And Other Things From This Time…

Descending

I forge a path
I forge ahead of the rest
In the end
Left in the back
I dance before I awake
Covered up for good
Yet it is all the same
Visualize in my mind
There’s not much left to hide
My soul bleeds open
As if cut or torn
My mind like one big wound
I was lost and I still am
Time doesn’t heal anything
For the damned
Time does nothing more
Than keep track of everything lost
Bleed like me and I will
Follow the trail into the dark
Bleed like me and I will
Heed your warning until the end
Too late to change anything
Here we go again but in the end
I gave up a long time ago
Before here and now
Deep in the ground

Do Nothing

I bleed and I scream
I dream and I leave
At the time and for me
Life is a glimpse
Of something I don’t know
I wait for a signal
Then at once I should go
The tunnel is dark
Long and without hope
The path is clear
Of hidden danger and the unknown
I bleed and I scream
I dream and I leave
I do something
But in the end I do nothing

Two more poems from our book now available on Kindle… A mixed bag of emotions beat with a small wooden bat… Broke the larger one trying to figure this all out… Desperately need bat money or a new bat… Thanks for the help and your time… Until tomorrow.. Best of luck…

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Letter To Myself…

When you look back over a life time you realize just how much time you’ve wasted. You see how minutes are not hours, hours not as days or weeks are lifetimes. You see however that years become seconds and decades minutes. Time slips right by without even a second look. The twenty-five-year-old me would say I live without regrets and the fifty-year-old me would tell you how much I live with only regrets. He’d tell you all about how much time I wished I could get back. Time is wasted on the young and stupid. Not that we truly get any smarter with age. I mean I am sitting here writing to any empty audience and wasting the very time I wish to get back. Age is a trip. God damn is it ever. If I could go back in time, I’d tell the twenty-five-year-old me to quit working and go have some fun.

I’d tell him money is worthless and all the shit wasted on it is just that, shit. I’d tell him so many things I already tell myself every day.  I’d say live for today and not the week. If only I could go back and warn him of the old man he will become. That’s what I would do if I could go back in time. I’d be selfish for the first time in my life. Never look back, because all you will find is regrets for all the time wasted. A lifetime of waiting for something better is really nothing more than a waste of life.

There’s never going to be a better time than now. When you’re young, when you still have life not at the end of it. Not when there’s nothing left because that is all that is left after a life time of saving and waiting, a whole lot of nothing. You could say that I’m bitter, but I’m just being honest. If you can take one thing from this, I hope it is the message to live, to have fun, to have a life worth looking back on. Because in the end this is all that matters, having something to look back on. If only I had listened to myself then instead of now.

Oh, and she cheats on you with your best friend, and the kids all hate you because they think it’s your fault the family fell apart. Your hair will only last a couple more years and a decade after that your dick won’t be able to get up without a little bit of help. Your life savings. Well, you will spend it all, but not on anything worth saving for. Medical bills mostly and a place to burry the dog. It took a life time to learn that so use the information well. Good luck and maybe when it’s all said and done. We won’t be the same and you’ll have something else to say when we are back here again.  But I know us better than we’d like to admit. So, I’ll be seeing you real soon.

M.T. Billings

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Something Different…

Long Legitimate Regret

There is a war within myself
One that can not be won with blood and guts
This can’t be the end
But I fear that it must
Each day is a plague within itself
A lost cause of hopeful redemption
One that could only do better with mass amputation
A removal of myself
A separation of mind from body
I hope one day for it to all go away
Though I know less hopeful things
Will come true
If this is the end
Embrace it as if holding an old friend
Too much has changed since the beginning
Your bull-headed stubbornness was cute
Now it is nothing more than sad and pathetic

Unsure

So they say
That it is the age of death
So they say
A lot of things
Who are they
That you listen too
So they say
We are all murderers and thieves
So they say
To hear themselves speak
Who are they
Anyway
So they say
That the world will end today
So they say
Anything that you want to hear
Who are they
Inside your head

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A Collection of Something Different…

A Collection of Different Things…

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Hold Me Back…

His body is still right before it slams into the hood of the minivan. The impact throws his body like a rag doll out of my view, and further into the busy street. I rush to be near him, but I have a feeling he is closer to me now than ever before. His body lays in a tangled mess of blood, lacerations, and broken bones. The man I once loved is no longer there and all that exist is his empty shell of a body.

