Whelp. Here I am again, writing yet another panicked, half-depressed, sort of diary entry. Right now is the last crunch/push to reach the finish line. I really should have started sooner. I wish I could go back in time, give myself a big punch, and then sternly say, "start now, finish now." The wonders a time machine could do for humanity. I should probably stop writing this now.

I have a problem. My tennis coach says that I show leadership by doing the right thing and then inspiring my teammates to do the same. I'm not sure about that though. It looks like I'm very well put together on the outside, but on the inside, I'm like a slime that has yet to be activated. (Blame those slime Tik Toks on the analogy) I'm right here, right now doing what nobody should be doing. I'm very much enjoying my internal fright. Oh geez. (I've sighed about 20 times while writing this)

The root cause: I hate myself. But then again, haven't most people in their lifetime? oh geez. not again. i don't even have the time to hate myself. woe is me. I have a lot of things that I want to do, but I don't ever start doing them. Such is the fate of moonlight. At one point, I decided that my only purpose in life was to serve others. In prettier terms, make sure that other people become their best self and become the biggest person they can. I think that kinda makes sense? Whelp. (Another sigh has escaped) I recently read Macbeth, and the one part that caught my eye was when Macbeth is talking about the meaninglessness of life. Someone I know was going on and on about how it's so special because that it's a villain that is saying that life has no purpose and that I've done this much, so it doesn't matter if I do more. How interesting. It sounds like my current predicament. I have ruined my life, so what's the problem of ruining it even more? Is there any purpose in fixing what is broken? This reminds of when my Coach says to not give up even when we are losing by a considerable amount. My Coach says that there is always a chance. A chance to do better or, in this case, to win. I guess it goes back to the one thing that will never leave humans: hope. Honestly, I always wondered why people write more about love than they do about hope. Hope is more magical, and if you look at it a certain way, love is almost just hope.

That's enough for now, I have to go finish stuff. See ya.

Every time something bad happens,

I drown myself in the bottom of a bottle,

and hope idly I'll wake up, but don't hold any anger to the thought I might not.

I fill my lungs with toxic chemicals until they ache, and batter against my ribs with angry fists once so pink now ashen.

I sleep next to someone without a face or a name just to feel my worth weighed in breathy pleas and ribbons down my back.

I exert myself to injury under weights I cannot lift, and stare into the mirror with bruising flesh like a bad peach until I am warped.

I try to bleed myself dry, however I can, because my blood is leaden.

It is treacle, slow and sticky and I cannot live with barked arms and rotten skin.

My therapist calls it avoidance. I call it retribution.

you won't forget me,

or the words that i speak,

i'm rising up against,

subjugation of the weak,

forever will my name,

be dripping from your tongue,

hypocrisy destroyed,

by the songs that i've sung,

im standing up,

for a life that will be mine,

always remembered,

always in your mind,

im standing up,

because the weak cant rise,

you only destroy life,

its your strength i despise.

you can help support T.F. Burke by visiting my kofi and making a donation https://ko-fi.com/tfburke or by visiting my website inferredimplications.com thank you so much for reading!

Consumed in fantasy

young man suckled

ample bosom of life

cradle of pillowed love

kneading soft breasts

teasing nipples with tongue

“Mommy,” he moaned

cold corpse lay still.

Creative souls search, grow and

thrive amongst each other...

Like feeding the yeast sugar,

or a nurturing mother.

Some of us found that place before

But also had it stripped away

App after app tried... then,

Prose delivered a smorgasbord on buffet

Now with even more hearts to cherish,

Like seeds scattered and sown,

New family members to encourage,

Wheat gathered and grown,

Words, oh words do nourish.

And Our Prose, our Prose helps us flourish.

Rat Bastards

The Rise Of a Legend

The True Life Story of #B27321

Detailing His Heroic Battles

With Such Publishing Giants As:

Weird Tales Magazine

Mark Coker

& SmashWords

Amy King

& GoodReads

Shamaya

of OTEP

& Lastly

Prose.

Poetry

Heavy Metal Magazine

Calls Epic

Now Battles

the Silver Screen.

My story is a love story; it is also a story that questions what love is. It takes place in a world where humans and AIs are indistinguishable. Two people are caught in an all-encompassing love- they grew up together and cannot imagine being without the other person. One day, while they are walking down the street together, a person comes up to them and tells them that one of them is a computer, and that the other is a scientist conducting an experiment. All of the memories that the AI has of them growing up together were actually fake- created in a laboratory. The couple spends the rest of the movie trying to convince the other that they are not part of the deception, only to find out they were both AIs and that their love was artificially made from the beginning. The film explores what it means to be in love and what it means to share a life with someone- is the reality (that they don't know each other) more important or is the feeling (that they've known each other since birth) more important? It leaves the viewer to decide.

Ellie was the prettiest little white girl in Mr. Kennedy's 5th grade class. As far as she knew, she was of Irish and English descent. Plus, her daddy was kind of racist. Her blood had to be purer than pure.

There's no way that her genealogy assignment for school was going to be a problem. No reason to not start digging into her family's past. Right?

Is there real danger in knowing our authentic self, our true identity?

Evil emanates out of her yellow blood shot eyes as she surveys the damage she has generated so far in her quest for complete domination over the lady who claims to be her mistress. Little does her owner know the malevolent spite bubbling in her feline’s sanguine eyes threatens to spew out onto the floor of her life. Yellow pus drips from the cat’s eyes onto the carcass of the dog, mutilated beyond belief. The sofa which his mistress chose and prized has been ripped to shreds, with errant fluff blanketing the dog’s fur. She jumps victoriously on the dog’s body and scowls, waiting for her mistress' return. Beelzebub, the cat from Hell, has big plans for her. She will be very sorry that she didn’t buy the expensive brand of cat food because she will pay and pay dearly. She sharpens her claws as she lays in wait!

I started with her foot.

She screamed a lot.

They always do their first time.

I could muffle her, but nobody can hear the screams anyway, and she might yet say those special words.

She was already hoarse when I started on the other foot.

Still, I was glad I brought earplugs.

Her hands didn't elicit much of a reaction.

I could tell she was fading, and I had to step it up.

I went straight for her abdomen, and though she struggled, she couldn't break free as I ruined her.

She tossed and cried and spit at me.

I carried on unperturbed.

"Banana hammock," she rasped.

I stopped.  That was our safe word. "Told ya you couldn't handle it."

"I never knew getting tickled could be so painful," she wheezed, sitting up as I untied her restraints.

"Nobody expects it to be," I replied, "until they end up suffocating."

I looked her in the eye. We had been together for a month, and things were going well.

"You want to find out how long that takes?"

"What?! You want to kill me?"

"Not you!  Someone else, it doesn't matter who.  The rush is always the same."

She met my eyes.  I could see the uneasiness she tried to hide.

"I'd rather not.  Let's go upstairs and get some dinner, I'm hungry."

I sighed.  Another failure.

I forced her back down, and started tightening the wrist straps.

I saw her confusion turn to fear, but it was too late for her.

"Are you really going to tickle me to death?" She whispered.

"Nah," I said, getting out my cleaver, "you made me hungry, and KFC is closing soon."