. For now.
“Hey, did all go well?”
I turn and find my worries spraying me in the face.
“You know things went fine. You were there.”
“For you, anyway. But that’s okay, I can’t win cases all the time.”
Tell that to the D.A. office, smooth talker.
The orange hues of the sky are dancing along, reflecting against his skin.
It seems like he’s blessed.
Or maybe I’m just cursed.
“Want me to come by on Sunday? I’m free.”
“Er…Sorry. I have an engagement.”
“That’s alright, there’s always next week.”
Too cheery for his own good, that’s what he is.
His optimism worries me sometimes.
“I..don’t know.”
“Don’t you want me to be around?”
No. You make me feel strange.
You make me nauseous.
You make my heart explode.
You make me hate myself.
You make me weak.
You make it hard for me to breathe.
You make me dizzy.
You make me feel like I’ve never felt.
“I guess I do.”
“Mm, I see.”
He smiles again. Inhale. I SAID INHALE, YOU DAFT FOOL!
“Are you feeling alright?”
Cough.
“Yeah, I choked on some spit…went down the wrong way.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll be off. See you around.”
I wave. Part of me is rejoicing at his leave.
The other part is punching myself hard as I can.
The sun has nearly set, and he’s gone.
I’m trekking it in the dark again.
In more ways than one.
I wish I could identify what he does.
It’s binding.
It’s wonderful.
It’s sickening.
I hate it.
I love it.
I don’t feel well.

Life isn’t a fairytale, so stop reading.
There aren’t any handsome princes
Or even handsome beggars.
There is no happily ever after.
Take your head out of that book
And look around.
Everything isn’t painted in watercolor
And written in pretty letters.
No, blood drips from sweet mouths,
And lies hide behind pretty faces.
Your true friend is the one you hide from yourself.
Your true love is the one
Whose face is covered with your thumb.
If you stopped turning the pages,
Stopped searching for The End,
Then maybe you’d see.
Does someone need a glass of water and a paintbrush?
Do they need to wipe out all those colors
From your pastel life palate?
Your golden book doesn’t show you the vibrant acrylics
Or the harsh words striking the page,
And you don’t want to try and look for them.
Its cover hides the corruption and wild suffering
That’s seeping through the pages, staining the
Dainty vines twirling around the words.
It’s all invisible to you ‘til you take off your glasses.
Without the clouded lenses, your eyes would see;
Those vines are ones of death, and they strangle
The life out of the magic of your childhood.
Remember the way they painted the witch…?
She’s sweet, a real nice lady.
You don’t know this because to you and them,
She looks like a freak.
All gnarled and wrinkly, and much too honest.
She and I are the only ones who can hear the screams
Coming from inside those houses you forget to look at.
No one sees the black clouds of pain
Hanging over each person’s head.
I do. You should. The witch does.
I’m in a fucking coma, and I know more than you.
I know more than all of you, your heads in the
Pages of your pretty lives.
And the ones you call crazy? The sick ones?
The ones you used to burn and lock away…they’re with me.
We’re trying to show you what you should see…
Why do you think you’re all wet,
And the bristles of that brush
Are poking at your eyes?
We’re wiping your pages clean and starting over.
Don’t worry…once you’re blind
You’ll see.

I was watching my best friend’s face and glaring as she talked to her skeezy boyfriend, and her mentally retarted sister was glaring the same way i was…

One Planet (Written 4/23/08)

Picket armies
Marched left
And right

Screams rained through
The day
To cut the light

The brine strolled through
Our cities to catch
Our sight

But Zeus already stole
The truth
Before Cassandra
Spoke tonight……
———————————–
3RD Rock Valley(Written 1/4/08)

In the mare valley of wink,
I bore witness to the heavens close;
giant plates far from meek
assembled to one to trap the foe

For precious were us,
that his queen valley he gave
but our stabs of Corday
left her a dead Marat.

So with no linger of shame
that his queen we defame,
his heavens he closed with intent
the sham´er dwell in the mist she rot.

Then I un-winked
to see wrongs mounted on thy steed
to blasphemy in recoil for thy meed
by the tongues of thy deed,
soon to leave 3rd rock valley closed.
———————————–
Ides of March (Written 1/5/08)
What shall I compare to thee?
Thou art fairest
All hearts faint at decree
Of thy name and breast.
Thou beam the top of happy hours
With smile worthy of regalia
Scent of rosy flowers
That linger in the farthest of Ithaca.
In thy eyes and words, thou love
But thy stare & words beguile
For men’s happy does thy love remove
Aching misery from every angle.
Beware her ambitions lay of harsh
For thy love lead the Ides of March
—————————————
Bitter Blonde (Written 1/14/08)
The smile that bore the sun,
Bore the fruits of her anger,
While the rat that feast upon her corn
At peace she found and let linger.
The wishful greetings and praises
She buried as taunt,
In mist of amazing graces
For doom she fought,
Taking happy a foe
For constant were days of misery
Leaving bitter her soul
In strength, to fight days weary
But thy heart does bleed with cries
For happy, in bitter hours
—————————————
All men Cry! (Written 3/23/08)
If all men loved themselves
And vowed to forever love themselves
Then all cries shall halt

If all men cried at night
And wipe their tears
With their hands
Then all shall rejoice

Above all, if all men vowed to think,
Vowed to make use of thought
Then we shall never miss peace.
—————————————-
Love by the deed, not by the man. (Written 4/15/08)

For every heart
That I kiss,
I feel my soul a bliss,
And for every girl I kiss
I’m demonized in gossips;
Angry sonnets composed
Of my Casanova ways
Yet forgetting the promises I’ve fulfilled
Though laying by the side of a mistress,
Regardless,
I keep and kept all promises
For what will a Casanova
Be without his kiss?
———————————–
Blvd of Broken Dreams (Written 4/19/08)
I was born black
Thus from the start
Thrust into an avenue
Called the Blvd of broken dreams

A place where shots ring
Daily
From sounds of blackness
Eliminating our own brother daily
For pain is the son of the Blvd.

