Tragic Waste

I'm stuck in this routine; there's something wrong with me
doctors disagree; that I am really crazy
Feelin' like a fiend, dying for relief
knock me out so I can go back to sleep

This torture, and this pain, I only have myself to blame

It's a tragedy, you could do so much
if you would only see these things are your crutch
Killing myself slowly so no one else can
hide my true feelings; learn to pretend
I learned it from you, I learned from the best

asking if you're okay; its just a game we play
all actors on a stage; reading words from a page
the scene doesn't matter, or what occurs in it
all that matters is who you share the stage with

This torture, and this pain, only myself to blame

It's a tragedy, you could do so much
if you would only see these things are your crutch
Killing myself slowly so no one else can
hide my true feelings; learn to pretend
I learned it from you, I learned from the best

Holes in the Sky

  “ Where is his room at?!,” Jack exclaimed, jetting from door to door, slinging each one open with such force it bounces off the wall supporting it. “ Where the hell is dad’s room, Mary?!,” Jack yelled again, at his sister. With a cigarette clinging onto his lips, ruffled hair, and a few days of growth, the average person may think that Jack was a junkie of some types, when really his life had been riddled with so many obstacles it had been affecting his appearance. Mary, a slender girl, with short hair just below her ears, sad eyes, and an overall distinguishable anguish beyond them, “ I don’t know damn it! The bomb dropped less than 3 miles from here, what makes you think Dad is even still alive?!,” she stammered on the last syllable…”live.” The thought that her father could actually be dead began to sink in and a single tear rolled down her face.
           

There were IV stands, morphine bags, bloody scalpels and surgery supplies strewn all across the floor. The chaotic melody of stampeding feet was the only audible sound heard throughout the entire hospital. This was the year of the beginning of the war, millions dead, and even more injured. Jack and Mary, though in their mid thirties, were only children of war. Desperately seeking from room to room for their father who had been sent there only days before. No doctors. No nurses. Everyone had seemed to evacuate and the dust and debris from the explosion had still not even settled. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn out photograph of happier times with his father and him, smiling as hard as they possibly could. The moment the camera caught was the moment Jack longed to have lasted for eternity. Now those people in the photo were different from his father and him, and yet they continued to stare into Jack’s eyes, trying to tell him the truth, that his father was dead.
           
            “ In here, In here!!! I found something!” Mary screamed. Jack came rushing into the room, with hospital beds sitting upright against windows, as to protect from the impact, medical tape, scissors, bloody gauze, pens, paper, empty pill bottles, and half empty bags of Demerol and morphine littered the floor. “Dad?!”, Jack questioned, “Dad, is that you?” A shadow of a man wept in the corner, with the clinking of glass to tile and the swishing of some sort of liquid in a bottle. “Jack, Mary? The hell are you two kids doing here?” he said. “Don’t you have any idea what happened?! Why are you even still alive! No one could have survived….survived something so awful.” Jack’s father began to go on about how he had survived the blast. About how he watched dozens of staff and patients burn alive outside, and how he had survived by locking himself in the morgue.

“ I couldn’t do anything. Everything melted outside, their faces, their bodies just became one with the floor.” His voice cracked. “ I couldn’t help them! I tried to open the door but it was sealed closed! I couldn’t help them!” he repeated that phrase over and over, took a swig from his bottle and suddenly – “ Oh no! “ Jack screamed. A loud, stinging siren sounded off, “ What is that? What do we do?! “ Jack cried. “ Run like hell, boy,” stammered his dad. “ Not without you! “ Jack yelled while throwing his father over his shoulder.

            Catching a glimpse out the window, Jack sees a mushroom shaped cloud rising toward the heavens. He takes one last look at Mary, then to his father, before every window is shattered and nothing but heat and debris smother them all. Jack is dead. His father is dead. Mary stumbles out of the wreckage, surprised to be alive, she has radiation poisoning and only has moments to live before her skin begins to melt off piece by piece, and it’s at this point that she wishes she would have died with her brother and father. Hair comes out in clumps, she begins walking to an unknown destination, before she finally collapses to her death.
           

am i losing it?

my mind is racing, thoughts are light speed. I can't keep up. Thoughts of terrible things, natural things, beautiful things, spilling out onto a plastic keyboard. am i losing my mind? am i delusional? is this all a dream? what constitutes "real" anyways?
random thoughts:
time travel cant be possible, because if it were wouldn't this time heard of it? or any record of it at that? because if time is not linear, then it is spherical? right? you get it? what im saying? like how from the beginning to the end, with a possiblility to travel to anytime, then we would have heard about it.

number two - quantum suicide. the many world-interpretation. how whatever could have happened, has happened, an infinite number of alternate realities. where you decided to tie your shoe, and were on time to court or a job, or where hitler fell in love with a jewish person, and the holocaust never occured.

ok im done

The way she looks at me

The time is night, all of the lights inside are on, producing a humming dissonance. " Can you hear that? ", a voice spoken softly says. " I think it may be a train, in the distance." The words sifted through the stagnant air like butter as they gently landed on his ears. She, as in Coley, with eyes so brown you could get lost, a voice so sweet you could get cavities, and a person so divine you could get chills. He, as in the man she was conning. You see, Coley isn't just pretty and nice, she's also the con artist. The best. This time she had targeted a Mr. Johns, for a four hundred-thirty three thousand, and ninety-five dollar. And seventeen cents. - trust fund from mommy and daddy.

The year is Nineteen hundred and seventy seven, and it was Christmas, which always meant great money for pretty Coley. " So what shall we have for dinner darling?" Coley spoke, in a sarcastic manner so subtle, Mr. Johns didn't detect. " Oh, I suppose a prime-rib will do." Mr. Johns said, with a dash of eagerness. Unbeknownst to Mr. Johns, pretty Coley took out a life insurance police on him the week prior, for exactly four hundred thirty-three thousand, ninety five dollars AND seventeen cents.



Coley prepared the steak, with all of the fixin's, including a lethal dose of plutoniom two-ten, an illegal radioactive isotope, that is 250,000 times more potent than the uranium in the A-bomb that leveled Hiroshima. It does not break down cells until five or six days after the victim is irradiated, breaking down skin cells at first, then muscle tissure, eventually decaying the bone, all whilst the victim screams in agony for an entire four weeks, ultimately being Mr. Johns' untimely death.

Pretty Coley shed the tears at the funeral, but was all smiles at the bank, and Mr. Johns died with a smile on his face...


I'm tired.