A crowd starts to form around his body as I fall to my knees. I cry like I have never cried before. I cry as if my tears will bring him back to life and end this pain running through my body. I try to hold him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m so lost and confused, and there is so much blood. Someone calls 911, but it is too late for them to do anything. The blood takes the form of a trail leading to the nearest sewage drain. I don’t know what that means. Does any of this mean anything at all? I grab his body with all my love, “What does any of this mean?”

The paramedics arrive and ask me to let go of him, but I can’t bring myself to let go of his body. “Sir, you need to let go of him. Sir, he needs to go to the hospital,” one of them repeats over and over again. They force me to let go of him and I am covered in his blood. The cops hold me back as the paramedics load his body onto the ambulance, and drive him away. Leaving me behind in a world that doesn’t understand. A world that doesn’t care what we have been through.

Layne Ambrose

Love with all of your heart… love like today is your last… never go to bed angry… and love who you want to love… life is hard enough without it… there’s no reason to make it any harder…

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And Other Things From This Time…

Not the Answer

Sex is an ugly thing
Do what you have to do
Then it’s all over
I write because I have to
Then it’s all over
I’d stay and talk
But I have to write
This all over
A process with meaning
Still no answers
Atheism is a question
Is there a God?
Or am I only alone
Sold a million books
Reprised the question
Why am I doing this?
If it’s not worth the effort
You think you know
And so do I
But I’m a liar
Do what I have to do
To get between your thighs
I am an animal
But then why do I feel so bad
Did what I had to do
This is no lie
This is no question
I am what I am
Is not the answer

Are you paying attention?… Does this all seem as though no one else knows?… I’d give you a clue, but even they are lost on me… Driven to madness I had no choice… I hope you understand that pieces of my soul are now available on Kindle…. Enjoy…

Retouching On Bad Memories

People get way too hyped up over these fucking holidays. They are made up, by us no less, they do not matter, so take the dildo stuck up your ass and pull it down a notch. Working in a grocery store is insanity on high. There is a holiday every fucking month and yet still every one of the top ass lickers loses their god damn minds. Collectively their heads begin to explode in their anal cavities and the shit flows down all over me. They act as if this is the big one. This one day out of the whole year will pay for every other day forever. They act as if no one will ever eat again after today.

Maybe if the world ends than people might have to stop eating, but you will be dead and so will I… So, who gives a shit? Even if the economy completely collapses, we will still be here handing out the rations before the raiders take over. Still plenty of time to make a dollar or two for doing nothing at all. Fact… People will still show up long after the bombs have dropped, the shotguns have taken us home, and the dark lord has discarded our souls. Because people need to eat… Great, who’s going to clean this shit off my shoes? This fucking month’s holiday, because again we have at least one every god damn month if not every other week… the thoughts they don’t stop no matter how hard you scream, is back to school.

Yes, back to school is a major holiday. If you didn’t know that you do now, and no, you aren’t any smarter or better for it. You’re welcome… Everyone is acting as though we are storming the beaches of Normandy. The big ones coming, this is it people, back to school, back to school, back to school. This is madness. With the kids in school people need less food in the house. Most of them will buy lunches or receive them at school depending on the area. Yes, people will be back from going on vacation, but this place hasn’t been a ghost town for the last two months. So, what are the sales up by a percent starting now? We really need to lose our shit over a percent?