In the Blvd of broken dreams
We all have a dream
But the Kristallnacht
From this white man’s world
Is all that is at hand

So instead of learning A B C’s
We sing and shoot hoops
For we the dream broken
Can’t compete
As we’re told,

Yet in the Blvd of broken dreams
I dare not dream
For we already are the dream broken;
Instead I scream from the mountain tops
“I am the living dream
the Buddha of the pen
the King of the Poets
the tyrant of the A B C’s”
and they hate, for I was to be condemned
to the Blvd of broken dreams.
———————————
Days of yore (Ain’t no love) (Written 1/21/08)
Feast upon the days of yore,
The screams you howled
The strikes upon your face
The tears you bled,
The ego that stumbled from grace
Leaving your soul at mirror sour

Aching for mercy,
But thou love his gaze,
So the strikes
Thou dismiss
As orthodox affection
Refusing echo, in fear of apostasy

But sick of the marks you bore,
Thou chased the dove,
Only to fall for the mask
Drawn by the wicks of love
So my arms you leave, but all I ask;
Feast upon the days of yore

King of the Poets
6/17/2008 8:45:40 PM
Evil needs no hope (Written 4/30/08) (11:48 pm)

Through the days
Of despair,
Sing praises
For the light is near

In days
Of harmony,
Cheer all hours
For misery is a company

In the days
Of evil,
Never count Hope
A savior

For Hope is a helpless
Man’s prayer
In times of need,
Thus bear’s a core of uncertainty;
And evil and their men
Thrive in the face of uncertainties,

Rather act with all thy will
And evil shall never prevail….
——————————————————————————
Palace of Disgrace (Written 4/6/08)

Staring at the echoes
Of the world,
Looking to find a home
Within its palace
Of disgrace, hate
Blasphemies and inequities

Only to realize a home
Is too much to ask;
For it can’t afford shelter;
Instead I dream
And dwelling in my world of dreams
Hoping never to wake
To be offered a sit at the palace of disgrace
For its guests may succeed and thrive
But they shall never know peace,
Thus, I dream to loath the palace.
—————————————————————————–
Beauty in the Beast (Written 4/22/08)

Lost in the brine
Between whom I appear
And who I cease to be,

I stare close into the brine
To sip a view
To uncover the puzzled truth

Instead by the wicks
Of Narcissus
I fall

And a new villain
Is born
Without empathy for a man’s scorn

And they shall I blame
For by the fires of their tongues,
My eyes sought
To cure the beast.
—————————————————————–
Sunday Blues (Written 4/20/08)

Why do
God
Need
A Cathedral to talk to me?

Jesus was poor!

Why do
The Po’
Live on the streets?

The church got a roof!
———————————————————
Faith is Blind (Written 4/17/08)

Let’s take an odyssey
Into the solitaire mind
Of the mad man
Who screamed praises
When evil lurked,

To the one who walked in the rain
Absorbing every pain
Yet fell to his knees
To thank the lord for the miserable day.

Never wishing to realize
He always praised and prayed
With eyes closed
Never seeing he who brought
The fortunes

For we shall all see to truly believe;
An instinct molded into our human temperament.
But the man who never saw
Is he yet man, for not seeing he believed?

Now close your eyes
And let him watch,
If he saw the one who brought the fortunes
Shall he still believe?

Guess we’ll never know- or told
For he refuses to let go the eyes unclosed!
————————————————–
King of the Poets

The wrongs by my hands
Are zero
Yet persecuted with fire
From the hands of Nero.

Spoke words of the greats
Better than Ion;
Placed my creations atop
Of pillar of stylites,

And they in the start
Supported my shout,
Thus bulked up more courage
Than Charles a silent

Gently rose from infant to great.

Thence in mind,
Against all- words stand righteous
And out the corner of thine eye- see same,
But instead a Papal axe
I face-
For they- the “Otto the Greats” distaste my shout.
————————————————————————-
Truth about Wishes

What we know
We truly don’t deserve;
We wish to have,
And what we know
We truly deserve;
We fight to have
————————————————————
Muse of Nymphs

Reflections strike thought of Newfangled ill
Within the sight of all mirror,
Torching fire for thy tongue to spill
All blindness thy bosom do harbor,
For so oft in barren of wits
I’ve invoked thy fair face for my Muse
Never failing to win heaven’s graces;
Belting nymph melodies from the blankest of verse.
Yet, thy stares at mirror lie sore
But to my pen, a strike at gold
Thus never wishing back the days of yore
In fear of muse, if thy eye, beauty found
——For thy lust at mirror lay my treasure
——yet grief at blasphemies from such creature
————————————–
Red and Blue kids

Out the corner of each sight
Eyes met with disgrace;
The youths, leaders of tomorrow
Draped in Red and Blue
Twisting fingers
As if in jest;
Knowing quite well sorrow
Lay in their ambitions of tomorrow

Thus I watch with a fool’s glare
Way beyond their stare
Unable to comprehend
The immaturity their fingers bleed;

Shoot, kill, send the other to the grave
Yet can spell the name on his own grave

The feeling strikes me down.
My body seizes
My brain freezes
The light escapes
And lets darkness replace.
The water rushes around.
I panic and yell
I struggle as in a cell
My vision blurred,
A wingless bird.
I feel relief in a sound
A light sent down
An angel, found
The hand I hold
feels strong and bold.
I feel myself pulled onto ground
Relief,
I have found.