365 Group 1

Detective Flame's First Case

...handing out disfigured outlines of lust

In their hunt for truth

Parallel oval prints in the dust against the window
And the flame has become fixated
Mesmerized by the delicate handprint
Top right
With knuckles for a wrist
Two round neighbors downstairs
Below them, a spread out hand
Fingers aimed down with no wrist

Clouds spread their rain mist
To reveal the hidden bits
The flame clearly missed

Shoulders with arms raised high
A disfigured frizzy head
Starts over the shoulders
Ends waist high

The clouds clear out

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Bark For A Bone

...And he waits. And he waits. And he waits

He’s blue holding his breath while he waits

For the bone
For the bone
For the bone
For the bone

Why not throw the dog a bone?

And he waits, and he’s watching the meat dance, and it marches into her hands
Before she CHOMPS!

He chops too. He chops Two. He comps Three. But no bone
He licks one...

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Writing To Write

...the gears go
Driving my eyes where it knows
Place riddle with prose and bad habits
Where brushstrokes sculpt stone rabbits into large planets

With the serum for the cerebellum
Fear him, he’s scary fella

I’m sick with the slick wit I spit quick
Slithering semantics, thick arithmetic and static

No clique
Word clip
Take aim
Take hit

And it splits the slit wrists
The words bleed out, they insist...

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A Coward's Apocalypse

...The best bet was to leave the campus if people started to eat other people. Why stick around? But it was worse out here. More death. This thing that’s happening is happening everywhere.

In front of the Chunky Burger there’s too many of them. They’re ruthless. And Zack can’t talk himself into looking. He doesn’t want to see it keep happening. They’re tear innocent people apart and he can’t even try to help. Those things have taken down giant powerful men. Zack’s just a kid starting college. Undeveloped shoulders predict a child with this sickness easily takes him down. He’s paralyzed.

Behind him the screams get worse.

More people are dying.

More people are killing...

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Transistor I

...and out the room, through an apartment littered with books and loose pages, documentations of transistor like himself and their ability of transmutation. “Don’t have to do shit!”

“I led him to the gate.”

“Whwhat?! What the fuck, Ref? What’s wrong with you, then?” he stops in front of the build. “Do you know where it is at least? If that’s even possible!”


“Great! Thanks. Shit! I’m on it, FUCK!” Isaiah complains his way down the Queens’ sidewalk.

“Thank you.”

“Fuck you! Go away!” He walks into a liquor store and walks out with a cigarette hanging from his lips, a Newport pack in his shirt pocket and an open beer in his hand.

The store owner runs out with a gun. “STOP! Give me my shit!” he yells at Isaiah.

Isaiah raises his right hand and flips him the bird. The transmutation lines on his upper body and arms glow gold through his shirt and he sinks into the sidewalk vanishing. He’s gone as far as the store owner knows. Isaiah walks out of the window of a bodega...

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Visceral Confusion

...For their mental
Present flow
Oval office rental

Open for rent
Spent thinking of votes spent
Counting every garbage cent

Ascent, here stackin’ cash
Thinkin’ that it’s gonna to last
Suffering Succatash
Money movin’ kinda fast

War Money
Fight Money
Nuke Money
Die Money

No education
Survive funny
Die funny

Corporate America
Call the bitch Erika
Stare at her
Satirical miracle
Fear the hoe

Saints jump hoops to adopt and save, can’t breed
Monsters freely enslave their spread seeds
Feeding malicious habits
Enough money to have this
They’ll reproduce like rabbits
While mass...

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Sebastian's Awakening II

...unaware of the oddity occurring. The room fuzzes out and Sebastian topples over. His head slams into the floor and he immediately begins to seize. His body shakes and rattles. His eyes are focused on the brightly lit wall before him.

He feels trapped inside his head, unable to move or speak. Unable to anything.

And then it stops.
And the wall comes into focus.

