Broken Thoughts…

Fissures and cracks within my soul
Where they come from
I’m afraid I do not know
Relentless and forthcoming
I keep swimming the cracks widening
Even though I know I’m drowning
My body wants to stop, my mind says keep going
If I gave up now what would be the point at all?

Locked in a box… Clawing at the sides…

Love is this thing we’ll
Never get back
Lies just fill up the cracks

Screaming for air until my last breath…

Nothing feels like it used to
Everything feels as though it is something I have to do
Never ending list of shit I have to sit through
Becoming so bitter, became an old man running out of youth
Time is eternally ticking away
Slowly running out of reasons to live
I have the basics, but even those are becoming obsolete
Dragging my soul through day to day
Dancing through midnight, marching to the grave
Autopilot enabled and there’s no reason to think
That nothing feels like it used to
Lost hope that anything new will come along
Even as the world around me changes rapidly
No reason to believe that I will ever change
As I grow more and more obsolete

I took a few days off to get a handle on what it is that I want to say… Three days later and still no answers… Even went for a hike out in the woods behind my house… The isolating barrier I put between me and the rest of the world… Peeking through the curtains made of dead leaves and broken branches… I have to say… Not for me…. Maybe I’ve always been destined to keep my distance from a place I don’t understand… Who knew I had so much to say about nothing at all….

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And Other Things From This Time…

Anything at All

If I was to do it
I’m sure that I’d fuck it up somehow
It’s not in the method but the effort
At which we fail
I couldn’t do it so I sat staring
At the windows with the little bits
Little drops of water
They won’t go anywhere but disappear
Not the same but just like me
I know this must seem like a call
But in the end, I’m telling you it isn’t
I tried to write a letter
To explain just where my head is at
Though to be honest I’m not sure
If it is even attached anymore
Some days it feels as though it has all but vanished
That I am nothing more than an empty shell
And that’s okay but it isn’t
I wish I had better words to express how I feel
Though sadly I do not
Always wanted all the answers to all the questions
But lately, I find that I don’t want anything at all

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In a Cage…

“Do you ever notice the diseases floating all around you? Going in and out of your lungs, landing on your face, or picked up by your hands as you touch random objects for pleasure without knowing the consequences? Of course, you don’t just like you don’t notice the center for disease shitting in your backyard or laying on your lap as they breathe, droll, and paw all their sickness all over you. Think I didn’t notice the hairs? Thought you got all of them when you left the house today? Wrong. Nobody wants to admit. No, I’m sorry no one wants to accept that they are surrounded by disease. But they must and they should. Germs, disgust is everywhere. Goddammit, it’s everywhere throughout our bodies, on our clothes, across every surface, and I say it is time that we get rid of it. How can we not have gotten rid of it all by now?”

“Are we not civilized? Are we not able to travel to distant planets in sterilized space capsules? Yet, here on earth in our own homes no less we live in disease. We live with this sickness and death. The madness of it all has long since taken me over, but why hasn’t it taken the world over? How can it not? How can these people stand to be around such filth every day of their lives? I can’t take it. I can’t stand for it any longer. I must find a way to stop the disease I thought to myself. I thought to myself long and hard until I found a way. I found a way to help everyone, but they called it sick. They called it crazy. It was nothing more than just a little bleach. A little bleach to stay alive never killed anyone. I only wanted to live don’t you see? Doesn’t anyone see what I have done? Don’t you see what I’ve discovered? I found a way to help them. Each and every one of them.”

“But no, they didn’t want my help. They only see what they want to believe and that is the sickness. That is the disease taking over, rotting their brains, not mine. I was the normal one until they infected me with their problems, their diseases, and look at me now, sick. I have become sick, riddled with disease, overcome by their sickness.” He smashes his head into the shatter proof glass of his cell. Blood begins to drip from his head. “I’ve begun to lose sight of what is real of what will keep me alive. I wanted to live forever, but you? They took it away. I want my fucking bleach doctor. I need my god damn bleach.” Blood begins to smear on the glass as he smashes his head into the glass over and over. “They took my chance of any kind of life away. Now I am waiting to die. Waiting to die inside my cage.” He slams his head once again into the glass. Pressing his head into the glass. Blood slowly makes its way down the glass as his eyes come into focus. His eyes wide, insane, “Still want to know how I am doing today, Doc? I could be so much better… With a little bleach.” He laughs.

