And Other Things From This Time…

Before They Hurt

Everything feels isolating
On a grander scale
Between one and a hundred
Between heaven and hell
There exists a place no one knows
From bad to worse
Things become uglier
Before they hurt

Everything feels indifferent
On a daily scale
Between Mondays and Sundays
Between this week and last
There’s not much in between
From day to day
Things never change
Before they hurt

Time ticks by becoming
Worse, becoming better
What is time but a scale
For depression, for life
What is done can’t be undone
Life on a scale between
Heaven and Hell
Before they hurt they will finally know

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Don’t Stand So Close To Me…

Don’t Stand So Close To Me…

I like to keep my things in jars. I have many jars all around my room. I used to as a child go out in the woods behind my house and collected bugs. I had so many in my collection. Water bugs, butterflies, lightning bugs, and all sorts of beetles. I used to watch them crawl or fly around their jars. Each one or type I guess had their own jar to call their own. Little worlds that they could live in. Live in until they died. They always died. Why did they always die on me? Everything always dies on me. Mother, sister, and the bugs. I used to label them and everything.  It would drive my mother crazy. All the jars filled with dead bugs under my bed. I couldn’t stop collecting them though. No matter how many died or how upset my mother got.

Growing older I became more and more fascinated with the bugs I kept in my jars. Though I never had the passion to really understand what it was that I was collecting. I wasn’t book smart my mother used to say. I just liked the way they looked in their jars. One day while exploring in the woods I heard this odd noise cut through the singing birds. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard in the woods before. It sounded as though a small child was crying. Was my sister lost in the woods? Over and over I heard the noise. The closer I got the louder the noise became. I knew I was on the right path. Frantically I searched for the noise until I came across a small deer. Not quite a baby but not yet an adult. It was just there lying in the open grass between some trees. It saw me before I saw it, but it kept crying. Figured it would run away when I got close enough and between me and you it tried, but the little deer had broken its leg. As I got closer it struggled to get away. Dragging the broken leg behind it. Leaving a trail of blood. I had never seen so much blood before. It looked so odd, so out of place amongst the green of the grass. I got so close to the deer that I could reach out and touch it. The cry it was making was so loud by then. The sound was almost unbearable. I studied the hurt animal as it tried to get away. I watched it for so long that after a while I couldn’t even hear the sound it was making. I couldn’t hear anything.  

It must have grown tired because after some time the deer stopped trying to get away. It laid its head down in the grass, its mouth moving, and its chest moving up and down rapidly. Cried and cried as I watched. In that moment in time, it was only me and it in the whole world. The deer’s rapid breathes become slow and shallow breathes. We locked eyes for what felt like a life time. I placed my right hand on the back of its head and it went silent. Silent like it knew what was going to happen next. I tried to make it quick. Grabbing the top of its muzzle with my left hand I gave it everything my little body had in a twist. Its neck snapped. I know I heard it or maybe I only felt it, but it wasn’t enough. Its body flopped around in the grass as I tried to hang onto its head. I tried twisting its head again, but it just kept shaking my hands lose. I could barely keep a hold of the deer. So, I jumped onto its back like anyone would I suppose and tried to wrestle it still. It was all happening so fast until everything seemed to stop around me. I was so frustrated, so angry that I lost control of everything. I seemed to have gone to another place within myself. By the time I came back to reality there I was holding this deer’s head in my hands. I no longer cared about bugs. Not when there were so many things out in the woods that needed my help and attention. I find that people are much the same as that deer or the birds or the rabbits of the world. They all need my help and attention.

