Blank

Joyful countenance shown as such a stone's

And crafted to be masked

Not so bland and lifeless

More so stoic and hidden

Even in blasphemy

One can repent to oneself, if not to another,

An outside if you will,

But nothing is ever forgotten

Class is such an ugly word

So selective, and cold,

Nevertheless, left at the bottom, I rot

Decay and age drives them all away

"Time heals all wounds",

Lies,

It has been decades

And I'm still bleeding

untitled

Tossed out
Left begging on bended knee
Behind you your eyes are blind
Forget what you've known
Leave lives less worth the lien

Gone and done
Opposite ends of the spectrum
We continue life in a new manner
Not necessarily enjoyed
But nothing worse
It's you who fears us

"the vulture smiles"

In the desert bleak and bland
Creatures live without water
And an occasional oasis seems a treasure
To those who dwell in the sand

A trip I took once down an unmarked road
Ended and began in solitude
But the simplicity of barren land
Is intriguing enough to avoid conversation

The things to observe and notice come in abundance
Just like the trees of an orchard
Yet life alone so scarce and infrequent
But one occurrence remains almost untainted in my mind

Two winged creatures
One so bold and the other so homely
One so beautiful and the other so timid
One lifeless and the other a scavenger

So strange and out of place was the eagle
How could one not stop and watch
No matter how gruesome my eyes were attached
Feather, muscle, blood, strewn about

Vultures scavenge
But vultures eat those motionless
And still, my eyes remained attached
And even more puzzling

The vulture over the eagle
Almost as evil triumphs over good
Tearing and shredding
Hesitation a thing of imagination

As the stomach reaches full
This vulture turns to me
Its whole body turned in my direction
And stares

Almost ten minutes pass
As this creature gazes
I step forward and it remains
I scream and it remains

Nothing fazes victorious animals
Nothing so simple at least
Create a threatening situation
It fails

Its patience is all too relentless
And my heart is beating all too fast
Drops of sweat fall from the tips of my bangs
And fall to the dry, dead land

I’m ready to turn away now
But the vulture is not
So I stay, continually motionless
It stays, continually confident

Heat and dehydration
My eyes were playing tricks on me
The vulture, he smiles
He spreads his wings, and he flies away

The eagle is dead
The vulture has won
I am alone
And this desert is done

"black to crimson"

