The Man With No FaceAnother mental boxing match, I think as I put my pen down. Massaging my temples, I survey my "working environment". Grey walls. Sparse decor. No windows. A sudden sense of ennui begins to worm its way in, so I jump up to keep it from infecting me. Out. I'm going out and I'm going to take a nice stroll, and when I come back my mind will decide to produce a literary masterpiece. Right. I'll leave...now.The Man With No Face
I kick open the door, subjecting myself to the bitter air of December. Never seems to end. Everything stalls at this time: romance, creativity, even my daily robotic motions. I find myself pacing in a nearby park and glance across a
Ode to an Indie KidJohn (name changed to protect the possibly innocent) feels tired For the bands he once admired Have now sold out. So John wanders about In search of a new obsession. The Get Up Kids fulfill that profession. John decides to be even more different. To do so his old wardrobe must become nonexistent. He buys a shrunken sweater from a thrift store, And thinks to himself, “My style needs more!” Next on the list is a pair of black glasses Which will be sure to catch approving glances. But his indie-ness does not stop at clothes John begins to attend Get Up Kids shows. &nbsOde to an Indie Kid
His ElegyYour death came suddenly. I watched your image fade as you walked away And I gave you a funeral. Funerals give closure, right? Goodbye, rest in peace.His Elegy
Yet I still remember How you could not even summon the energy To look at me one last time. How could you not look back! I suppose I will resign myself to the dirty work Of digging up that which you cannot face.
And so, as I bask in my loss, I begin to sift through the debris, Making the snapshots into a slideshow Our trysts in coffeehouses Listening to bands we didn't particulary like D
Out of HabitI stand, poised on the brink of change My toes cling to the edge Of my swiftly unraveling faith. So many questions... Run the gamut from ethics, morals To death, afterlife. Who (or what) shall I choose? God, Jesus, you seem as fanciful as Santa Claus Do I believe to keep myself warm at night? To comfort myself in the dark when alone? Divisiveness reigns.Out of Habit
I can no longer focus correctly Exceptions have been made Then rules compromised, or flat-out broken. All for fleeting benefits.
What if? The great question Fill in your choice
The ForkThe moment she laid down her fork, I knew it was coming. She quickly dabbed the sides of her lips, knocking away the stray crumbs of a rich and creamy New York cheesecake. That was to say, if anything could be considered "quick" in the quasi-time they had spent together.Everything had seemed veiled and skewed. From the light comments about the filet minon they had as the main course, to the still silence after all discussion had ceased.She picked up her fork again. She glanced restlessly at it, then sat it down as if she didn't like what she saw. Her gaze shifted from the fork to my own eyes which had been cautiously observing her. HerThe Fork
Filmography
Insomnia-A dark nursery rhymeInsomnia:Insomnia-A dark nursery rhyme
twinkle twinkle little pain I see you’ve come to play again lodged here in my soul so tight turning brightness into night twinkle twinkle tearing ache please let me sleep to never wake….
…now I lay me down to sleep my life in tatters at my feet.. if I should Wake before I die I pray these tattered wings can fly..
twinkle twinkle empathic strain I never want to feel again trapped here in this world so cold where self is wrong and Us is gold. twinkle twinkle falling tear.. how i
woot short story
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