Motionless Fall

The rain echoes on the roof of the tall grey building, making the edge so slippery. As he paces back and forth he knows either way wouldn't matter at this point. But here fate had to show up. The rain. He decides he walks until he slips, whichever way he falls that is where he was meant to go. As he slowly circles the perimeter of the roof he thinks to himself, it's pointless to go on any further, is it not? Why would it matter, he had reached such a content position in his life that he could go or stay, neither would matter to him. But perhaps it was a sign that he got stuck on the roof, maybe fate was giving him a nudge, or maybe God was testing him. Either were valid options, and both fought for supremacy in his head. The arguments mostly led to him thinking of God as a created character, set in place to explain the afterlife and make way for discrimination. Whoa. That was close, the slip almost landed him on the roof, but he caught himself, he starts walking faster. What drove him to the roof anyways? Was it that mysterious girl that left so many unanswered questions, the one that seemingly disappears whenever he tried to get close? She took the stairs, but obviously not to this floor. Why was it raining anyways? This morning it was sunny, nice weather actually, that’s the only reason why he was wearing his grip less sandals. Seems like fate may be the cruel mistress today. So much for that, he closes his eyes and starts walking.

Black Creativity

Why do you think you can get away with that forced creativity? How long do you think it could last? Make the day a drunken day and take the shot to your head. While the blood runs through your hair you'll never forget my hands. Why is this called being alive? Why are we still standing here? Just pick up the phone and dial my number, click. All the flames pour out of you house, I watch you leave in a puff of smoke. Later, much later we'll all wonder why is it that you left. How is the sky falling today? Isn't today the end of days? Will there be a tomorrow? Not for you, not for me, but that is but a choice, click. When you see the shards the blood will flow. Down we go, down we'll flow. The dark tunnel has no end, yet we still see the light. Tonight is no different, just the same old thing. One more trick, one more taste. Every morning we still wake up, wishing we were gone. Left to our own devices we are gone.

March of the Emotion

Floating through walls, falling down the abyss. Which way is eternity? Is there anything next? Blood seeps through the cracks, red like velvet, orange like the setting sun. Where is this leading? How much will we give up? Let us remember the heroes, everyone can slay a dragon. Next time the shots will be fired, we will find the truth. Forever will come and go but we will still be here. The eternal standoff, never ending. In those days the moon will have no color, but the sky red blood will speak for itself. Please listen to your fate, avoiding it will leave you crying tears of crimson. In the end the bullet hole will speak for itself, you just have to listen. We don't want you here.

Shotgun Girl

Verse 1:
Long blond hair blows in the wind
The question still lies within spoiled truth
My love is close at hand, so close at hand
This is my passion, my life, my shotgun girl

Verse 2:
Drops of blood follow in my path
Never finding an end to this rotten road
Always searching, always screaming, never leaving
This is my insanity, my hate, my shotgun girl

Verse 3:
Smoke fills the room with a sudden stench
Where is this place that I have left?
The one who knows sees with the third eye
This is my end, my end, my end

Chorus:
Shotgun girl please leave it be?
Where’ve you gone my shotgun girl?
Shotgun girl you've hurt my head
Please don't leave me my shotgun girl

Cursed

I've walked this same path 382 times in the past six months. How do I know it's been that many times? I actually don't know, it just occurred to me. It would seem like I'd stick out like a sour thumb, with my long curly hair, and lack of coat, it's late December now and well below 40 degrees. Maybe my presence has finally been accepted and the people know when I'll be there. Maybe they notice when I'm not walking the usual path. But really why do I care anymore? They really never interacted with me, no more then a smile and a nod, but now nothing. Have all there feelings gone cold with the seasons? Perhaps, I never returned much more then a nod, really what can I expect? It's beginning to rain. I should head back home, but why? I know very well that in a matter of hours I'll find myself right back here, walking the same route for the 383rd time. It's almost funny to think about it, I hate this route so much yet I am trapped inside it. I don't even remember home anymore... It's almost as if I never go home. The only thoughts I can recall I have thought right here, on this worn path. Do I ever even go home? I can't seem to even be able to place a finger on the place I once lived, do I still live there? It seems like I've had this monologue before, but when? Everything blends itself so horribly together; I no longer even have much sense of time, or even day... Is it Wednesday? No, that was three days ago, but I know it's not Saturday. It doesn't matter anymore; I stopped having plans a while ago when I got stuck in the cursed loop. Neither days nor time has any meaning to me anymore. I'm free for a time, but what cost is that freedom?

The 1988 Ford Ranger screeched to a halt, but it was too late. There on the ground lay a young man, in nothing but a t-shirt and pants. His eyes did not look dead but you could tell he had already departed.

