Break me --

Stand on my back and

Walk along my spine

Feel the delicacy

Of my fallen spirit

Buckle below you

As your perversion grows

And listen with intent

To the crunching sounds

Of my iridescent cartilage

Crushed with finality

Against my milky bones

Must I contrast you to a summer's day?

You are more beautiful and collected.

Tornados damage the lands within May,

Thus summer's rent is briefly infected.

At times the blazing sky torch heats too much,

And others, her yellow features clouded;

As rain from thunder storms grace us in touch,

In randomness, or poor weather shrouded;

But your forever summer must not die,

Nor lose ownership of the rain you bring,

Nor must Death boast you are caught in her sty,

When in eternity to Time you sing.

So long as humans thrive, or eyes read through,

So long as this poem lives, so, too, will you.

Laben Conroy sat un-alone in his head

His lover lie cooling under the covers

She'd thrashed and moaned

She'd squirmed and she'd groaned

Whilst his fingers danced round her throat

Still unsatisfied he could not let her lie

So he rolled her over and had her again

Now Laben Conroy sat un-alone,

Crowded in fact was his head

Dripping with sweat, half hard and still wet

He buried his lover cold and dead

In a mound of pillows and sheets

The blankets still reeked

When he deserted her there in the bed

Laben Conroy walked un-alone in his head

He locked up the door on room 34

He was nine rooms through

Out of four wings this was two

How long would it be

Wondered the voices as he,

Played with the remaining sixty-six keys

’Til his manor was packed room to room.

many people write just as a passion or as a career 

I write as a way to alleviate the pain

I write because it forces me to deal with what I feel 

to talk and to convey my emotion into words 

so That I can stop taking out my pain on myself 

so I can be a better person

I write because it causes me to escape into whatever reality I wish to live in 

I often write from a dark perspective and about my relationships because It is  easy for me to write about that, than write about my battle with mental illness 

because I fear being seen as crazy 

also I have alaways been insecure and writing gives me confidence and power

The pen becomes my knife and I can stab my pain into my paper not my skin 

I began writing in second grade , I took up writing because I was severely bullied and then I stopped for awhile then I picked it up again after I lost my best friend kary 

then I reached middle school constant bullying and other crap that I will not ever write about or tell you and then high school again bullying and past things rising in my chest and causing me to pick up the pen again and write 

writing is my therapy. Ever since then I have never stopped writng I am always writing 

But I came here so I could stop hiding my poems in the cracks of mattress so my family wouldn´t find them they don´t want to write they say it´s a waste of time 

also they would throw away my notebooks

so I would write my poems and dig a hole in the ground in my backyard and stuff them there also many times I would write a poem or a story and flush it down the toilet or throw in the field in the back of the house fearing they would read my stuff 

when I say I write to not feel sad I mean that 

I am screaming in my writes alaways because I am fighting with trying to keep all the craziness in and not telling people everything I deal with because I hate sympathy I don´t want sympathy I want to be understood 

I am strong woman 

not pathetic 

because I have a weak heart 

so don´t think you can fuck with my emotions and get away with it 

It was a normal morning. A coffee breakfast, chased with dry toast and orange juice, a shower, a shave and a bathroom break. All normal. Work out clothes on, an early morning jog and another shower after. See? All normal. Dressed for work and out the door on time. It was a five block walk to the office, and me in my pressed shirt and pants and nice shoes and a blue tie to offset the lack of color in the shirt, would be there in short time. By my watch, I had half an hour and I had never been late to work.

Everything was normal.

The boardwalk bustled with people already selling their wares in the storefronts and center kiosks. Most every day folks paid no attention to them, but the tourists … ahh those tourists ate up the sales people and their pitches, especially the ones with the Hollywood smiles, perfect hair, dazzling eyes and plastic bodies. On the beach just beyond the boardwalk, people already gathered and milled about, some on blankets, some in the water and some walking hand in hand with a lover, or holding a leash of a dog. Oh, such a normal, normal morning.

Until I met Kathy and David.