Again, they act as if after this weekend no one is coming back to this store to buy food for the rest of the year. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was a few holidays out of the year that they are like this, but it is every holiday. Every god damn week they need to act like the company is going under. Maybe because I don’t get bonuses from all the bull shit that I don’t care as much? I do however get the lovely joy of doing all the work and dealing with all their bull shit, and yet I’m calm because it is just another fucking day. Thanksgiving wasn’t created to sell more shit it just happens to be like that. Jesus wasn’t born on the 25th so we could sell more shit. If he was even born on that day at all. As far as sales go grocery is a cake walk, but these people have their heads so far up their ass that they have to worry about nothing. In the history of America when was the last time we were like nah I’m good on eating today?

Never, and here in Texas we have enough fat fucks to make a company earn twenty billion dollars plus a year. We aren’t even in every city in Texas. The idea that we have to worry about one single weekend is insane. If you are so God damn concerned how about you hire some more people instead of making me do the job for two? If you were so concerned about your stupid fucking bonus. How about you put your hands in the shit for once? Yeah… that’s what I thought. Not as stupid as you look.

I get that we should always be a little concerned no one might come in, but as long as we don’t raise the prices to obscene levels or post some ignorant shit like gays aren’t real people. Because they are real people in case that wasn’t clear. We should be more than fine. Running around and acting like an asshole isn’t making any of this easier or run smoother. It isn’t motivating me to give a fuck. I’m fully aware that we need to keep the same level of greatness at all times. For fuck sakes people have to eat.

For the recorded I don’t work at the local truck stop… despite what you might have seen… it is only a rumor spread across the internet… Speaking of something we may or may not have seen… I’m also not looping The Shining… waiting for the old lady scene… Is it weird that I don’t find it disturbing at all?… I feel like I am supposed too… I mean she just wanted a hug?… Hug old people… they need it and it could be their last… isn’t that all that any of us want?… One last hug… Fuck the holidays…

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And Other Things From This Time…

Often

I often wonder what it feels to die
Does it feel like I do now
All alone with no one to talk too
I do this to myself
Yet I don’t know the answers to my own questions
I often wonder how soon
Will all this prove to be meaningless
They say you pave your own way
But what if it’s not true
What if this is nothing more than a collection
Of me and you
I often wonder about God
Am I him or is it you
All reason would lead to nothing at all
I feel like I know what I’m saying
But in the end it all seems to come out the same
Blood in blood out and all that shit
Maybe life is nothing more than a brotherhood
Of bull shit
I do this to myself
Get all upset for no good reason
I often wonder what it feels to die
And I know it has to feel like this

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Yes… I Sold Out Because It Is All That I Know….

The Date Rapist…

“You can’t sit there,” a voice out of nowhere exclaims. “Why the fuck not?” I ask quickly getting up from the bench. Frantically I look around in the darkness. “There is a rapist on the loose. Well, a date rapist or something like that. He might even be you. I don’t know,” the voice without a face says. “Why is it always a man? How come it is never some big breasted, sexy woman who is out to get everyone using nothing but her vagina to seek revenge? Always a man and his oh so powerful dick coming to wreak havoc on the world,” I huff. I still haven’t managed to find the source of the voice. It has to belong to a woman by the sound of it.

“Are you serious right now?” She asks in a hushed whisper. I don’t bother responding. “Women can’t rape men. Everyone knows that. How the hell would that even work anyway? Rape is an act of anger and hate forced onto an individual that isn’t willing to participate sexually,” she informs me annoyed. “What are you a fucking dictionary?” I ask. “Know what it doesn’t matter because you are wrong. A woman can rape a man in more ways than one. Just because their dick is hard doesn’t mean that they want to have sex. That is the same as saying because a woman was all wet it means she wanted it. She wanted it so badly. We are programmed to fuck in a subconscious level even if we don’t want to,” I interpose. 