M.T. Billings

Broken Thoughts…

The signs were there all along
Lighting the way for the climax
Illuminating the inevitable fall
Who does this to them, to ourselves
Statistically speaking one and the same
Reality couldn’t be any further apart
Looked so good on paper
It had to work at least once
What could all this really mean
To someone who doesn’t care
I gave up but we took turns
Statistically speaking one or both should be dead by now
Still fucking breathing in all the pain
Still thinking about all the shit never said
If we can’t be honest then why worry about the truth?
Inhuman to think this all began with a bunch of lies
Written down in tiny font, thin paper flapping in the wind
Against the sands of time nothing can last
But everything will be fine

Give in is to die but I’ve been dead for so long…

65 pages on the same thought
Six albums and I’ve already forgot
Therapy couldn’t be any simpler
If only it had worked the first time
Revisiting the same sad thoughts
That makes me so fucked up
Dancing with the devil couldn’t release these demons
Gods warm embrace hasn’t done much to subside the pain
Out of options and ways to say
I can’t stand the fact that you exist
So I’ll see you there
Pretend to not care but I always will
No matter how much I stab at the thoughts
Burn them down and piss on the ashes
They will still be there, we will still be here

Like memories burning in the sun…

Spoke the words, told you once before
Each little thought isn’t a metaphor
So worried about me, but not yourself
Blind, too blind to see the real hurt
Deaf, too deaf to hear the real words
Soft spoken and I know it hurt long before
Each little syllable even made a noise
So worried about you, but not myself
Numb, too numb to feel the real pain
Bland, too bland to taste the real thoughts
Pulling the strings tighter
Until I could never see, hear, touch, or taste
Ever again

Broken Thoughts

tick… tick… ticking right on by… locked in this stupid mask… stuck between the space between the skin and the leather… gets lonely in here at times… beads of sweat dripping down… the smell only grows worse… but there is no better place to call home… think things could be better… could be worse… or they could always be the same… at least for at least sake… things could be… trying to remember why it is that I keep going… while thinking of every reason to call it quits… stuck somewhere in between… the skin and the razorblade… time is only tick… tick… ticking by…

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

Crossing The River Of Hypocrisy…

Rest Forever When We Are Dead
The feeling slips away from me
Your soft skin drags across the floor
The shredded self of worthlessness
Deception is the only way to communicate
Letters become words
Broken sentences of a useless paragraph
They say you’re dead
But when you died is undecided
Killed you in my mind so long ago
So I thought, believe in nothing until
You’re stand on its grave
A six-foot ditch dug for you
No one asked, took it upon myself
Because you know we are friends
Don’t mistake the smile for anything less
I’ve never wanted anything more
Then to listen to your final breath
God and country could never take away
What I’ve already been given

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Broken Thoughts…

The chambers of the heart
Keep pumping blood
Even if there is no will to go on
Patience but for what
A long waiting game for nothing at all
I carved one out
Only to give one up
Nothing feels natural anymore
A made up act
I call love
Doesn’t matter anymore where it comes from
If only my thoughts could match my actions

Stuck between times there is no outlet for my crimes…

Sat around today
Doesn’t mean anything
Thought I would share
My inner thoughts
Going through hell
Marching past the gates
Lakes of fire burning bodies made of shit
They are heard but with no real thought
Doesn’t rhyme at the end I don’t care
The Jesus freaks sing their hymns to me
As though it might help
The blood cascades down the wall
You know you are home
When everything is comfortable
Bones line the edges of the room
You know you are home
When everything is fine
Skin drapes the furniture
You know you are home
When everything is normal

It all seems so useless to struggle for…

Where ever, what ever the sun touches
A kingdom lost to you
A level never reach except for a few
Where ever, what ever makes them special
It wasn’t destined for you
Acceptance is the first step to something
Where ever, what ever the sun touches
A world taken from you
A step never reached except for a few
Where ever, what ever makes them happy
It wasn’t destined for you
Acceptance is the first step to something
Where ever, what ever the sun touches
Never belonged to them in the first place
Break the cycle or accept it for what it is
Where ever, what ever is up to you
The secret stolen from so many