  Jason Hughes. His name was Jason Hughes. Jet black hair, dark hazel eyes,
with the muscle build of a 5 year old girl and yet he was almost a full foot taller than
me, lanky bastard. Jason and I were best friends; we were never really friends with
anyone else, and we never really hung out with anyone new, we just kept to ourselves.
Our preferred activity, however, was finding our own form of bliss. A nirvana topped
by nothing else. Heroin. Jason and I were best friends, and then I ended his life with
a single finger movement. I shot my best friend in the back of the head, turning his jet
black hair to a deep crimson. I shot my best friend.
  I was always the one who physically retrieved our “bottled bliss.” Jason would
always just pay me back for his share. The process was a certain routine in our lives.
Everyday I’d meet my man, Train. We called him Train because in a head on collision
with a train, this guy would total the mode of transportation; he was a beast. Despite his brawny build, Train was always good to me. He never charged me too much for the
product and he never gave me less than he said he would. I always met Train at the
bottom of the stairwell at the north end of my school where the janitors’ lockers were, no
one ever went down there, not even the janitors. Train would always try to spark
conversation with me, ask me how my day was and sometimes he’d give me a discount,
depending on his mood, but that didn’t happen often. After Train and I made our switch,
I would go back and find Jason, who was almost without a doubt trying to sweet talk
some girl, it never worked, he was never a man of words. Anyhow there was this tiny
discrete spot in the woods behind my house. For some reason this tiny area was cleared
of any sort of vegetation, nothing but soil and two big tree stumps that Jason and I had
rummaged from my garage. This is where Jason and I would reach nirvana. Behind my
house, in the woods, sitting on stumps on a big patch of dirt was where Jason Hughes and
I would be the happiest we would ever be. I shot my best friend.
  After a while, Jason said he was getting bored of shooting up, but really he was
losing veins to shoot up into and he was too stubborn to admit that he had to stop. Jason
thought that all he needed was a new dealer. He thought the heroin that we’ve been
using was just not doing it for him anymore because he’s built up a certain “immunity”
towards it, but I knew he just needed stronger doses, but there was no convincing him, he
was always the stubborn one. So, Jason set out looking for a new “man” to supply us
with our good time. I knew he would never find anyone as trustworthy or as
understanding as Train, but I kept that bit of information to myself. And then one
day during seventh period, Jason came in 10 minutes late as usual, but had a sort of
frazzled look on his face, and he seemed sort of shaken up and frantic when he sat down.
I gave a concerned look as he was fidgeting around in his chair, almost as though he
couldn’t find a comfortable position to sit in, fidgeting so much almost falling off his
chair, multiple times. So I finally asked him what his deal was, I asked him why he was
so flustered. Jason pointed to his pocket, and I could tell that something was in it, I had a
hunch as to what it was, but Jason couldn’t have found a dealer that fast, and he doesn’t
know Train, so it couldn’t be what I think it is. And then he whispered in my
ear, “Happiness”. I shot my best friend.
  School was over and Jason told me to meet him in the woods behind my house in
two hours. I had no idea why he was making such a big deal out of this batch of heroin,
maybe he was just proud that he got it himself, I mean heroin is all the same, isn’t it? So
around five o’clock I left my house and trundled on back into the woods only to find
Jason already sitting on one of the two rotting tree stumps. I could tell that he had been
there for a while, and I could tell that he was as anxious as ever to do what we do best,
but I was still confused as to why. Even while he was filling the dusty syringe with the
amber liquid ever so slowly, he was shaking, his hand was obviously trembling. I
couldn’t stand not knowing what his frantic manner was all about, it was really starting to
piss me off. But I just kept letting it go thinking Jason would tell me sooner or later,
hoping Jason would tell me sooner or later. Finally he finished filling the syringe and
without hesitation the needle pierced his tough pale skin, and while his hands were still
shaking Jason pressed down on the top of the syringe with his thumb. Almost
simultaneously a sigh of fell out of his mouth like he had been holding his breath for five
minutes. He handed me the half full needle as he slid off the stump on to the dirt. But
before I shoved the stick of bliss into my fleshy bicep I asked Jason where he got the
heroin from, and as calm as could be, Jason replied with, “I stole it…I stole it from…I
stole it from Train’s car.” I shot my best friend.
  Now I was starting to freak out, Train had always trusted me; he knew I would
never steal from him, didn’t he? Maybe Train hadn’t noticed Jason going through his
car; I mean Train had more customers than just me, didn’t he? This is just one mistake,
and it wasn’t even me who did it, he won’t be mad, I’ll just pay him as soon as I see him
next, it will all be fixed, won’t it? Now I was the one shaking, Jason was passed out on
the floor probably having the time of his life with no worries while I was fully conscious
freaking out about what might happen to both me and Jason when Train finds out he’s
missing an entire vile of “juice”. Everything would be alright, it has to be, Train won’t
be mad, he can’t be, I’ll just pay him back as soon as possible, yeah, and everything will
  The next day in school I was desperately searching for Train, but for the first time
in a long time, he was nowhere to be found. He always hung around the school, either
outside or in the stairwell where I normally meet him. I could feel my skin start to turn
pale, yes; I could feel my skin start to turn pale. I heard the bell sound so I knew I had to
get to class soon and continue my search for Train later. All during English class I was
trying to brainstorm, I was trying to think of all the places Train could be. None of the
ideas I came up with made any sense, but nonetheless I had to keep thinking, I needed to
find him before he found me. Class was over and I still had no idea where to look to find
the beast of a man, I had nothing. Anyway, I went to meet up with Jason where we
normally caught up to each other after school, but he never showed up, so I went straight
to my locker. As I was approaching the baby blue rusty locker I notice a piece of lined
paper folded and taped to the front of my locker, and on the front of the paper was my