“What just happened?” he asks, checking his arms and hands. He’s not glowing anymore. And he sort of remembers a man forcing him to eat a fruit before passing out. And the man on the floor.

Sebastian turns to the man, startled he backs into a wall and just stares.

There’s a hole in the man’s...

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Sebastain's Awakening I

...radiate their orange flame against the walls of the lobby. They twirl and spin, flickering when Finn walks by.

A nearly inaudible hum echoes through, never ending, but always faint. Finn slows his pace when he hears it. “They’re definitely here,” he says. At the end of the lobby a door leads to a final chamber. The closer he is the louder the hum. “It’s definitely coming through there.” Clearing up it reveals to be chanting. They’re opening a gate. “No! This needs to stop before more come through!” Finn yells, lunging to the chamber and down its spiral staircase.

Bottom level, a celestial is bridging a gap to his dimension. Finn walks in to hands held high, reaching for the ceiling. A tall toothpick in a suit. White feathery wings tucked in against his back. He’s facing a large blue floating orb. The wormhole to their world.

From the corner of his eye the celestial sees Finn walk into the room. His focus is taken away from the orb. The orb shrinks and...

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Celestial Hunt

...Seraphial retracts her wings, appearing just human. A yellow aura begins to surround her. Her bare feet lift from the street. She raises her hands high above her head and makes fists. As she drags those fists down against the air a large bolt of lightning pierces through the heavens, then the atmosphere and land right on Sebastian. Where it lands it explodes and launches him half a block down right into the 20th story of a sky scraper. A hovering start, she releases her wings and takes off after Sebastian while he’s still midair, catching up with him as he slams through the building. She grabs him by the ankles and tosses him further into the building. Then repeats this until they’re on the other side and she flings him through a window right down to the street below...

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Going Dark

...explode from every direction. His back vibrates each time a bullet hits the brick wall he’s against.

Derrick was separated from his group in the middle of a supply run. The stricken force them to split up.

Trying to get back he came across these pure bloods eager to steal what he’s scavenged and do who knows what to him. It’s never good. And he needs to deliver the loot. Crucial medicines are in his bag. Medicines someone back at camp needs immediately.

Many times the monsters of this world aren’t the stricken but rather the pure bloods. The people who’ve managed to escape the plague of the stricken have only done so through aggressive brutality. The stricken are small potatoes to the thinking pure bloods. People who torture for what they want. Without a moral compass. They kill indiscriminately. They rape and steal whatever, whoever, whenever.

After the fall of the government the law dissolved. Survival of the fittest began but was overtaken by survival of the monstrous.

Derrick is cornered. Wedged into the gap in a brick wall. There’s nowhere left for him to run. His pistol is dry. Panicked, he...

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...wanders too often for every day words to describe the experience.

A psychopath’s mind is a jumbled mess of cold rationality and brutal, numb disconnects. Raw numeric sequences with zero imagery. A void packed with information for the sixth sense. The one of thought. A sense impossible to explain using verbal language. A psychedelic trip which has to be experienced to be understood.

When the paper and pen work together magic happens. Genius at their job. They manage to decipher anything they’re dealt. The right words become clear. They are fit into the five basic senses. Seen and touched.

Although less of a broken mess, still a broken mess. Those unrelated might never understand what each word means or stands for. But all that’s really important is for my corrupt eyes to get the ideas they convey.

Once the echo has been removed from the walls of my mind and converted to words it’s easy to face them.

Part of me is scared. A coward. Afraid of what these twisted thoughts might mean. I control their world on paper, though. I am the Alpha and Omega of the thoughts that lands before me.

And I’m all powerful. Gifted the ability to read and comprehend versions of me that no longer exist. Abusing...

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Staying Alive II

...shrieking of screamer ghouls buries the whimpering of the grumblers. It hits Alex like nails on a chalkboard, amplified by the migraine. They’ve caught his scent. He opens one eye to assure his lead pipe is nearby. He’s kept the pipe since it first saved his life and remained the one reliable weapon he can use. He tried others, but they didn’t go too well. Like the time he tried to use an easier to wield kitchen knife, but was forced to get too close to a screamer and almost died.