They were a cute couple, he with his disheveled hair and horn rimmed glasses and stubbled chin, and she with her pulled back red hair, green eyes that seem to sparkle and rosy cheeks. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty. She might have been sixteen. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it did. You didn’t have to know them to see the love they had for one another in their eyes. To me, that is what mattered most.

He pushed a stroller, one almost completely pink and white, and she carried a diaper bag on one shoulder. It was the same pink and white pattern of baby rattles and hearts as the stroller. The top of the stroller was pulled up, possibly to shield the baby (a girl I presumed) from the sun and little old ladies who liked to squeeze the cheeks of babies. The wheels were big, made for going over just about anything.

An all wheel stroller, I thought and couldn’t hold back the smile that formed on my lips.

I think it was the smile that changed my day. It’s not that I don’t smile. It’s just the young couple saw it.

They exchanged a glance and then she nodded tentatively. As we passed each other I gave them a “good morning.” Yeah, that was probably another thing that attracted them to me. I smiled, I nodded, and I spoke, making eye contact with him as I did so.

Just passed them, he called back to me, “Excuse me, Sir?”

I turned. He looked hopeful with his raised brows and a nervous smile on his face.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Hi, I’m Dave,” he said and put out a hand. His fingers were long and thin. I had a brief thought that he might have played piano at some point. I took his hand. I gave it a good pump and released it.

“I’m Kathy.” She extended her hand, just as he had, and I took it, just as I had Dave’s.

“We were wondering,” Dave picked back up, “do you have a minute?”

Uh oh. Salesmen? Religious folk peddling their religion? Con artists? All of these were normal thoughts, and all of them were wrong. Thinking on it now, I don’t think I would have minded if they would have been all three.

I guess the look on my face and the hesitancy to respond said I wasn’t sure about them.

“I’m sorry,” Dave said. “We’re not trying to sell you anything or want any money. We just want you to take a picture of us and our baby.”

I relaxed. A breath escaped me, one both full of relief and embarrassment. Not everyone is crazy in this world, after all.

I glanced at my watch. I had twenty minutes or so. “Sure. I can do that. I have a couple of minutes before I have to be to work.”

Their faces lit up with smiles and he stuck his hand out for me to shake with a “thank you, we appreciate it,” on his lips.

“No problem,” I said.

Kathy set the bag on the sidewalk and rummaged around in it for a moment before bringing out her cell phone. She handed it to me.

“Just press and hold the button for it to focus. When it does, a green square will appear on us. Let the button go and then press it again and it will take the picture.”

Normal. See? Everything was normal.

She lowered the stroller’s top with her back to me. I admit I had to look away because the view from where I stood was pleasant. When I looked back, Kathy and Dave stood by the black steel rail that separated the boardwalk from the beach. He straightened his shirt with the palms of his hands and she held the swaddled baby in the crook of one elbow.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

They both nodded quickly, but their smiles looked nervous, almost forced.

I held the phone up, the camera facing them. I looked into the display and watched as the view zoomed in and then locked on the happy little family.

That was when things got weird.

The phone’s screen showed Dave and Kathy standing side by side with smiles on their faces that looked strained. Kathy had removed the blanket from near the baby’s face.

I shook my head and lowered the phone. From that distance I could barely make out the child, but when I turned the phone back to them, it was clear the child was dead and had been for a long time.

My hands shook and I tried to still them so I could take the picture.

“Is everything okay?” Kathy asked.

I lowered the phone. “Umm … yes. The camera is just having a hard time focusing. Give me one more second.”

“Okay,” she said, but her tone told me she didn’t believe me.

I held the button she had told me to and the phone’s camera zoomed in and focused on them. The square turned green, and yes, that little child was dead, and what I saw was her bare skull. I released the button, then quickly pressed it again. The camera gave a ~CLICK~ and the screen blinked several times. Then it stopped and what appeared on the screen was the stilled image of Dave, Kathy and the baby.

I looked at it for a moment, just as anyone taking a picture would, but I didn’t check it to see if I took a good shot. I checked it to make sure what I thought I saw was real. The image on the screen was of a skeletal baby being held by parents too grieved to let the child go. Dave stood next to his wife, his arm around her. Kathy leaned into him and held the baby chest high. Their smiles were clearly forced. I’m not sure, but I think there were tears in her eyes.