M.T. Billings

Don’t forget to wash your hands. Sickness never sleeps and neither should you. Be safe and wash your damn hands. In the Twilight Zone things can always go from bad to worse… (eerie noise… he have a low-budget here at Is That A Funeral?) People disgust me. Most of all Layne. That monster is one tissue box and a trillion dollars from being Howard Hughes. Also if someone could add something to the prompt box that isn’t fucking horror. That would be great. Some of us like to write about other shit.

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Through Glass…

“The devil made me do it. Tell them that. Tell them anything I don’t give a fuck,” I put my cigarette out on the table. “You didn’t even finish that one,” my lawyer says as he wipes the ashes and the butt into his briefcase. I light up another one out of spite more than need. It is the first hit that we all crave not the last. “We need to come up with a better strategy than the devil,” He starts up. “Like what? That I took a pistol to each one of their heads and pulled the trigger willingly?” I take a second drag off the cigarette. “Will you please keep your voice down?” He asks me because he knows he has to ask. No one tells me to do shit. Not the cops I killed, not the dealers I create, not even that bitch of a wife back home, no one and I mean no one tells me what to do. “Did you get me that drink or what?”

He hands me a flask out of his briefcase. Sucking down a big gulp of only the finest whiskey. He judges me with his eyes from across the table. A devilish grin as I remove the flask from my lips. Disgusted he shakes his head in disapproval as though I care what he thinks. “Really? Nice, look I’m not telling you what you should say or how to run your business, but killing cops? In cold blood no less. That is strictly insane. How am I supposed to get you out of here with these charges?” He wipes another cigarette into his briefcase and I take another drink. “Shouldn’t have been trying to extort me. In my own home no less. What can I say I got a little upset?” “You could have said no or instead of tying them up and executing them you could have dropped them off somewhere. Honestly, anything but what you did might be better than this. The cops?” He questions.

“The cops can go suck a dick. Do you have any idea how much I pay them to not interfere with my business? A fucking lot and then these rebel ass fuckers come to my house, in front of my family, and ask for more? They got what they deserve and you will get me out of here like you always do because I pay you a fucking lot of money too. So, get off your ass, march through those doors, and do what it is that I pay you to do,” I order him. He stands up and runs his hands through his greasy hair, “I’ve been up all night trying to do just that. News flash you and all the money in the world are not going to get yourself out of this. What you have done this time is just plain stupid. All this money has made you blind. Blind and stupid. I quit,” he says as though he grew a spine in the last thirty seconds.

“You can’t quit. This isn’t some company you can just walk away from. I’m not some CEO who stuck his dick in the wrong hole. You know damn well that once you walk through those doors you are a dead man. Your wife and kids are dead too. I’ll make sure that when my boys are through with them it will make what I did those cops look like a mercy killing.” I can’t help but smile as my words settle in. “You know you may have a point. Maybe the devil did swoop in and take care of these cops,” he snaps his briefcase closed. “See know we are getting somewhere,” I grin. Threats the world is run on threats. Figure out a man’s weak spot and exploit it to no end.

“Empty threats Marco because your boys already hired me to run their new criminal empire. It is almost too funny that you brought up the idea of your former empire as a business. Because that is how we intend to run it from now on,” he grins. I can feel the blood rush from my face, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” My heart skips a beat as my blood pressure rises. “You know if you had listened more. Like I had listened to you. Things could have been different. Though I don’t know. The devil never changes. The devil does what he wants and deals with the consequences later,” his voice fading as the blood in my ears pounds harder. Didn’t even hear them come in. “What have,” I try to get out before a knife pierces the back of my neck and comes out the other side.

“Everyone knows you don’t fuck with the police. You hire them. Sure, there are always going to be some opportunists. But that isn’t anything that can’t be negotiated. Nothing that can’t be talked out,” he informs me picking up his brief case as my blood slowly washes over the metal table. He takes two photos out from inside his jacket pocket and throws them down in front of me. “Probably doesn’t matter now, but it is only right that you should know,” he pauses. I stare at the photos laid out in front of me. “They suffered until their very last breath,” he finishes.

Enraged I attempt to get up before hands slam me into the table from behind. I struggle as they hold me down. One of them pulls the knife from my throat. More blood releases from my neck and onto the table in front of me. Over and over, they stab me in the back. The metal tip of the blade slamming into the table underneath. “I take it we are even now?” The lawyer asks from the other side of the glass. His questions going unanswered. “Good, if there is anything else you know where to contact me,” he says before walking out of view. I don’t die as I watch. Not right away. Time seems to stand still as I fight for air in the glass. Struggle against their will until there is no struggle left in me. A witness to my own death. Because in my world I get everything that I deserve.

