Blank space

Wheels spin

Shattered glass

Drip drop

She's not moving

Police sirens

Brakes freeze

Bruised skin

Dry eyes

Should've been me

Lu sat on a park bench under the shade of the tall oak tree, flipping through the pages of his favorite comedy book, The Amityville Horror. He chuckled as he flipped each page and read every vivid detail of haunting paranormal activity. The whimper of a small child averted his attention for a minute. His stepdaughter Regan ran towards his bench, tears draining from her little eyes. He also noticed that her yellow dress she wore was coated in small dirt blotches and a tiny tear on her sleeve.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" He said, lifting her onto his lap. 

"A mean boy took by bouncy ball." Regan stuttered through her rows of tears. "I told him give me back my ball, but he pushed me into the ground and tore my dress. And he laughed at me and walked away with my ball."

"There, there, there." The devil said, patting her head full of golden hair. "Let me help you with your bully situation."

Lu pulled out a black handkerchief and dried away her eyes. He then set his stepdaughter on her feet and followed her towards the playground. Standing in the middle of the sandbox was a small boy tossing a large, red rubber ball up and down. Little Regan hid behind her towering stepfather as they encroached the oblivious boy. Lu smiled as he comforted his sensitive child and tapped on the boy's shoulder. The boy turned, giving a scornful glare at the duo. 

"Hello, young lad." Lu greeted. "My name is Lu, though you may refer to me by different names. Lucifer, Satan, The Lord of Lies, call me whatever you'd like just don't call me late for dinner."

The boy remained quiet and continued to glare. Ignoring the Lord of Lies, he continued tossing the ball into the air.

"I see that you have acquired a little item from my stepdaughter," He continued. "And we'd much appreciate it if you could return it."

"No way, dweeb." The boy said harshly. "This ball's mine."

"Cute. Look I'm trying to not to unleash my nastier half right now. So if you could return the ball to this child and say you're sorry we'll all be good. What do you say?"

"I say your face looks like a butt-ugly goat!" The boy said with a crude laugh.

Lu's eye gave a swift twitch yet he remained calm. He knew that mocking his human appearance was the boy's biggest mistake, but he continued to smile. Judgement would be upon him. "Ok then. Just so you know, there's a special place for rude little bullies like yourself. Here's a little sneak peak."

Lu tapped his pale finger on the boy's small forehead. The boy jolted from the devil's icy poke. Every hair in his body stood on edge as a cold chill spread throughout his whole body. He was frozen. Frozen from fear.

Dark images flashed inside the boy's mind. He briefly saw haunting imagery of cages on fire and burning skeletons that wailed inside. Short glimpses of mangled corpses melting and nightmarish creatures feasting on charred remains. The last vision made him most queasy as he witnessed a great red dragon, whose hide was armored in brimstone, bathing in a pool of liquid fire. The macabre visions finally stopped flashing in his head. The boy quivered as he stood in front of the still grinning stepfather. His pale hand was still spread out before the child.

"Now, how about that ball?" He asked with bigger malevolent grin.

The traumatized boy extended his quaking arms and handed the rubber ball to the sly stepfather. He then bolted from the scene, screaming and crying as he waddled away in his urine soaked shorts. Lu gave a boastful chuckle and tossed the ball back to his stepdaughter. "Here you go, Pumpkin." He said.

"My ball!" She cheered. "Thank you, Lu. Can we get ice cream now?"

"Sure but that's going to cost you." Lu fibbed. "Not much just...one tickle, two tickle, three tickle."

Regan laughed as Lu's fingers tickled her sides. Their hands clung to each other as they walked together to the ice cream shop.

"You're really good, you know?" Regan said graciously.

"Nah. I'm really bad." Lu chuckled.

"No. You're really good."

"Okay, maybe I am really good...at being really bad."

Entombed in your flesh catacombs,

laboring muscles tighten,

planting my skeletons inside you.

Your hands, they're cold.

Your sex, a fire-gorged scorpion,

burning like battery acid long after you're gone. 

he sees the world in negative,

rainbows turn to leather

in his eyes and

the granite tombstones

shimmer back daylight,

maybe this is why he's lost,

still hiding from halos

with creatures that celebrate

his deformity,

and framing the light of saints

with his tendency to fall short,

so his pain feels like forgiveness

as it comes in faithful

between the omens

that reveal themselves

in the shadows of bliss.

he is blind to color because

his soul was born before

anyone celebrated the

consequence of him.

I want the peace of a fond and friendly calm to lay its rest on me. 

Take my stresses, and digress to a more relaxed state.

A blank mind scape in which for me to be. 

Blessed be this moment, and though it's not permanent, 

the appreciation for it makes me forever adore it and 

I delight in my enlightening. 

I rejoice in my smiles brightening and glow with a flow that allows me to 

go on calmly into uncertainty. What will be will be.

Everything is slowing down

Grinding to a halt

It is all becoming clear

No one is at fault

I don't want to die like this

Razorblades & weed

I don't want to die like this

Laughing as I bleed

This life is just a waiting game

I've been forced to play

No one has been keeping score

The night becomes the day

I don't want to live like this

Always up & down

I don't want to live like this

Without a middle ground

I try not to let it get to me

I'm failing as we speak

My motivation's minimal

My memory is weak

I don't want to die like this

A manic movie star

I don't want to die like this

You know who you are

Time just keeps on ticking by

Every second's such a waste

I swallow every single word

Such an awful taste

I don't want to live like this

Cigarettes & sex

I don't want to live like this

Pills have side effects

Options seem to run away

Suggestions merely mask

Finding what I really need

An unrelenting task

I don't want to die like this

Hands around my throat

I don't want to die like this

My reason in a note

I don't want to die like this

Lost among the rest

I don't want to die like this

With a hollow chest

I don't want to live like this

This broken down machine

I don't want to live like this

My suicidal dream

Let me fight in your war

I'll be the blood and gore 

On the battlefield floor

It's a pleasure to play the part

Of a man who still has a heart

My wounds run red and it's art

I'd like to feel the bullet's breath

Breathing down my neck

There's a beauty in death

When the blast of a grenade

Finds me past the barricade

Please don't come to my aid

Am I a martyr?

Am I a saint?

Or just a corpse in the rain?

Did this bring me nothing but pain?

Recently

I've been feeling

Like I'm forgetting something.

Something I should be holding.

Something I should be wearing.

I couldn't figure it out.

Until now.

The school year is coming to a close.

And everyday my anxiety grows

There is something missing 

That was there before.

I now that summer is approaching

My schedule is less cluttered

And my life is more stress free.

Is the weight of the baggage of stress,

The thing that I'm forgetting?

An invisible weight on my shoulders

That now has been lifted?

It's bad.

It's worse.

No longer abiding silence.

No longer tolerating chaos.

Silence calls swirling words.

My mind organized chaos.

How bad it must be when at the stoplight a poem composes itself entirely. The short time span of yellow to green to red signals synapses.

Lost and unable to  be retrieved and logged for eternity.

But there will be more.

Once the faucet opens, the stream of words and images arrive unbidden and at all times.

I sleep the untethered dreams of poets

I walk the twisted paths of dreamers

I write the tormented words of artists

And breathe the augmented air of authors.