Something Different…

Hurts

I can feel it
I can feel the spirit
Being sucked right out of me
Keep on going it whispers in my ear
As if that was ever a choice
It cries, it won’t shut up
And it is now, right here
That I know at least
What is it that I really know
Don’t remember
Doesn’t matter
What’s the difference if you
Don’t remember at all
A past idea, a past reflection
Into nothing that makes sense
I’m choking and it hurts
I’m dying and it hurts
I’m living and it hurts
It all hurts

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Post Physical…

My fist pounds. His blood splatters. My fist pounds. His cheek bone gives in. My fist pounds. His skin starts to detach. His face is nothing more than a broken mess. “What did I tell you,” I scream. My vocal cords crack from the sheer force of my scream. He mumbles inconsistent words of skin, blood, bone, and broken teeth. “I said shut the fuck up.” I lay one more bloody fist across his disgusting face. My knuckles are bloody, scraped apart by his teeth among other things. I stare at the monster I have created before getting off of him.

The room is silent though a crowd surrounds us. Camera’s pointing down upon his body before panning over to me. I break the silence as I start answering my emails once again. The click of the mouse and the clicking of my keyboard. Block them out I tell myself. I warned him before he set me off. Everyone is staring me down. “Should have done what I told him to do,” I say to the silent room. “He did this to himself. Who wants to ignore me next?” I ask and they scatter like rats. I’m not normally like this, but I’ve had a fucking enough of these dumb assholes. Someone needed to teach that fucker a lesson.

The cops show up and I don’t resist. “I just need to send this email,” I tell them. Puzzled the two of them don’t know what to say. I click the send button and get up from my chair. One of the officers handcuffs me as the other reads me my rights. They brought the paramedics with them. Silent, but not dead they load his ass onto the stretcher. In time he should be fine and maybe he will have learned his lesson. When someone says not today maybe you should back off. Of course, his dumb ass probably missed the whole point. “That was one hell of an ass whooping you put on that man,” the tall officer says to me. “I think you got in the wrong profession,” the other jokes. They put me into the car. With a bloody knuckle I write a message on the glass in front of me.

Blood and Bone
Self Sacrifice
Now All Alone
I Could Tell
You a Story
But Then You
Still Wouldn’t
Know

M.T. Billings

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Beyond The Time…

In every past life, at every attempt I have failed. Every new life is nothing more than another mistake. A continued struggle that lives through me dwelling for centuries, maybe even eons. I don’t know anymore. In every reincarnation I have learned nothing new. The idea of it all seems so impossible even to me. Possible or not I am forever trapped on this plane of existence. A never-ending nightmare where only the surroundings change and not the circumstances in which I came to be. It is almost as though I don’t even exist.

Blind, the people around me are blind to their own recurring cycles. Spinning out of control together we dance in circles without the thinnest idea they have done this before. Not a day on repeat, but a lifetime of pain and suffering. From the cradle to the grave, day after day we clutch at nothing. Receiving nothing in this alleged life as yet another hand full of ash flows through my fingers. I’ve watched her die over and over again. The way may be different in each lifetime, but her eyes.

The look in her eyes never changes. They stare me down. Straight into my soul. They say, “Why?” Why haven’t you saved me? Not even once. The look in her eyes is what I fear each and every lifetime. I will continue this cycle unless I find my way out of this place. The surreal knowledge of all the pain I am destined to experience hangs over me like a dark cloud. It is years before I remember that I have been here before, that I have done this before, and the emotions flood back in. Can we really be the only ones? Could it be possible that the others willingly participate in their own pain? When did this begin? My brain wants to explode at the thoughts. Questions I have asked before, I’m sure. Questions I am still compelled to ask again.

I play my part and I do my time. Waiting for something, anything that could be seen as an answer.  There is no God in a place like this or there is nothing but God. Stabbing, digging through the life time ahead of me. Waiting for something to change other than the time. Ashes to ashes, she will rise again after I have fallen and risen once more. I will find her, we will fall in love, and then she will die. A love that I cannot shield myself from. An unbroken chain of desire. I possess no will to fight. I need to fight it.

Fight what compels me inside to repeat this cycle. Broken, my mind is broken from all the life times I have lived. Shattered into discarded pieces. I’ve gone by so many names I no longer know what my true name once was. I have helped empires to rise only to be there when they fall. A pointless endeavor. A waste of time because there is nothing beyond the time. If this is hell. I wouldn’t even know. How long can an eternity go on?…

Layne Ambrose

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My Return…

In some ways it feels as if a part of me is missing and in other ways I feel exactly the same. I hate being apart from her for whatever the reason. The long nights traveling for my job is when I feel it the most. Being on the road is like going through hell and then some. The restless nights lying in a bed of someone else’s filth. They say the beds are clean or at least the card on the pillow states, but are they ever really clean? How does one actually clean up the semen and the sweat that soaks up into the mattress? Sure, your nicer establishments have some sort of protection. A mattress condom if you will but the cheaper places? The places I have to stay because my company cares more about the bottom line than the comfort of the poor bastard who makes that line exist, those places are brimming with semen, sweat, and who knows what else.