Broken Thoughts

The theme for this week is greed… truly broken thoughts… always wanting more… more of something… more food… more money.. more sex… more pain… greed doesn’t go away with more… too much of a good thing is never enough…  considered one of the seven deadly sins… Greed is hard to escape on a day to day basis… who doesn’t want more?… what defines more?… at what point should we cut ourselves off from more?… I know I could always use more… more sleep usually… more of anything at this point… turns out I am human after all… was holding out for different… but I’ll settle for human… 

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

What Has Been Done…

I noticed the way she looks at me again today. The look of a blank stare, but it is not a blank stare. It is as if she is trying to tell me something that words could never really say. I see it in her eyes. Those cold green eyes. They appear almost gray as though something is hidden in them. Ten years I have stared into these eyes. Ten years I have study these particular eyes. I have watched as she has gone from child to woman and it is as though nothing has ever changed. Ten years of failure. Ten years of silence. I’ve run every test possible up to this point. Everything in the book just to hear her speak. Electroshock therapy, two electrodes attached to her head and enough electrical current to wake the dead. Not a god damn peep. If it wasn’t for her pulse and her eyes, I would’ve ruled her dead years ago. I fought tooth and nail to keep her after she turned eighteen. The state told me she had served her time. I argued that she still needs to server more, but like this? Was it worth it?

Her crimes though not as extensive as the others leave a lot to the imagine nation as to why. Why a child would commit such a crime? A silent hour every week for ten years and I am not any closer to finding out the answer. Her eyes motionless as if she is trying to tell me something. Maybe it is a neurological condition? No, I’ve tested that and came up with nothing. She chooses not to say anything at all. Ten years and I have never heard her voice. Witness, the neighbors claim to have heard her scream awakening them from a dead sleep. A scream like a siren only to stop. Replaced with silence. Imagine my jealousy to these complete strangers. Her eyes tease me like a loaded gun. Her eyes so innocent, so green, could they really have comprehended what she had done? Could anyone?

Could anyone understand fully the act of killing their parents? Witness testified that she was often beaten. Appeared to have bruises, black eyes, cuts all over her body. Never enough to raise alarm, but enough to noticed. The scars though faint are still there. Proved to be self-inflicted. Even at such a young age. What all her parents had done to protect her from herself is lost to time, but what she did has been well documented. The simplest of them all murder. The more complex. The ones I want to know, to understand? Hidden behind those eyes.

How does a child carefully remove the skin of a person? Let alone their own parents? I know surgeons.  Doctors paid to be precise every day and every time. Even they do not understand how a child could be so methodic in one’s actions. A pile of skin laid on the floor as she began the real work, she had set out to do. As one police officer stated in their report, “The organs were laid out. Laid out on display like we had to do in basic training for our rifles. Laid there ready to be put back in if need be.” Their husk like bodies resting on the floor.  

No, a child could not understand what they have done? Or could they? None of it makes any sense. The answers I seek sits before me waiting to be discovered. No evil in sight only a blank stare. Yet she sits before me. A child capable of tearing apart her whole family. A child who shaped the bones of her parents to that of some kind of monster. A child who took the skin of her mother from the floor and wore it like a costume until the police arrived. What kind of evil truly lives behind those green eyes?

Valerie Hannigan

My eyes are brown just so you know and why the hell would anyone want to dress up like their mother? It is unsettling enough knowing that I am slowly becoming like her.

Broken Thoughts…

My hands are callus and soaked in blood
Quitting isn’t what it used to be
Walking away isn’t a train of thought
It’s an action that weighs more than itself
The words so heavy
They don’t come out right
Nothing comes out right anymore
Each thought is loaded with regret
Forced out by a will to keep going
God I fucking hate every God damn thing
Does that make sense or are we only confused
If I could I would but I couldn’t so I didn’t
Have too much responsibility now
Makes more sense if you know
I care more than I pretend to let on

Smile and act natural…

“The one with the Indian on it.”

“I think they prefer Native American.”

“I think they’d prefer if we gave them their land back. But in the meantime, the one with the cartoon Indian will do just fine.”