“You are raping my ears right now with your dirty talk,” the voice says. “Then you have the whole other level of raping that doesn’t even involve dicks. I mean anything can be inserted into an anus from a finger to an action figure. So really to say a woman can’t rape a man is wrong. She can if she really wanted to,” I rationalize out loud. “Granted she would have to overpower the man, but the same drugs men use to accomplish their goal are also available to women. It’s not like they belong to a special club or anything,” I ramble on.  “So, is that all it takes?” The voice asks in a curious tone. “Let’s face it though most men are little bitches now a days anyways so, really a woman might not even need drugs in the first place,” I say proudly proving my point. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She asks in disgust from behind some bushes. I stare into them looking for any sign of a person.

“Hey, you brought up the topic of rapist and some ignorant shit about how women couldn’t possibly be one,” I answer. “Oh, so now I am ignorant because I don’t believe a woman can rape a man. That sounds real intelligent. You are so smart I wish I could be as smart and stupid as you,” she says annoyed. From the sound of her voice, it sounds like she is getting closer. “You know this is so typical. A man has to explain to little old me about how the world works. I was just trying to give you a chance, but no,” she had more to say but gets interrupted. “Excuse me do we have a problem here?” A male voice asks from out of nowhere.

“Oh fuck,” we both exclaim in unison. I reach for my pepper spray. Spraying the little can in no general direction towards the male voice. She apparently had the same idea as me. We don’t stop spraying until our cans are empty. Eyes burning, we all begin to cough and hack. All of us except one. The pepper spray mist cloud dissipates and we stand there watching as the man lies on the ground kicking and screaming. The strong stench of urine cutting through the toxic smell. There is a dark outline growing around the crotch of his uniform that becomes visible even through swollen eyes. “I’m a fucking cop,” he screams rubbing his eyes. “What do we do?” I shout before dropping the can of pepper spray. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” a big breasted and sexy woman suggests. Too scared to do anything else we run in opposite directions into the blurry darkness.

M.T. Billings

We have a basket of prompts and what were the odds that I would draw rape? One in three. Granted I put the topic in the basket, but that is besides the point. Why rape? Because a basket full of prompts is fucking stupid. Get what I give, I guess. Not my personal best. Could have done a better job. For the record men can get raped and many male rapes go unreported. That was my point. Wasn’t trying to trigger anybody or upset anyone for once. Thought it was something people should know.

Something Different…

Into Reality

Lies, lies we tell ourselves to get by
Everyone is standing in their windows
Hoping to get noticed, but everyone is too busy
Ignoring the people in their shitty lives
A generation raised on hiding, despising
Falsified documents made to look like lives
Every ones opinion locked away in a data bank
What did you do today?
Nothing the same as always
Who wants to hear the truth, infliction
What you mean, the words get twisted
Infections, choose properly or be torn down
Shit upon, dragged around and forgotten
This is the world in which we live our lives

Layne Ambrose

Speaking of… we have twitter handles… and we can be found on Instagram… well I can be… because I’m the most sociable of all of us… and that isn’t saying much… also most of us have souls… still very much on sale… to be honest though most of them are worn pretty thin… but if you need a soul… I’ve never needed one… but if you need one beggars can’t be choosers… and we’ve got a couple of good ones left…

Ambrose…

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I Awake with Bruised Eyes and Hollowed Out Lies…

I look at the world around me, seven minutes freezing cold under the blankets covered in sweat, flashing ideas of the night before, and how I passed out drunk once again. I awaken with burning, stinging, sleepless eyes. The same two eyes I carry with me everywhere I go. I awake with a sense of belonging and at the same time a longing for something else. Awaken but yet I must still be dreaming. Dreaming for something better or something worse my day hasn’t been decided yet. I awake to the uncomfortable feeling of my dick harder than it needs to be. It stands at full attention looking for any attention. Either from me or anyone willing to kill some time. Ready to release one more load or another gallon of piss. The bed is empty and my hands aren’t interested.  The decision no longer up to my brain, but in a gateway smaller than I can imagine. Buried deep inside past the over complicated network of nerves and stretched skin. Made of flesh and blood as is the rest of me. This is every morning. This is a constant. These are the early morning things I think about and I do not know why. Discomfort first and ask questions later.