The pipe is there, but fizzy. The migraine makes it hard for Alex’s eye to focus or gather the right amount of light. Things turn out to be fuzzy, nearly shapeless blobs that are too dim or too bright. He grabs it from the edge of the bed where he flung it. His grip tightens around the base of the pipe. “I could do this,” he tells himself.

Alex’s only chance for survival now lies in getting out of the building and away from the horde before they reach him or see him. They’ll inch closer tracking his scent. As long as they don’t lay eyes...


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...Erase these
Take these
Take hers

Think first
This curse

Counting black
Saddled and back
To battle, and that
Paddle can’t handle
The peddle to the metal
With a rebel
It’s settled
Don’t meddle

Fiddle in the middle
Newer flow getting brittle

It’ll harden
And pardon
My word garden
Close, but far when
I start, then
I’ll smarten the coastal stow and stay
the stow away thoughts left to say
To play in the background
When the volume makes that sound
It fades to black how
Smart ass fat beats now
Do last but stand loud...

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...are persistent with their illusions. They’re confusing. Faded narratives tell fuzzy stories. And morph into something else entirely. Too fast to draw conclusions from, there is no concrete fact in these visions.

With no other stimulation above, the world from below rises. Its inhabitants loud and chaotic. Methodically, they proceed to break what’s left of me. Tearing my will down is all they hope for. Opportunists who’ve waited for a lack of distractions to raise...

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To Know

...Lies self-told as I got old to convince myself they’re worth their weight in gold
Bold tides collide and perspective modified
It clarified that the glow I saw, although still raw, was mine

It cleared, I have reasons to be here
A season of treason to convention and tradition
The condition of ascension
With no permission, on a mission
Dematerialized material vices
And I can’t recognize why I decided to be on the side I decided to be on
But I’ll capitalize on the capital size of this awareness.
It’s only fair when I stare this in the face...

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Mirror on the Wall

Loud machinery wakes me up. Can’t see a thing. There isn’t enough room to spread my arms too far out. There’s almost nowhere to move my feet. Panic immediately consumes me. I frantically attack the inside of the container.

The walls.


“AHH!” Slips from my lungs, bursting through my vocal cords and out my mouth. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!”

Images of coffins and the movie Buried raced through my mind. Poor Ryan Reynolds was fucked straight through that film!

Nothing budges or moves. This box is static.

A deep breath calms me enough to organize all relevant thoughts. Understanding my environment becomes priority number one.

I’m cushioned in by walls to my back and sides. A surface frictionless smooth before me. Increased resolution reveals glass.

The padding inside is whiter as I see more. A grey featureless wall twenty feet away appears. It stretches the entire view on the other side of the glass.

Out of sight shines an electric blue light. It’s barely there. The wall is just bright enough to…

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On The Edge

...stand closer together and merge into one observer. A living shadow obsessed with the nearest star. Dozens of ballet dancing fireflies twirl out of the woods. Spinning and dancing around this bigger deformed shadow.

Birds glide away into the sun. They become silhouettes themselves and vanish between the sky and ocean.

The shadow divides into two and face the emptied forest...

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Staying Alive

...in view, a small military unit and several civilians back up past the alley. Alex debates coming out and joining them, but before he could decide to do so they’re out of site on the other side of the alley. Following them is a horde of infectees. Hundreds deep. He figures keeping his silence is the safest bet. In all probability they’re going to die in a few short moments.

In the last two days Alexander has seen the infectees attract more of their kind. They travel in packs. The assumption is that the same situation is taking place. He devises a plan to creep away in the opposite direction of the horde. If done with good timing it might be clear enough to move unnoticed. To escape the area undetected. He’d be the ghost of the apocalypse...

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