M.T. Billings

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The Myth…

I love to walk among them. I love to see just how they treat one another, but most of all I want to see how they treat me. I do it to feel powerful and I love the power I have over each and every one of them. Though none of these people know just how powerful I truly am. They all fail to realize that they are under my control. That it is I who controls every aspect of their simple lives. That it is I who can destroy everything that they hold dear in seconds without lifting a single finger. I control everything and they have no idea. No one can ever understand what this really means. I’m here amongst them to enjoy their mistreatment. I enjoy their displeasure most of all, but I enjoy it more after witnessing them first hand. It is fascinating to watch these simple creatures made of flesh and blood. To watch how quickly they will turn on each other over something that doesn’t even exist but inside their heads.

These creatures value money as if it has any true value once they are gone. These creatures gorge themselves on anything they can fit their mouths around all the while children starve to death as they themselves proclaim they are still hungry. Then there are the creatures that kill in my name so they can take over a land that isn’t even theirs. They destroy the very creatures I have made just to get their way. They drag my name through all the blood, all the pain, all the suffering of these creatures just so they can feel justified in disobeying me. If there is one thing, I have learned in all this time it is that there is a flaw in the design of man.

Free will was bestowed to these creatures in hope that they could control themselves. That these creatures would one day not need a God to control them, but sadly their free will is wasted on jealousy and greed. I once had a dream, but it has long been lost on man. I have given up and I have given in. Some days I wonder if it is was truly, I that has created these creatures, these monsters. These creatures say that they were made in my image, but they are most certainly not. A god does not create such dirty filthy degenerate things such as man. A god creates a world in which he wants to live in. A god creates a myth of how things should be and not how it is or so it seems thanks to man. A god may have control, but to have power I learned that I must destroy. And I have come to enjoy in that destruction, that chaos that mankind seems to enjoy so much. I have learned that I may not have made man from my image, but they most certainly have made me from theirs.

Layne Ambrose

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Weatherman…

The weatherman calls for rain, but then again it always rains here. The rain is cold and it is harsh against my clothes and against my skin. The rain comes down and it pours, and when it doesn’t pour it turns into mist that surrounds me to always let me know that it is there with me. The rain will never leave.

The weatherman calls for rain. He is an idiot in a village full of them. The rain builds up on the edges of the streets and seeps up on to the sidewalk. The rain puddles becoming giant lakes on the ground. I feel as if I am Jesus walking on water, but the holes in my shoes bring me closer to the ground than closer to god.

The weatherman calls for rain, but what does it matter? When it rains it pours and it makes days seem like weeks and weeks like months. Time stands still here only the rain and the weatherman are a constant around me. Some days it burns and some days it heals, but its presence is always with me. I wonder what it would be like without all the rain.

The weather man calls for rain, and I assume my place once again amongst the rain.

Valerie Hannigan

This micro tale about nothing is inspired by my time in Washington State. Fun fact, it rains there a lot. I remember walking to work and dodging the tidal waves created by the city buses and passing cars. For a place with so much rain it always seemed as the roads were flooded. I often arrived to work soaking wet. It was very humbling and honestly some days I miss it. Maybe it’s the youth I miss. The time before the kids. Not caring about anything. Of course, that wasn’t even the case then. Everything seemed way more important than it ever actually was.  

Another reason I wrote this story was because I could care less about the weather. Not the environment, I care about that put your fangs back in. What I mean is that I don’t care if it is raining or not. It either is or it isn’t. So, to me weather specialist is kind of pointless. Tying it all together there might be some more symbolism in there somewhere. Not sure what it could be. 

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Self Destruct… One Word At A Time…

Time ticks by without a name or face
What is it that I’m doing in this place
Lost and dying, I have no time to rest
All I want to do is lay down
Pretend that I’m dead
Peace is a word with no meaning
Who can go in such a fashion in theory
Never wanted to be here, never wanted to leave
Now the choice isn’t up to me
Hope is something I once had
Now I have nothing, never said I was glad
A feeling I once had
The world wants more than they let on
Taking a piece every day
Forgive me if I have nothing left
Forgive me if I gave it all away
Never knew any better
Thought this was what it was all about
A truth I can not speak
An idea I believe but don’t live
A dream buried deep within me
Straggling an idea
Choking at the thought of it all
Another drink and I will be
Too far gone
A place called home
A place I’ve long to become
Lost words in the idea of it all
Meaning more than I’m willing to say
A thought stuck in my throat
Know that I gave it my all
Know that all of this
Has always been for you