for Micah.

A craving for acceptance
In a closet full of corpses.

A lord they praise
As he takes their child away.
Does she care?

Is this fair? To judge?
For death rolls nearer
To a troubled girl who fears her
Presence is not clear here
She's a ghost among peers
Dead infants in tears.

Say cheese.

RIP

in other similar but unrelated news, my fishy died.

I am grieving the loss of large(small mouf? I forget. I honestly just referred to him as fishy wishy when I would poke/feed him) mowfffffff sass. he served my closet well.

you will be missed.

if a tree falls in a forest and know one's around to hear it, does it still make a sound?

fuck you, cockfungus. who cares? WHY would anyone in their right minds ever ask such a stupid fucking question, anyways? I'd give my life for the opportunity to punch the motherfucker that came up with that-right in their forehead.


I can honestly say I am ashamed, but will endure shame-because I'm alright with selling my soul and being a hypocrite. I wrote a big retarded explanation of it all, then realized how fucking stupid I was being.
"you talk a good one, but don't want it."
I am a part of the weak that feeds off the strong. I am a tool. and I want to be a human again :] yay!
WRONG.
does that really mean anything at all? to be human, is that any different from being a toothbrush? don't read into that too much-but if you do, you'd prolly say to yourself, "he's genius," which is an acceptable conclusion.

am I a user or a tool? does it matter what you call it? if you rely on tools to accomplish what you desire or need, does that not make you-in itself-a tool to meet the objects purpose? one might say an object has no purpose unless given one by a user, though a human can be either one. so there really isn't a difference is there? we have as much purpose, and as much REAL use as, well, everything. human beings are useless. everything on earth is useless. everything in existance is FUCKING USELESS. we have nothing inherent except what is and what we end up shoving up our own ass. if every human being was completely rational, their heads would spontaneously explode. a symphony no one would ever hear.
I think I wanna just say fuck you to everyone on earth, fuck their lovers and daughters, then go jump off a cliff thats not high enough to end me. I think that'd be kind of funny. as agonizing and as fucking pyschopainfulretarded as that sounds, it appeals to me-I've already knocked a couple of those wives and daughters off the list to begin with, and have told approximately .0000001% of the world's population, "eff yoo". its a good start.
but maybe that is too unrealistic of a 4th&goal. being drunk on a boat and getting smacked in the face with an owl-then falling into a river and drowning is more realistic. I almost like that one better. the more pathetic it seems to me, the better. its a great thing-immortal from its conception. being alive is pathetic. its fun, but pathetic nevertheless. completely pointless useless pathetic, but just as poetic.

I'm gonna go drink another gallon of coffee now.

the lights dimmed.
your eyes blacked out beneath the lense.
keep close, don't stray too far.
the screen flickers and the shadows dance.
I love you. don't go.
the sounds of death fill the cold stale air.
it rushes out and steals the trust.
the blood rushes down your face and for that moment
you are gone.
can't live like this.
no one understands what I've seen and what I know.
please. someone. anyone. make me forget death's empty stare.

la dispute.

I seen a man burn to death, once
He was holding up the match as his hair turned to ash.
How I valued his charisma.

When I was little, I remember seeing an old lady who would walk around with a red wagon.
She'd talk to herself all day, sitting on a bench or just strolling along the streets.
My grandmother would sit with her sometimes. I think she always cared for those with a stigma.
She had many. Still does.

Once I died while climbing down into my basement. Such a cold and dark place, heaven was.
I'm thankful my best friend dragged me out; it was too dusty for my liking.

My father was a distraught man. Always seemed in thought, but refused to say a word.
I know he loved me. with the few ways he could show.
I still have that cigar clipper.

Sometimes I dream awake.
I walk through my mind and life changes around me. I change around me.
It's weird how I'm the only person sleeping through this.

I used to run away from home just to watch my sisters and mother go look for me.
As I sat there in that bush, with my ninja turtle underwear, I knew;
I knew, even then, that they were better off without me.
And me without them.


Fin.

conflicting edits.

woke up at 450.
got dressed.
picked up my body armor and slung it across my shoulders.
it was warm and snug.
but heavy.

I grabbed my ACH and headed out the door.
the air was cold and bit at my cheeks. didn't mind it much though, it made me feel more alert. as I came to the stairs, they seemed to give under the extra weight on my shoulders. I carefully made my way to the base of the steps and started walking steadily towards the company-to get my M16.
I walked through the back and greeted my comrades with a colorful selection of curse words. a smile came across their tired faces as I plopped into a chair.

we drew our weapons. we grabbed our magazines.
loaded into the LMTV and headed to the range.
8 hours later, we were finished. it was fucking hot and humid as hell. the only thing I could hear out of my left ear was the ringing of 40 rounds-shoulda remembered to put in the ear plugs, dumbass. I was weary, sweaty, hungry, and dying for a drink-and still had a 20 minute drive on the back of that fucking truck.

on the way back is when we caught a glimpse. sirens.

sirens.
sirens.
maybe there was a fire.
who knows, who cares.

we arrived back at the company to find out there had been shootings near the theater.
12 dead.

holy shit.

I pondered the irony of my appearance combined with the coincidence of the current situation.
I stand there, with a semi-automatic weapon in my hands and 50 pounds of body armor on my person-many of us were-and I wasn't even capable of defending myself. I guess you're never safe.

the entire installation was locked down, air conditioning was turned off, and every door was secured from the inside. I really wanted food and a shower- the comfort of my bed and a soft voice to comfort me to sleep; instead I was sitting on the floor of the orderly room, eating girl scout cookies and wondering why people insist on using violence as a tool to solve their troubles.

why can't we be content, as a global community, with our surroundings and what happiness they can bring? why is it so hard to help each other instead of exploiting? I suppose somethings can't change under the circumstances of today. what a shame, what a shame.

fluid change on a lucid day.

I almost drowned at 8 years old,
my father died and I don't remember when,
I came in a girl at 16,
and I've seen a man turn his face-
into a void.
I felt the water fill my lungs and I fought for the surface.
I was stuck in a rut, alone;
thrashing, sinking.
dying.
he was dead. and I was angry.
the mosquitos swarmed our meshing bodies.
I felt the pricks, I felt the leaves, and-
I felt her heart throbbing from inside.
legs shaking, breathing heavy, pools ablaze.
the street lights put a fire in those eyes...
the m16 blast to his jaw left a gaping hole.
and as his eyes fluttered and rolled behind his skin,
I felt his pain. I felt the river of blood rush from his throat
and i felt my heart in mine.