Because Everything Can’t Be So Serious… Or Can It?…

Might be leaving here with very little battery life
But I don’t care
All in my head if you ask me
Not truly dead until five percent
And even then
Bringing all the hurt one could ever need
A sinkhole made of shit, more like quicksand
But who’s asking me
No one ever did so maybe that’s why I’m so bitter
Never got invited to the dance
And I never asked
Locked away inside my head
The despair is getting to me
Self-preservation unconsciously
But there’s nothing wrong with that
After awhile
After some time
All batteries drain away and the signals all gone

 

Mother’s Love Chocolate Covered Shit” was a title I came up with, but never used… It was going to be this long monologue… long stream of conscious thought… about all the chocolate covered shit at work for Mother’s Day… Yet no woman in my life has ever asked me or shown interest in such things… is this a case of society pushing crap on women or a deep secret desire to cover the world in chocolate?… but why only on Mother’s Day ladies?… Why not every day?… change starts with you… if you want something you have to take it… and pour chocolate on it… 

 

Proudly serving those that serve
Hidden slavery no one understands
Taken a fool by the Masters
Best intentions at heart
Proudly owned by those who own me
Wish I could separate myself from who I’ve become
Jaded and lost, time has a funny way of screwing us all
Where have the days gone if they haven’t gone anywhere
Standing in a stand still
Death will be here soon and then what do we do
Rehearsing  my place in all of this
One long line waiting to get in
Praying all of this will seem worth it

 

“I don’t see the bosses yellow Mustang or the midlife crises cruiser as I’ve been known to call it, so he is not here. Which is either a good thing or a very bad for me.” Not everything has to make sense at the time or years later… for some reason I never finished this thought… and even now I don’t know where I was going with this… This next part is in the same boat… a prewrite where… well you can read it and tell me… 

 

This prewrite didn’t reveal shit
Fuck technique when it doesn’t matter
Too much anger to flow
Too much anger to make any sense
Fuck you, like I care
I don’t, oh well, what are we going to do about it?
Suffering maybe the best way
But where does that leave the rest of us
Put your balls on the table
Watch them get chopped off and added to the pile
Wonder what the fuck is happening
Does it matter anymore
Fuck you said in only so many ways
Bit the curb and succumb to the toothless grin
Turns out teeth were more important than once thought
Rotting out from the inside
Your breath smells like shit and I can’t take it anymore
Shattered perception of what it takes to be a man
Called out to define the definition of a vagina
The words are so convoluted it’s like they don’t makes sense at all
Given up on the solution and the conflicted
Hollowed out and welcomed home

 

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This was all in fun… leftover pieces that didn’t fit anywhere else… some of it was stupid… who writes a poem about battery life?… haha… made sense at the time… lack of sleep will make anything makes sense though… the last entry… I have no idea where I was going other than to say random things… was my favorite… a lot of really cool… weird… dark lines… hopefully you enjoyed this trip inside my mind… this adventure into the past… 

Let’s Fake An Answer For the Curious..

These Days

The days bleed together
How it is or how it always was?
Questions, answers, sin, justification
The days bleed together
These days stick together
How it is or how I’ve always wanted it to be?
Liar, truth, asshole, cunt
The days seem meaningless
When you are around
Bleeding, blending, living, dying
The days are all there seems to be
The days with only you and me
Then there are the days in between
Haunting nightmares, self destruction
I’m not so depressed when you are around
I’m not myself when we are apart
The words seem to mean more than how I feel
How it is or how it always was?
Questions, answers, sin, justification
These days bleed together
The longer this day goes
The less I seem to have left in me

Success and failure… the mark that we live our lives by… shit on a stick it doesn’t matter… this life… this world isn’t measured in accomplishment… what we do doesn’t matter to the masses… it might only mean something to one person… one among nearly eight billion and counting… could make the difference… we have to be here for one and another… because what the fuck else are we going to do?… 

Sounds fucking crazy… in this together?… who the fuck is there when I’m sad?… no one… think again… I am… others are… sometimes you have to look further than three feet around us… sometimes we aren’t in arms lengths… but we are here… What I mean is… don’t give up… embrace your gifts… embrace your failures… living life is all we got… so you are a fish that can’t climb a tree… oh well… look for the ocean and set yourself free… won’t be easy… but what part of this life ever was?…