I find myself sleeping on the floor most nights on the road. Not that the floors in these skank motels are any cleaner, but I’m less likely to sleep in somebody’s fluids. As I lie on this particular floor on a makeshift bed of motel linens, I wonder what she is thinking about in our nice comfortable bed. I wonder if she thinks of me or quite simply nothing at all. Another conference in the morning. Another meet and greet with unknown clients. Does well for business though I can’t say the same for my soul. I could say it would be good for me if I was the boss. If I reaped anything from any of this outside of a check. I wonder if I leave tomorrow night or the following morning. Something I should check, but I’m too lazy to get up off the floor. Either way it is just one more shitty flight to an even shitter place. When you are young you want to travel, to see the world, but as you get older and then a little bit more that sense of adventure seems to slip right out of your mind. Now all I want is a chance to make up for all those lost years of traveling, of being apart. Those long night without me by her side. It pains me to think about it. It pains me every time that I see her. See her beautiful face and notice she has changed a little bit more.

The longer I am gone the farther we grow apart. I miss her and the way that she used to be. Where did those years go? Did I not live them? Or have I been living in this traveling coma for so long that I simply don’t remember. One thing I do know is that she is still waiting for me. Back home she waits for my arrival. To her I’m sure I am seen as never going or never there. To her I’m sure that when this trip is over it will all be too late to change anything. That is what she used to say. Over and over. It was enough to make someone go mad. The fights we used to have. The words that used to ring through our home. That much I do remember of the past. She doesn’t say much of anything anymore. She only lays in silence in our comfortable bed and our peaceful home. Silently waiting for my return.

Layne Ambrose

I guess that is one way to freeze time… Not sure what he used to preserve the body though… Everything rots given enough time… His love though… never dies…

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Fact or Fiction…

“I know your life is a never-ending nightmare full of horror and deceit. I know you are often at odds with yourself and this horrid thing called life. Every morning is filled with contempt as you have this endless debate on whether or not you should kill yourself in your shower or while your K-cup brews or in your car that is neither new nor old but works just fine. These things I know because I’m sitting right next to you. These things I know because I’m looking at the same things you are. These things I know because we share the same eco-friendly renewable water source in the same god damn forsaken city on the banks of some form of water. I know all these things. I think all these things because I too live a life of perceived perfection. A zero-struggle life know as modern society. Chances are we think the same exact way but out of pure boredom let’s say I don’t. Because we have to be different in this world. We have to be special when it comes to things like this in life. Odds are against us though beyond our thoughts. We went to the same school, learned from the same books, ate the same shitty food, and lived near perfect replicas of the same life. Let me guess you played doctor? Let me guess you owned a copy of GTA 3? Let me guess you couldn’t catch’em all on paper or digitized? Let me guess you thought you were special? Well, you’re not, you and I are more alike than you and I might think. We are so close you and I that we could be one in the same. Chances are we are in fact the same robotic, institutionalized, modern guilt individuals walking side by side right now. We could say hello to one another but we won’t. We could relate our shared dream suicide scenarios but we won’t. We could discuss just how much we actually hate each other but we won’t. Because what’s the point? Why tell you everything you already know? Why bother letting you in on our little secrets? We all have secrets, guilty pleasures, they are all the same but we have them. We imagine that they are the little things that make us different. That the tidbits of information we hold dear separate us from fact and fiction. When really there is no such thing. We live a life of fact and fiction. We live a life of knowing we are the same, fact. We live a life thinking in some way we are different, fiction. We live lives that are exactly the same. We fuck women and men who are exactly the same. We blindly follow the dumbest of our kind because we know that they are the same. We read books and stories, watch movies and shows on people or about people who are exactly the same. And like you I will do nothing to change this. Like you I will ride this life into the ground hoping for something better but being served up the exact same. There is no difference between animals and man. Just as there is no difference between us. Everything was put here to do the exact same thing, suffer until our last dying breathe.”

“What an interesting report Timothy,” the teacher struggles to form the words. “Not quite what we were looking for but informative all the same in its own way. Very imaginative,” her face unsure like her mind about what to say or do. With a satisfied smile the boy takes his seat once again. She shuffles some papers on her desk, “Umm if we could have Stephanie, Stephanie Keaton come up next.” Stephanie joyfully gets up from her seat and takes her place at the head of the class. “Now Stephanie could you tell us what you did this summer?”

Layne Ambrose

Little Timmy seems to be on the right path to something… Let’s all hope he doesn’t envision himself as president… At least we all know the medication is working… Hate to be Stephanie… I mean how do you follow that up?…

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