The bad taste that has slipped into my mouth overnight doesn’t go away even after I try to brush it out or smoke in a replacement taste. My teeth hurt like they have been grinding away layer by layer all night. It’s the little stresses that kill you not the big stuff. It is the little stuff that slowly eats you alive. Taking this and taking that but in the end, they take everything anyway. If you are one of the lucky ones you won’t even notice the discomfort. I notice every little instance and yet I let it happen. Hell, I join in on the pleasure every now and then. Daily. I smoke another with the taste still very much intact. I didn’t need another one, but at this point what is one more? One more nail, one more stake in the heart. Tiny needles pressing against my chest cavity heading for my soul. It wasn’t the taste or even my cock that woke me up today. Woke me up earlier than even death would allow. No, it was a dream, a light version of a nightmare that is my life.

My dream, nightmare, inner vision was about my grandmother. A devil of a woman whom without I wouldn’t be standing here today. Allegedly, there is no scientific facts to back up these claims. I hate my grandmother she was a bitch. Therapy could help me describe my true inner feelings better, but she’d still be a bitch. In the dream she pretends to be a sleep as my grandfather rattles off a list of shit she wants for dinner. He has exact instructions on what she wants and how she wants it to be. Treated like a slave in life and in my dreams. I feel bad for my grandfather. It was no wonder he went a little crazy. It was no wonder they found him in possession of a trunk full of dead cats and a collection of women’s underwear. Luckily it didn’t go any further than that or you might have heard of him. He lives in a cozy little place far removed from society now. Better but he is basically dead. No more dead than the rest of us mind you, but dead enough.

“This but not that. Make sure you get it right or else,” he says in my mind and my dream. Or what the fat bitch is going to get her lazy ass out of bed and kick your ass? She hasn’t left that bed by choice in maybe a year. I’d like to say, but even in my dreams conversations with myself always seem one-sided. He rubs lotion across already weeping wounds. Bed sores left out in the open to fester and farm the guilt of anyone willing to help her. I can see her while she fakes being asleep. Patiently listening to make sure he plays his part as always. His hands kneading the folds of her skin. Sick to my stomach at even the thought. He says one more thing before I awoke, “We know you’re capable of so much more, but we also know you always screw up.” The sound of wet flesh as he sticks his hand deeper into the folds. Elbow deep my mind couldn’t take anymore.

What do you think that the dream meant? I hope it means that she is or will be dying all over again, but she is already dead. Not a loss or a gain just more of the nothing that fills this world. I shouldn’t waste my thought on people that don’t matter, didn’t matter, or don’t care. The brain doesn’t work like that though. They still find their way through long after they have gone away. Slip their way through the cracks no one knew were even there. Tears in the walls they work their way through and leave nothing but rubble behind. How could anyone know what someone else is capable of when they don’t even know themselves? Two turns into another and the ash tray slowly fills up as I watch it grow.

A gun fight erupts outside, a flood down the street drowns hundreds, and yet I sit staring at a screen looking for answers. The noises of life all around me. How am I to live with so many distractions? The hopes, wants, and needs that will always go unfulfilled. There is a need in me to start over again. To walk away and try something different. Every morning the same old thoughts. Hindered by a sense of reason. Each day passes and I bury myself deeper. Living a life without purpose doesn’t leave me much of a reason to do anything different. Drinking doesn’t help any of this go away. Suicide comes easy when the present is only for a moment but the past lasts a life time. Still enough time to jerk off before I have to do anything that is supposed to matter. Still too early to start drinking once again. Too restless to think of anything else. Sitting and waiting is all I seem capable of.

M.T. Billings

I don’t like breaking down my writing so I’m not going to. I say how I feel and that is that. Is it fiction? Not at first, but given enough time and space. It becomes fiction for me. Give it enough time and everything will go away.

We Are More Than Short Stories…

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