Believe me when I say you will fail… believe me when I say there will be set backs… what that means is up to you… it was never up to me or anyone for that matter… embrace the fail… embrace the pain… grow to be better than anyone could ever believe…. will it hurt… yes… will it suck… you best believe… in the darkest hole… the darkest time… the darkest moment… we grow our fucking wings…. So keep swinging…. keep trying… and if I’m wrong… if it doesn’t work out… know that at least you tried… trying is what it is all about… trying is all that we need… prove those unable to even try that they are wrong…. flap those wings and lets ride… 

“Who needs a reason when there is a why.”
Clayton Blackwood, Teeth Like God’s

It’s A Funny Story… Even If It Isn’t…

Trying something new… Imagine that… I haven’t written anything new outside of poetry and the new story I am working on… Sadly that isn’t for the website… Redoing my next book… well kind of… I had this whole theme I was running through the whole book… I didn’t like it… not the story, but the theme… or the idea… shit happens… so I am overhauling a few things… and none of this matters… 

Recently I have decided that I’m really into board game boards… it is for an art project that I have locked in my head… so I went to my local Goodwill… and picked up any that I found interesting… one of them happened to be the Match Game… or so I thought… what I actually got was some came from the 70’s called The Ungame… yeah I had never heard of it either… more about the history of the game here… well the point of the game is to start a conversation or get you talking… the concept is just lame enough that I am in love with it… we are going to play a little game… 

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The Question

What activity do you engage in that involves all of you: your mind, your body, and your soul?

The most obvious answer for me is writing… I put everything into this… my books… and my projects… so I’m not going to waste your time telling you something you could have guessed…So I am going to have to go with the thing that takes more of me than writing… My daughter… 

Mind… my daughter tests me every day with her three million questions about the same thing… or when she says… “I show you… I show you”… when she wants me to hear her sing… as I am trying to put out a grill fire… life be damned… stop and look at me… or when I have to hear Twinkle Twinkle Litte Star one more damn time… when all I want to do is listen to my favorite song… 

Body… whether she is digging her tiny little feet into me like I don’t exist… or swinging her arms at me like a crazed mad woman when she doesn’t want to leave the park… making me look like a kidnapper or awful person… or screaming into my ear to the point that it rings… because why not… “You’re so funny”… No, I’m so deaf now… 

Soul… because I would give her mine without a second thought… even if it was to add only one more second to hers.. she is one wild crazy ass child… but every moment with her is worth whatever it cost… I don’t think the meaning of life is to create life… but I do believe that she has become my purpose in this world…

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Broken Reality…

This is something I would only say to my best friend, but since that is you and since you aren’t you anymore. I have to feel. I have to live as though I am alone. I see you every day. Walking by me as if this is all normal. Walking by me like everything is okay. The hardest part wasn’t what happened. Yes, that was a lot of shit to just take in. The hardest part. The thing I can’t say to you or talk about with you. Has everything to do with you and nothing to do with you. It’s why I can only say it to my best friend, someone I trust, and not whatever this is. The hardest part of all of this. Is going from thinking I’m spending the rest of my life with this one person to I hope I never have to see them again. Seeing you every day is a constant reminder of these feelings that won’t go away. Pretending to smile feels like a thousand knives. Lying when you ask what’s wrong feels like another part of me is dying.

None of this matters. All words that can’t be said. That don’t need to be said. All words locked inside my head. Replaying them over and over again.

The ashes they burn
The hell I have created heats up
Something needs to happen
None of the answers are acceptable
The tears as real as the pain
Forever escaping me, not an option
Your opinion on the events
Broken train of thought
Broken life I have to live
Shattered into nothing
Left chewing on what’s left
What is left when all hope is gone?
A long time coming, slow-moving
Slow to act, now left with the damned
The truth will set you free
The truth will leave you in a shallow grave
Life is a waste, built on past mistakes
Far worse than death, a sentence pierced into my head
If only I could think of anything else
Anything beyond the nothingness
So lost that it hurts
When you think this could be the best
When you think this could be the worst
Hold tight, the undertow is only a thing
Until it takes a hold
Drags you deeper and deeper
Open your eyes
Then you can see, clearly, this is all there ever was for you
Pain

This is going to be a long month… a long lifetime…purging myself of all this shit… figuring out who I am again… rebuilding a broken corpse of a man once again…  been keeping busy… okay… I have been busy staring at a wall… feeling sorry for myself… hopefully, that will all be done soon… in the meantime… prepare for a lot of heartbreak… 

Until next time… take care… and remember nothing is forever… so enjoy it… whatever it is… while it lasts… 

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Stuck In Time… A Distant Past…

“You said you’d love me forever.”
“No, what I said was I once gave a damn.”
“You lie as though you believe it to be true.”
“Truth has a funny way of appearing to be a lie.”
“Then we shall see in the end who is telling the truth or telling a lie.”
Blood spurts from her neck, a fountain of life erupting for the first and only time. “In the end, we shall see,” she says with a grin.