name. I opened the note and my heart stopped, I lost all feeling in my legs and I couldn’t
breathe. The piece of paper held in its light blue lines only one word, one word that cut
through me like a boat in the water, all that was written on the piece paper in tall skinny capital letters was the word, “RUN”.
  Taking the piece of paper’s advice, I ran all the way home, not stopping once, not
even to cross the street. I don’t think I have ever run so hard nor for such a long time in
my entire life, but the incentive was more powerful than anything that has ever motivated
me before. I ran all the way home to find the house and the driveway empty, as usual.
My parents were never home during the day, I had never wondered where they were, and
they never asked me what I was doing. I ran in through my front door dropping my bag
in the middle of the hallway as I bolted up the stairs into my parents’ bedroom. Beads of
sweat were now dripping off of my face on to the turquoise carpet as I sprinted
everywhere I went. I ripped open my dad’s closet door and was tearing through the top
shelf looking for the old black shoe box. I had found it, all the way in the back, up
against the wall. I pulled it out, still breathing heavier than a racing dog after a day at the
track. As I placed the black shoe box on the bed I took off the lid. Lying in the bottom
of the box was my father’s .45 with a box of bullets right next to it. I opened the revolver
to find all 8 chambers of the “people destroyer” filled. To be honest, my father never
really did care for my mother all that much. Without thinking twice I grabbed the gun
and leaped down my stairs and into my front hall, my backpack was gone. I went from a
sprint to the quietest tip toe. I walked through my dining room into my kitchen door
where I stopped dead in my tracks; Train was looking through my refrigerator.
  I made a bolt for my back door knowing the big oaf would notice me, but I had to
get out into the forest. I ran out the door, down my patio steps and into the thick, dense
forest. I did not stop sprinting until I reached the clearing where, up until now,
everything that went down there was happy and content. I took the first break in
movement since I saw the piece of paper dangling from my rusty locker, I needed to sit.
But as soon as I sat down I heard a crunch, and then a crackle, and then a snap. He
followed me, Train followed me into the forest, he’s coming to get me, that’s it I’m done
for. I stood up, sweat still streaming down my face like I just got out of a pool, and my
heart was racing faster than a race car engine. I pointed my weapon in the direction of
the noises. I could see him now, I could make out his figure in the thicket and he was
running now, he was sprinting towards me; I could almost make out his face. But then he
stopped suddenly, and it looked like he turned around, maybe he noticed my gun and got
scared, this was my chance! The figure started running in the other direction now; I
couldn’t let him get away, not now. I cocked the gun back; I aimed the barrel at the
figure and with a quick snap of my index finger, I heard a loud bang. The figure’s head
shot forward, as did his arms and his legs shot out from under him and he hit the ground
with a loud “thud!” and then it was over.
  I stood there for a minute thinking about what I had just done. I’d just killed a
man; yes he was a drug dealer, but a human being nonetheless. I had to; I thought to
myself, it was all in self defense. I started walking toward the lifeless body. As I got
closer I noticed that the body was not as big and as brawny as Train normally was. I shot
Train, he was the one running after me, I shot the man who wanted me dead. With each
heavy step my heart was beating faster and faster. With each step I took I began to doubt
that the body on the ground in front of me was Train. Nevertheless I kept on walking,
and as I got closer I got more worried. I was really able to make out the figure now. The
body was certainly not built like a train, more like a 5 year old girl. I finally reached the
body, but it was laying face down, arms forming an “S” and the legs were bent inwards.
Some part of me told me to turn the body over and see who it was, and the other part of
me told me to leave it. I had to see who it was, what it was, what I killed. I dropped the
gun in the wet leaves and fell to my knees. There was a large gaping hole in the back of
the head, obviously where I had forcefully placed a shiny piece of metal by ways of gun
powder. I slipped my arms under the limp, yet still warm, body and slowly began to turn
it over. It’s harder to move a limp body than you think, it just doesn’t cooperate, I kept
dropping the body back down. It was almost as though something didn’t want me to see
who it was, but I had to know. I tried one last time, with all my might, to flip over the
dead body. And as soon as the body’s back hit the ground, my insides wrenched and
twisted like nothing else. Tears poured out of my eyes like white water rapids and my
knees buckled under my weight. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
  I went back over to where I had first dropped the gun. The weapon was still
smoking from when the first bullet left the chamber, it was still warm. I cocked the gun
back one more time, and I placed the warm barrel against the top of my mouth. And with
one more flick of my index finger another life had been taken, and this time it was the
Jason Hughes. His name was Jason Hughes. Jet black hair, dark hazel eyes, with
the muscle build of a 5 year old girl and yet he was almost a full foot taller than me,
lanky bastard. Jason and I were best friends; we were never really friends with anyone
else, and we never really hung out with anyone new, we just kept to ourselves. Our
preferred activity, however, was finding our own form of bliss. A nirvana topped by
nothing else. Heroin. Jason and I were best friends, and then I ended his life with a
single finger movement. I shot my best friend in the back of the head, turning his jet
black hair to a deep crimson. I shot my best friend.

"the masterpiece"

Free stands the portrait in grey of
This life we live, this crash course in sobriety.
Ridden with failed practices and
Merciless attempts at acceptable results.

Suspended hangs the masterpiece of color,
Beautiful and bright, gleaming.
Supported by those so grey and
Failed.

This masterpiece, hanging alone,
Idolized by the bland artist majority,
Lives but not for luxury,
But for the happiness of the bland.

And I, one amongst the colorless,
One amongst the majority,
One amongst the bland,
Am fascinated by that masterpiece

Those bland seem to fade into
That more bland than lack of color
As this prodigal future brightens
Under the lights of prosperity.