The lights all burned out…

Chasing our demons step by step
But how long do we keep doing this
To the end, to an end
A line has been drawn long before
Not another step to take and yet
See plenty of space to keep on going
Is this the end or only the begin of something
That couldn’t possibly be understood?
Gave more of myself then I’d like to admit
So I won’t and you’ll think I don’t give a shit
Because I don’t even when I do
Wanted more, wanted less, all I want is what I got
A feeling that can’t last forever but I’ll keep searching
So here’s to you, here’s to me, here’s to fucking everything
Resting in my head and what we can see through closed eyes

A fractured reality of what I have to deal with every day… stretched out over years… you think that I’m not listening… you believe me when I say that I am not… but really I’m taking it all in… absorbing every useless thought… stabbing myself with the idea that I am better than you… I’m more you than you will ever be me…  I’m nothing more than what time forgot… lurking in the shadows… standing next to you at every turn… don’t look because I’m staring… smile because I know I will… “Is there anything I can help you find?”… 

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

If It Doesn’t Kill… Then It Doesn’t Hurt?…

After so many rejections it becomes so much easier to ignore the vultures that come circling around my rotting corpse. Letter after letter. Email after email telling me they wish me well. Words copied and pasted as hollow as my soul. All of this self-mutilation for one person to just be like, “This is alright.” That’s all it takes. At least that is what they say. Who the fuck are, is this they? They never shut up like the voices inside my head. Constantly driving me into the grave.

Overnight is all that it takes and all you need is one semi-interested interest. So, I keep slamming my head. Cutting a piece of myself off little by little until there is nothing left. Then all of sudden, out of nowhere, “We’d love to work with you.” What the hell does that even mean? I’m in the business of cuts, gushing wounds, and scars. I have no prior experience in this kind of reaction. The messages come flooding in. Email after email the tides begin to change. Then the calls start coming in. “How the fuck did you get this number?” All of a sudden you are all there is. All there will ever be.

They say success goes to our heads. Not true. It is fucking bitterness. “Oh, now I’m something?” I want to scream. I want to beat the phone against the desk. “Last week I wasn’t much of anything. Last year when I was practically begging, hanging on by a lifeline, and unfortunately I wasn’t a good fit for Flowers Monthly. Now all of a sudden I am something?” It only takes one, but a thousand submissions later everyone can fuck off.

It isn’t success it is bitterness to the whole process that pushes everything along. Do you think after this sea of rejection you will be receiving anything of actual value? I mean I’m so special all of a sudden? Well here is the material I wouldn’t even put in my book. Here is the stuff I dug out of the trash after I wiped my ass with it. Keep everything. Sold out you say or getting even? Depends on what side of the screen you live on. An asshole or apathetic is up to you to decide. I have moved on. I have accepted that the vultures will take whatever of me is left. I sold my soul and I’m even more proud to admit that I don’t care. Check out my newest piece in Flowers Monthly, and don’t forget to like and subscribe. Food isn’t free and electricity isn’t cheap.

Layne Ambrose

Broken Thoughts… Without Me…

I gave it all up for this?
These feelings don’t subside
These feelings grow deeper
Slip into the cracks of my broken heart
Give it another year
Give me a whole lifetime
Waste it once again
If I could do it over
So unsure if I would
Life gets easier with time
Because the will to live
Goes with it
Gave up my soul for something I don’t know
Want It back but I’m so unsure

.Worth barely more than worthless…

At this point, it might just be best to die
A world without me may be the best
Thing for you
Not going to stop until it’s all destroyed
I’ve got some shit to say
You bring out the best in me
Only reason you’re still breathing
You bring out the motivation in me
Only reason you’re still living