“Blood in, blood out we are nothing more than the thoughts and ideas we choose to believe. Some days I think yeah I am more than this. I am more than a few ideas I stole from those around me, but I would be wrong. Human nature is nothing more than a copy. A copy of the animals, the nature around us evolved to their current point. We all evolve our traits, our ideas, and our very existence. A thousand years ago we were different, but yet we can look into the eyes of our past selves and see the similarities.” She stands there staring at me from the other side of the hot shelve. A metal slab bathed in red light and her face staring back at me from the other side.

“What the hell are you going on about now?” She asks her blonde hair perfectly held in place. “Is this another one of your epic speeches you build up in your head?” Her head is replaced with her pushed up breasts. Already large enough pushed up to look even larger. A secondary benefit to this job. “You know what it doesn’t matter its dinner rush and my table needs those fries.” I stare at the exposed flesh of her chest, “No one ever wants to hear what I say,” I say into her chest. Her face returns, “What?” I turn to the timer behind me. I glimpse the chaos that surrounds me on all sides. Transcending, drenched in thought I watch the timer count down one second at a time, “At least another minute.” The timer slowly ticks away as each thought crosses my mind. The world is full of useless people like us with useless jobs and careers. Most of us could easily be replaced by machines, but then what would we all do? Sit around and think about nothing? If we are to believe we are all the same. Then we have to realize that each of us is always thinking about something. Something so profound it could change the world as we know it. Tech so powerful that. “The fries man, the fucking fries,” another cook shouts. The timer beeps flashing zero over and over in a distinct annoying pattern. “Today asshole,” her voice cuts through all the noise.

My hand pulls the fries from the oil and I turn the timer off. Reaching for the bowl all of this becomes apparent. All of this becomes useless not only in my mind as I pour the fries into the bowl, but in my heart. What am I doing here? I shake the sea salt over the bowl tossing the fries as I do. Why is it that I do these things? I grab the small square plate and place a handful of fires onto it. Am I destined for something more? I pass off the fires to her, “About fucking time. Get your head in the game asshole.” She disappears as I place the rest of the fries under the red glow. Like vultures to a carcass more breast appear into view and hands pick at the bowl until there is nothing left.

There was once a girl that stood on the other side of that counter. Another face in the crowd of many. I remember her shape, but not her face. She asked me for ketchup. Over and over. Too busy I shouted without looking into her eyes. A mouse of a person. She wasn’t meant to work in a place full of predators. A place built on selfish, demanding assholes. She was too sweet to understand she didn’t belong. These thoughts fired off in my brain. My actions replaying, my words floating in the air. All she wanted was ketchup. Nothing more. It wasn’t for her. It wasn’t a large request and yet I couldn’t possibly stop for a second. The world is on fire in my mind. She’s nothing more than another flame. The thought haunts me at times. My actions as I see her shape walk away. I knew I was wrong. I knew better and yet I did nothing until it was over. I placed the tiny cup of ketchup in the window. Waiting for her return. Three days later she was dead. Three days later she wasn’t there anymore. Three days later everyone got ketchup as I tried to hold back the pain, the tears, and the regret of something so small.

My actions didn’t condemn her. A moment in our short time together. I never even learned her name. I’m sure she knew mine. Prince of the demanding assholes. Loudest of them all. I know she knew me, but I didn’t bother to know her. They say there is a God, but every turn I take I have yet to see such evidence. Searching for a reason that justifies taking the life of a twenty-year-old girl I’ve stopped searching. She didn’t do anything. She wasn’t part of any mysterious way. A victim of the uninsured. Too quiet to demand I give her the ketchup and too polite to seek treatment she couldn’t afford. Had she spoken up, had she said something, had she known, had so many things had happened I wonder what she would be doing today.