My Ears Hurt

The other day I was at work and I heard an extremely loud silent noise. Now this noise wasn't a sound but more like a moving lack of sound. It traveled through the my vicinity for a short while and it really hurt my head, not in the painful way but more in the "Wait, what's going on?" sort of way. Now it wasn't even like I was in a little vacuum that removed all sound from the room, in fact I could still hear the kitchen noises in the next room. Some may think that I'm just going crazy and my head was playing a trick on me but I think I actually heard this. (Or didn't hear it.)

That loud noise that you can't hear, it's fate.

I Said Thunked

Sometimes I'll be walking around at night and I'll see something. Now what I see is nothing strange or unusual it's just sorta nifty things that remind me of other things. Now usually what it reminds me of is creating something. I never know what it just kinda sparks this creative drive that lies deep within meself. Usually I'll just think toward this general creativity and try to figure it out. I never do. More often then not I'll come home and start typing, in here most often. But after about five or seven minutes I lose my creative movement and delete everything leaving meaningless little posts sticking around for all to ponder. I really wish I had a better creative outlet, a thing that I could work on every time I felt like I do at night. Maybe I could fix up a workspace in my garage... that could be nifty.

I think way too much sometimes... I think and then I think of other people’s thoughts, and I make some up for them... The sad part, after I'm done thinking for them I don't think they like me very much. Now if you followed that it would be a great example of thinking too much, and I think more then that sometimes too! I try to figure out what everyone thinks of certain situations and where there motivation was to act. In the end of my processes I come up with some very elaborate scenarios where people think slightly more then I would have in the same situation making them all have secret agendas that no one else knows about until I find it out by thinking about it.

Okay now if you follow what I just said I think you can have ten points unless you thought I thunked it first.

Dooba Shenshen Ton

Dundee dooba chinshi ton.
Chinshi tooba dundat.
Jakka chin dis datbur.
Kilin dooda shenti.
Shenshen dooba ton.
Jakka jakka.
Yuhun, tooba ton.

Plain White Button Shirt

Today a girl asked for my shirt, so I gave it to her. I really didn't need it. And it gave me a chance to steal one of the shirts from work, which are kinda nifty. Well I'm tired right now; I hope you have a good night.

When someone asks for something, ask yourself who would appreciate it more.

Concrete Cube

"Take the knife and slit your throat." The voice over the intercom was cold and direct, just the tone almost compelled the man to do so. As the man picks up the knife he can feel the cold tempered steel against his fingers. He holds the knife up and can see his dark brown hair framing his pale sweaty face. "You have no reason to live. What is keeping you here?" The voice's tone does not change; every word moves the knife closer to his throat. "What about my future? Is there nothing there?" The mans words are quiet, choked out of his throat. He looks to the dull intercom speaker on the bare concrete wall for a response. Silence. The man starts sobbing, "What has happened to me? Why am I here? What has buried me this deep?" The mans hands are trembling so much that he drops the knife. The clang against the concrete floor is almost totally drowned out by the mans sobbing. He stumbles toward the wall and slumps down in a position only a lifeless limp body should be able to fall into. The sobbing slowly stops. "Take the knife and slit your throat." The voice cuts the silence like a rifle shot, startling the slumped form into a more rigid position. Slowly the man stands up and walks over to the stainless steal blade lying on the ground. "Is this what you want? Will this solve it all!" He picks up the knife and plunges it into his throat just below his Adams apple. Gurgling sounds fill the room as the man slowly drowns in his own blood. The man slowly drags himself over to the plain gray wall and starts pounding on it in desperation. He finally slumps down onto the floor never to be tormented.

That last one isn't so peachy.

Refrigeration isn't a miracle, it's Freon!
Why fear death when you can enjoy life?
If you don't have a squeeze bottle you're pretty much screwed.
My mind brains have melted to a crisp.
Don't eat the shiny leaves, they make your mouth sting.
My will to live has imploded along with my right mind.

Caution to Some Readers

How many people can tell you exactly how they would kill themselves if they were ever pushed to suicide? I bet it's either more then you think or far less then you think. I know exactly how I'd go about it, I would find a rather solid surface and bash my head against it until my skull collapsed and crushed my brain. You needn't worry about me going about this because I know very well that I never will.

Some of you may ask as to why the bashing. Well frankly slitting your wrists would probably be equally messy but it would take too much time, you can bleed for a very long time before you pass out. And I wouldn't like to take pills or overdose on anything because; first I'm very anti-drug as far as my own body goes. And second because it seems like it would be too painless, slipping into sleep doesn't seem like all that real of a way to go. How many people have died that way thinking they'll wake back up? Jumping would prolly be my second choice if the building were tall enough. Just tall enough to be able to come to grips with what you've done and then splat! Instant death. (You hope.) Anywho bashing my head in would be the choice because you have to physically continue to do it, you really have to want to die to keep hitting your head against the wall after you watch your blood splatter all over. With every hit you have to have a reason, otherwise what's going to keep you going?