Turning all the lies into regret…

I can feel your eyes
Yet you’re not here
Feel your fingers tightening
Around my throat and I’m
Starting to, to think this is all okay
I’m starting to think I never had a say
Starting to believe all is not well
I could go on but by now
The point should be more than clear
Each breath you take is a knife
Every thought a bullet hole
Ripping through my body
Shatter, broken, set my body on fire
Leave me to die already
Can’t commit to something so sinister
Torture so much more humane
Sadistic and satisfying
My breathing becomes shallow
Your smile from ear to ear
If only, if only the world would disappear
My displeasure could go too
Still alive, has to be a reason
So fuck it, let it go
Before you kill me
Drown me in this world

Broken Thoughts

This weeks theme was work and society… society and work?… working on society?… working on myself in the realm of society?… I’m going to have to sit and think about this for a while… 

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

There wasn’t enough blood in this post…

West End Love for All the East End Girls…

“So, are we doing this or what?” He asks me for the thirteenth time in the last five minutes. “We need to do this,” he reminds me once again. “We or you need to do this?” I ask barely looking away from my phone. “I’ll slap that thing right out of your hands,” he threatens. “I’m sure you will,” I sigh but I’m not putting away my phone. “Look you need to do this. You are in a rut,” he pauses rethinking his words. “No, you are stuck in some ditch in the middle of nothing town,” he declares. Should have thought harder I think to myself. “Well, I’m not stuck anywhere. I am choosing to be in the middle of nothing town because I want to be,” I let him know. “No one chooses to be in nothing town. Someone chooses it for them or they are there by happenstance,” he tries to recover. “Fun fact I am someone and this is where I have chosen to be,” I say in an abrupt tone signaling I am done with this conversation.

“Okay fine, I need this,” he concedes. “Now will you come with me?” I shake my head no.  “I need a second you know that,” he whines. “I’m not dragging my ass across town. I’m just not,” I proclaim once again. “I’m not shitting where I eat,” he admits. “Never stopped you before. I’m pretty sure your bathroom is right next to the dining area in that trash apartment,” I joke. But then I realize what this is really about. I have the nicer apartment. What a little snake, I think to myself. “Okay, you have me there. Correction I have shit too much where I eat. Is that better,” he smiles trying to get on my good side. “Didn’t we just go out the other night?” I ask deciding on a different way to get out of this other than pointing out I am better off than him. “Yeah, but you are single now. So, we can go out more. Maybe even twice a week,” he suggests. “Twice a week?” I ask my eyes growing wide. “That’s pushing it don’t you think?”

Before I know it I am driving his ass to the other side of town to haunt the usual spots. We don’t come here much anymore and for good reason. He tries to hand me a bottle from under his jacket. “Are you kidding me right now?” I ask pissed off. “Do you have any idea how many cops are staked out on this side of town,” I bark. “That’s what makes it even more fun,” he tells me before taking a swig. I shake my head as he puts the cap back on. “Just a little pre-gaming,” he smirks putting the bottle back in his inside jacket pocket. “You need to learn to find your center without alcohol,” I tell him. “Yes, Master,” he claps his hands together and lowers his head. Not amused I keep on driving and ignoring him. “I’m seeing a lot of ladies that should be having my baby,” he quotes excited behind the glass. If he wasn’t my only friend I wouldn’t hang out with him either.

“No one should be having any of your children ever, Jackson.” That is a fact for a lifetime. “It’s lyrics to a song. I don’t literally want a child, ever,” he rolls his eyes in annoyance at my lack of excitement for this evening. “Could you imagine?” He asks staring out the window. “I mean how does someone like me, like us, not literally carve the child right out of the womb?” He ponders into his reflection. His voice turning cold as it often does at times like these. “Could you imagine how boring it would be to wait for the thing to come out? Then have to actively try to keep it alive,” he shivers. “Plenty of our kind do it all the time,” I remind him. “Yeah, because they don’t know what they are,” he says turning to me. “I take it you have decided?” I ask looking over to him. “Yeah, I think I have,” he returns his gaze to the streets. “Let’s get ourselves a pregnant one,” he grins. His sinister smile reflecting back to him in the rolled up window.

Layne Ambrose