Follow your dreams… speak up… because no one is going to do it for you… but I’ll try for those of you that can’t… hopefully long before you are gone…

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

For Those Who May Have Never Known…

Some things in this life are worse than fiction… some things are so real that even if I told them word for word as the truth… no one could ever believe… it is best to remember that not every one thinks like you… that not every one has shed their animal natures… and not every one in this world is good… it is easy to forget… it is easy to push out of our minds… what goes on behind our backs… and in the darkness… but not all horrible things happen in the dark…

This post is very different for me… maybe not in content… I tend to talk about things that are on the darker side of life… no this post is different… because unlike most of the things I post about… this poem is not about fiction… or dark thoughts that find their way into my head… I am a firm believer in the thought… that it is one thing to think or have dark thoughts… and a whole other to actually act on them… sticks and stones will break my bones… but words will never hurt me…I took that cliche in my mind and ran with it… built a fiction collection on it…

That is how I think… that is what I believe… but even with my own beliefs held firmly in place… some words… some ideas can be too much to bear… the topic of my poem today is… Sylvia Likens… and my reverse order for my post is because unlike most things I write… I feel context… what I think… How I feel about what happened to Sylvia… Is more important than the work below…

For those of you who don’t know… Sylvia Likens was a child in 1965… who was abused… tortured… raped… and killed… not by a serial killer… not by a known sex offender… not even by her parents… but by those in her community… by the very children she knew… by her very neighbors… there is so much to this story… to the truth of the event… that I can’t and won’t be covering in this post… more about the tragic death of Sylvia Likens can be found here

There have been movies… stories written… about Sylvia and the horrors she has been through… and even if you have read or seen any of them… then you know they only scratched the surface of her horrible experience… She has long been laid to rest… but her memory is not forgotten… Her tale as horrific as it was… should never be forgotten… Because people… children… still experience similar horrors every day… to this day… this is long over due… it needs to stop…

Many of us may have even experienced some… many of the things she was put through… may be even today… right now as we read… we need to put an end to it… we need to open our eyes… our hearts… and our minds… because… just because you don’t see it… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… just because you don’t have the time… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… just because it isn’t happening to you… doesn’t mean it isn’t happening… because it does and it is… in our silence… these monsters are slipping through the cracks… as we look away… people are being tortured… children are suffering… this isn’t an isolated incident… this isn’t something that only happens to someone based on skin color… age… where we live… or sex… these are things that can and happen to anyone…

I myself was a victim of abuse… I know how it can feel… I understand the shame… the fear of speaking up… will it happen more?… if I just keep my head down… then it will pass… I’ll be fine… excuses we tell ourselves to survive… Truth is the monster will always live in the dark… until you bring it to the light… I say you… but it takes more… it takes us all… There is no harder thing in this world than to ask for help… no matter the situation… it is the hardest thing any of us will ever face… but if you don’t… if we don’t… no one will…

Many of the signs are easy to overlook… it was a one off… it was an accident… abuse is hard to define… it doesn’t seem like it would be… seems pretty straight forward… but it isn’t… that is why so many people suffer in silence… reach out and get turned down… because of this one way thinking… because we aren’t paying attention… this is how and why… Sylvia was tortured… abused… until she died… It is easy to point at her tortures… her abusers… as the monster… but in this extreme case… the monsters weren’t just the ones in the room with her… but the society that surrounded her… that’s why we need to be paying attention… speaking up… and taking action… big or small… we must do all that we can…

Accidents do happen… people go to far… as a victim I know the signs… if anything good came from my abuse… my experience is that I know when I might go to far… when I am wrong… and need to take a step back… I know how easy it can be to cross that line… I’m not immune because I am a victim… I’ve said things that I regret… almost done things that I know were too far… I’ve seen the look of fear that I know myself once carried on the face of those around me… a look that has brought me to my knees… to tears… and made me question who it is I have become… I’ve seen both sides of the line… I have felt how either side of the line can feel… and just because I didn’t act upon my anger doesn’t mean I too couldn’t be a monster… I’m not a saint… I am human… we all are… and not one of us is perfect… but… there is a difference between an incident of abuse… and a pattern of repeated abuse… neither of which should go unchecked… or be put up with… seen as okay…

I was lucky… as far as my abuse went… as much as the memories still hurt me today… I was lucky… that I ended up in the hospital… that people around me spoke up… and did something… that my mother said enough was enough… a victim herself… not all of us are so lucky… for some of us… we don’t receive any help… until it is too late… Take care of yourselves… Take care of each other… it may seem like nothing… but it could change someone’s life…