My mouth went dry and my legs weakened. I looked back at them and they hadn’t moved, but their smiles had faltered.

“How … how is this?” I asked, not knowing what else to say or do.

Dave took the camera and looked at the image. He frowned at first.

“Kathy, what do you think?” he asked and showed her. At this point she had already put the baby back in her stroller and pulled the top back up, not to keep the sun off of her or the old ladies from pinching her cheeks, but possibly to keep anyone from seeing the child in it.

She stood and took the phone from him. “Oh, that is beautiful. That is a great picture.”

They both shook their heads in what I took was satisfaction.

“Thank you,” Dave said and put out one of his pianists’ hands.

It was everything I could do to stretch my hand and take his. My skin was cool and the thought of touching his hand made me shiver.

Like Dave, Kathy gave her thanks and extended her hand to me, and like earlier, I shook it gently. Then they both walked off, he pushing the stroller, she with the baby bag slung over her shoulder. As I watched them go, I honestly didn’t know what to think. I stood there a while longer before taking a seat at a nearby coffee shop. My heart broke for the sad couple with the dead baby and the inability to let go, not for the child, but for themselves. And then I was crying with my face buried in my hands. After a few minutes, I composed myself, wiped my eyes and made my way to work. I was late for the first time that day.

A hound that bellows through the night

Wails a cry not wept to muffle

Her howls are only tried and trite

On the tame ear deaf to struggle

Let her sing her piercing call

Do not cease her tireless fret

Her story spirals far beyond your small

And narrow label, "just a pet"

Her eyes have shown a sorrow deep

Harrowing trials wandered through

It is for these reasons she may weep

This untold worry does accrue 

For this, she hollers into pines

A wood for miles behind your border

Her woeful scream will not resign 

Til she restores her family's order

The pain that feeds your hound dog's whine

The tale that fuels her howling

Began two weeks before the time

Your rubbish brought her prowling

She was only looking for a treat

To curb her famine and her pain

So seven children now could eat

Nurse teets and drink her milk again

She was drying to the will of nature

A starving dog without a bone

But she left those pups in way of danger

When she found your home 

And while she's grateful for your love

She only needs one hour of freedom

To find the babes she's speaking of

So that she may warm and feed them

In your fence, you jailed this hag

Good intentions were to salvage

You gave her name and bowl and tag

But left her pups to open ravage

Her bawls they answered for ten moons

Until a storm came from the skies

You scolded for those blinds she chewed

But she could not hear them from inside

And from that night, their whimpers ceased

Although she hopes to hear an echo

She will return with puppies from the trees

If for only an hour you will let go

She will race the hollows of the forest

And find their belly's growling

She will fill them full and make them nourished

Come home with babes no longer howling

But, you see...

She has not the heart to understand

Ten years have passed her bellows by

The hound cries for naught but bone and sand

A mother left in mourning til she dies

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

Oh baby mine, what can I do?

The darkness has a hold of you-

Bubonic plague, remove the child-

Unloose the babe you have defiled!

Delivery of lifelessness 

Is what you left as I confess

A ghost is all that you may see,

However, with eternity 

Amazing secrets are revealed.

The truth released is not concealed,

And I am here to challenge Death-

Return my child the gift of breath,

For I am pressing in to steal 

The life you take and as I heal

An infant, come and wrestle me-

Oh Death, I offer openly-

Return the fullness of his health,

And I will garnish you with wealth.

You cannot bargain with a ghost?

Contentious fool, you choose to boast?

Unfortunate that you decline.

Remorse shall be your concubine!

The baby you have come to kill

I cannot pass into your will.

Prepare to meet a different fate-

Relinquish him from heaven's gate!

Unhallowed beast, a robe adorned 

Is nothing to a woman scorned

For fury of a hellish Saint 

Enrages black, the color, quaint,

About your body, nothing new.

Oh yes, my god, I know the view-

A mass of skeletons connive

Unless, of course, I did survive

To cling to life, a purpose, serve

The baby who does not deserve

To forfeit life at your behest-

Oh really, now I pass the test?