Sylvia Likens

Kicking and screaming
Dragging and bleeding
Taken to the basement
Time to figure things out
Pressed against what’s left of the mattress
Laying naked next to the floor
What did you call me
You called me a whore
Silently screaming
Begging and pleading
Took me to the darkness
Time to figure it out
Strung up by the wrists
Stripped of everything I had left
What did you do to me
You stabbed me some more
Dying and breathing
Scarring and seething
Taken to another level
Time to let the devil out
Burned the words into the flesh
No one would want me
That’s what you said

Postscript of the Unimaginative…

After a while life just starts to feel like a prison. You work your ass off in hopes to get back time lost with good behavior, but it is useless. Things will never be like how they were. Things will never be how it was when we were young. Life drags on as one long prison sentence that never ends and the only thing we are guilty of is being born. Try and fight at the restraints. Try as hard as you want and that is all you are doing is fighting. The advantage of the simple minded is that they aren’t fighting. They don’t need to fight. Can’t see the restraints, can’t feel them, they have no idea that they are there. They live in another world built into this one. The one we always wanted to be part of but somehow knew better. The chains aren’t real, but they are heavy as hell. A crippling burden we care as we walk among them. Breathe the air that they breathe. We talk as if though we don’t know. We know more than we should.

I wash my hands so I can eat. I wash the grime and filth of the world from the hairline cracks of my broken hands. No matter how much I scrub, I bleach, I strip away I know that it is still there with me. Buried in my pours the toxins never leave. I’m smarter and better than this, but I was born into this, the American dream. Swallow all the lies like pills and you begin to see that those pills to make you better are nothing more than lies. Anti-depressants pressed against the roof of our mouths, feel better? I know that I don’t. I try to forget, but I know that I already know.

I’m told that I need them. Told without them I am crazy. They say it nicer. They say it like it fucking matters. Damaged is what they mean to say. That’s not PC. That’s not okay. They don’t fucking work and I punch another hole in the wall. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It only feels like me. I’m having an episode as they say. This is normal. Is it? Is this endless feeling normal? I was unaware of how normal I am. Tell me how all of this is okay while giving me another pill to make me better. I’m broken not stupid. Too many years of feeling like this tells me it doesn’t work. The balance, the chemicals, the whatever the fuck is who I am. The taste of it all is making me sick. I don’t feel sorry for myself. Some of us have it worse. But what is worse inside your head?

Only hurts in time… most things drag along… against the glass… against the concrete… until there is nothing left to drag… bits and pieces left behind… a lifetime spent looking for what was already there… a lifetime learning that nothing at all was what you already had… understanding only comes with time… good thing… we still have plenty of it… to drag along to…

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Amazon

But I’m Still Right Here…

“As below, so above and beyond, I imagine – drawn beyond the lines of reason. “

Tool, Lateralus

Death

I don’t necessarily fear death. Not in the sense that maybe one should. I know it will happen. I’m even okay with it to a certain extent. Part of life after all. If anything, I fear dying too early. Dying before I’ve done anything at all. My anxiety about the whole thing keeps me up at night. Fuels my own perpetual destruction and decent into madness. I complain about working nights, but the truth is that I have always been up late. One of the reasons I first took the overnight job. Figured if I’m already up I might as well get paid. Stupidity. For those of us who know. There is a difference between staying up all night watching movies and staying up all night killing yourself. Things only got worse from there. Because I let them. I let the fear seep into my soul to the point that I craved it like a drug.

There were nights. There are still nights that I relapse. That my mind digs in deep to the fear and madness. I have nights that I fear that I won’t wake up. Close my eyes and this, that was it. I fear the idea that I won’t be able to see my daughter grow up or that I won’t see my wife ever again. I fear their lose and their pain of not having me there as much as I fear the same for myself. I fear that I’ve wasted too much time doing nothing when I could have been doing more for them. For myself. It is a cycle that some nights I cannot break and because of it I don’t sleep. My fear of death is irrational.

I fear these things because I will miss them. Because I am awake. Because I am here. But I’ll be dead so I won’t even know that I am missing them. I won’t know what or how they feel or what they are doing. It is not as though once I’m dead and gone I will have feeling or thought. But the fear tells me no this is not how it will be. I should be thinking selfishly, but I can’t about this. I know that they will be fine without me. I also know neither would ever say it or at least, I hope. They are two strong and amazing women. They don’t need me but in truth I need them.  This rationalization doesn’t wipe away the fear because what if?  What if I am stuck on the sidelines missing every moment? Missing every chance to tell them I love them once again? What if there is a heaven and a hell?