And what, I wonder, willingly,

Consider you eternally?

Oh, God above does not agree,

And though a pagan and a tree

Consist of who I used to be,

Destruction of this devilry 

Enlists a mother, riddled plea-

Corrupting sickness now must flee!

Away and haunt us here no more-

The child my heart and soul adore

Escapes your grip as in a word,

Resists the measure he has heard,

For Odin's sake, the ravens fly,

Insisting that no child shall die-

Oh Death, take me and haul me off-

No longer shall my baby cough!

Around him, see my light engage,

And though your grimace full of rage

I cannot see in skull bound teeth,

I feel your presence like a wreath 

About my neck hung like a noose-

Away! My child is free; is loose!

The measure of the rising sun

Ensures me now your wrath is done

For we are fading in the light,

And as we go, I win the fight.

A baby coos; a nurse maid calls,

So long, sweet boy, your mother falls

As Death and I disperse beyond,

Forever know we have a bond.

A knight arriving joins the fray;

Enables you for brighter days.

Unknown dimensions call me north,

And still I linger back and forth.

A mother's love can conquer all,

So as I pass beyond the wall,

The mark upon your heart I give

Repels the plague that you may live.

Remember me and do not grieve-

I smile as Death and I must leave.

Oh baby mine, forget me not.

A corpse may wither, stink, and rot,

However love is never far-

A simple thought and where you are

So, too, am I- now rest my dear,

And never worry, fret, or fear

Or delve into the realm of strife.

I leave you with the gift of life ...

It’s not the years so much as the mileage.

The injuries. The memories deserting their posts.

Burn bright and

The darkness won’t dare to touch you

For a time,

But everyone has a sell by date.

After that your light will dim,

A shooting star flickering out

Unable to hold off the night,

While others are still shining in their mediocrity.

Was it worth it?

The exhilaration?

The conquests?

The passing glory?

Doing what others would not dare?

Or simply could never pull off,

Lacking sufficient perseverance

To achieve remarkable skills.

The Drive.

Most simply lack the drive

That rules the hearts of others.

That inability to thrive

Without taking a plummeting dive

Into dangerous delights

Which can only be found

Through victory in the face of perilous defeat.

My Drive.

Pushing me on despite

My mounting physical decrepitude.

Killing my heart by degrees

With every dulling knock against my razor edge,

Now dented and nicked,

Dying to be its true self again

And cut the universe in a fit of fury and scorn,

Refusing to let its power,

Once fearful in symmetry,

Slowly dim, unnoticed,

Having failed to inspire awe and dread.

When does the lion cease to want to kill?

Can a warrior be content without challenge?

Without noble triumphs earned by his own hand?

Can a man slide into licentious quietude

Without some surge of lust compelling him to

Prove, to himself, that he is yet still a real man,

Capable of being, at the most basic level,

What genetics say he must?

What primal instincts scream is his true measure.

When does the lion lose desire

To mount the lioness and growl and bite

With each commanding virile thrust?

When does dominion lose its taste?

In work and sex and mighty deeds

Or any bid for power

Our fallen hearts are slaves to by

Unquenchable ambitions

Yearning to glut themselves

On our own choice proclivities?

And can a man, no longer himself, live

Without living a lie

That slices through his guts,

Like some decades long act of seppuku,

Which will never successfully

Unburden the shame he feels?

An undead beast who having lost the flame of life,

Merely stumbles and feels about,

Hungering for its warmth once again,

Ceaseless, without rest.

Can a man find himself?

Reinvent himself as age accumulates like a stalagmite,

Hardening into an immobile shell,

A paralyzing restraint, irresistible, inevitable?

Can he take his flesh and intellect,

Broken now like a shattered clay vessel,

Reform it into something different and new?

Something with purpose?

Intentional function?

Value?

An image warranting respect

That could bring him glory

Again in some other way?

Because that’s what really matters

To us dreadful, driven few.

The Glory.

Stories, memorials and grand accomplishments

That live on for generations

After we have passed,

Our end burning bright

One last time,

Instead of quietly fading away.

the truest heroes

have always

been

dragons,

guarding women

and gold

from the greed

of men.