Personally, I don’t care if either or both of them exist. Either place could only be one in the same with different surroundings. Neither place would contain the things I will miss the most in this world. A fascinating fact that I can’t out run, can’t find comfort in, but only dread. Stoking the flames of my fears. There could be something else beyond life but it would only torture me with the thought that I am missing so much once again. That all of this was for nothing. Honestly when I die, I want there to be nothing. I hope there is nothing. I want to rest for the first time in my life. I’d like to rest. As I grow old, I hope for immortality, I hope for more time to avoid all this what if, though the older I get the more I know it isn’t so. Do I fear death? Sort of, but really, I fear growing old.

Ambrose…

Because Asking Would Be Too Off Putting…

Diving right into the subject on this one. I’m sure I’ll dip in and out of anything I have to say. Thought about all of this six hours ago. My favorite book of all time is Post Office by Charles Bukowski. If you haven’t read it well. Well, you should have by now. Bukowski is something else. Amazon has labels, the library has a section, but to me Bukowski is life. With that said is Post Office the greatest book ever written? Probably not. Could care less if anyone or no one else likes it.

The thing about Post Office that I love so much is this feeling. This feeling that life will never get better. This feeling that life is a trap. This feeling that you will always be stuck doing the same thing forever. I struggle with these issues on a daily basis as I’m sure most of us do. This doesn’t go away as we get older. But in a sense, you have to settle. I hate to use that word and by definition what I’m about to say would go against that word. You get a fucking Thesaurus I’m writing here.

Point is that in life not everything is perfect all the time. Not every aspect of your life is what you dreamed it would be. One realizes with time that the only power they have is to choose which aspects of their lives to focus on. You can only spin so many fucking plates until it all comes crashing down.

I work hard at my job. Ask any of them and I’m awesome or whatever, but that place could burn down tomorrow. I’d be more pissed that I now have to find another job I don’t care about then anything to do with that place.  I settled for my job. Oh well could give a fuck. I need money for things I actually care about.

I didn’t settle on my family or the time that I spend with them. I don’t settle on my writing. Maybe after draft eighteen, but most of the time I don’t. These are things that I can make perfect. Things that I can care about. Things that make me happy. Yes, I have that emotion somewhere deep down in there. Things I won’t settle for.

Post Office didn’t teach me any of this. What Post Office did was made me realize I was trapped. That I was lost. That I was going to get stuck. Post Office made me think and that is why books are important. I saw the parallels that I was living to the main character, and I knew that, that was not what I wanted. I knew I didn’t want to just get by in this life. I had a goal and I needed to do more than hope. I needed to do more than let the waves drag me under. Fuck what happens. That is what Post Office left me with. This feeling that what was going to happen was going to happen anyway. Might as well fuck with it until it does. We get one life. Take a chance.

“In the morning it was morning and I was still alive. Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought. And then I did.”

Charles Bukowski, Post Office

Merch… Teespring… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Digging Out The Past… Chewing On Fears- A Yuffie Collaboration…

A darken cloud, a sea of pain
I’ve only ever wanted to feel the same
A creature without a face
Upon this mountain I shall lay to waste

Image 12 - 1024px

“Hey Yuffie,” shouts Hydra

“What?” Yuffie asks

“Go feel sorry for yourself some place else. This is my spot,” Hydra declares

“No one respects my art,” Yuffie sighs walking off into the darkness

https://youtu.be/rNge-t6A3ro
This tale is one four written for a Yuffie collaboration. Four tales by four writers about the character Yuffie. You can check out the other three tales at the links below.
Anthony Renfro of  https://wp.me/p2kmxm-5r3″

Mel Gutier of  “https://fictioninmyhead.com”

Peter Edwards of  “https://wp.me/p8dNOZ-HK”

Anthony Renfro of One Writer Ranting
Layne Ambrose of Chewing on Glass
Mel Gutier of Fiction in my Head
Peter Edwards of Little Fears

First off I’d like to thank Little Fears for giving me the opportunity and the invite for this collaboration. Very honored. If you are not familiar with Little Fears I highly suggest you check out his site. https://littlefears.co.uk  or follow him on twitter @thelittlefears
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Is That A Funeral?

Been a long time. Hope all is well.