The Investigation, Part 1

After Arthur managed to escape the asylum and ravaged a small family the state designated his recapture a priority and an investigation into his psychology was initiated.

The detective roams the house in search of clues.


The rooms smells of burnt carpet and charred coal. You’d think the scent would have faded by now. If not for the dust and dry air it’d be easy to confuse as fresh.

Candy wrappers, crinkled up papers and broken glass crackle beneath my boots as I move through the abandoned house.

Shattered picture frames and porcelain dolls rest on the coffee table center of the living room. Yellow tape still play the roll of bedroom doors. No one’s stepped foot in the house since the tragedy occurred.

His bedroom is the only part of this godforsaken place that isn’t a complete disaster. It’s untouched. As if he’d not once been inside. As if every waking minute was of each day were wasted compulsively cleaning and organizing personal belongings.

Minus the excessive neatness, nothing seems off.

The report said the family was quiet. Private. Then the incident happened.

What could drive a man to so brutally…

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Three Types of Suicide

In this explanation, Jack breaks down his understanding and beliefs on the topic of stigmatized suicide and the three groups of suicidal people.


We currently live in a world where discussions on suicide are so viciously stigmatic that they’re nearly unheard of. Sometimes the discussion is enough to help an individual, but the risk of getting institutionalized is too great to attempt the dialogue at all. We’re underdeveloped in the area as a result. Most with suicidal thoughts aren’t even planning to act on them, they’re no more than thoughts. But the inability to discuss these thoughts lead to the held energy manifesting in other ways. Many times it turns into action because there is no other way to process the information.

We should be capable, as a society, nation and planet, to discuss things without another person deciding what it is you mean by it.

In this short explanation I offer perspective on the matter by walking you through the three forms in which acting on suicide can manifest.

Let us begin…

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Closed Off

In this piece, Jack reflects on his life and his craft


Trying too hard
Not getting too far
The gas in this car is going empty
The pen running out of ink
I'll miss my thoughts if I blink
Closed off
Can't think
But I can talk mad shit
Spit real quick sick lines
Slick rhymes
But they don't mean shit
They're a waste of time
The words don't feel mine
They feel like I'm committing a crime
Against my insides
While they're dying caged
The blind rage I'm flung into lingers for…

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Grey Clouds

Some of us struggle with opening up and being emotional. Others of us struggle with simply understanding emotion. In this poem Jack offers his experience with emotions while dealing with Psychopathy.


He set aside all preconceptions
Coming in objective
But it’s trouble wording what he feels
Not what he wants, that’s real
The words strain to be formed and heard
Brought from the world of thought
Closed off but not caught
Lost somewhere in the catacombs
He calls it home
Where his imagination roams
Where the monsters inside…

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Female Sex Problems


 Struggling seems pointless when ‘no’ doesn’t work. My wrists pinned over my head, “no, please, stop!”

He keeps going.

One of his knees pins one of my legs down. His body stands in the way of the other leg, heavy, sweaty, nasty.

And it hurts. It hurts so much. My voice screeches to scream but his hand is around my throat. I’m digging my nails into his arm hoping he lets go. He won’t.

I retreat into the back of my psyche. A moment playing with a Barbie when I was a young girl. Combing her hair gently and fair. Barbie the princess, the way every lady should be treated or whatever.

It’s over.

As if I wasn’t even there it appears as a foggy memory in the back of my mind.

He storms out of the room as if doing this was the punchline to a joke, the point sending an argument home.

There’s no way to know how to react right now.

We all know about the untested rape kits. Going to the police would be a waste. My family has been waiting for the smoking gun to tell me they were right about this asshole being an asshole all along. That’s a no go. No friends because work.

Well shit, who the fuck do I tell? Does it even matter? I suddenly realize I’m a piece of shit with no one to turn to. I’m sure I’m somehow responsible for that too.

I’ll pray god meant for this to happen in some way and go on with my day… I guess. What else can I do?

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Kate's Hobby

Kate lays in the corner, syringe dug deep into the purple bruise she calls her vein. The vacant body is alive but its host is elsewhere. Her gaze travels through the walls off into infinity. Indistinguishable from the dead. She might as well be a zombie.

It wears and clarity arrives. Memories of the accident in which they all died. She once had a husband and children, but that’s in the past.

The syringe makes it all a lie. Nothing exists and neither does she.

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Headlights, Then Its Dark

...screams, “STAND CLEAR!”

I wake up unable to move
Doctors covered in blood escorting family out of the room
“He’s back! He’s back!” The excited nurse began to assume
But I’d gone nowhere as far as I knew
“The pressure is dropping!” A doctor screams soon after all of the things go dark and the silence it brings goes far

“Don’t let me lose you.” I hear nearby
I open my eyes and I’m surprised and terrified
Barely holding my grip on the side of a tall cliff
If I fall off I’ll meet death
And I’m confused
But at least I’m not dying on the...

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Suicidal Contemplation

...tocs by I watch those around me die
Meanwhile I’m still along for the ride?
How the fuck is that alright?
How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I should have died?
Been dead inside
Desperate thoughts run my mind but I still answer with “No, I’m fine.”
Days roll and I’m dazed strolling to places I don’t know
Just looking for hope, maybe even my soul
I don’t know where to go
My home is no longer my home...

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Make Mom Happy

I’m just a kid scared, confused
Life isn’t fair, shit
Watchin’ cartoons tryna tune out while dodgin’ hits
Gettin’ punished when I toon out tryna have fun and shit
Refuse to be a nuisance
And I don’t know what I did to deserve this
Just want you to smile but I don’t know if it’s worth it
Didn’t curse or misbehave to be being treated this way
But in my mind it plays in such a way that it states this is how you’re happy
So I take it and stay quiet, whether or not its maddening
Let you do what you will even though inside I’m dyin
Tryna fight the monster in my head lyin’ tellin’ me this isn’t right
Tryna fight back cryin’ so she won’t give me a “real reason” to have tears in my eyes
I love you mom, and why not take a hit for the team...

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Night Husband sparked dead shut
Rolled back because of head
Parked at the park’s shadows in the dark
Two wedding rings dropped in the coin tray and put away
Steamed windows rattle moans
Secrets whispers before going back home
“Let’s run away,” she says
As if it’s a game we’re playin’
Where we get to do and say anythin’
“Leave our marriages and children...

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Newborn Phobia

...overwhelms her and puts Stacy in a catatonic state of rapid contemplation.

Family wants to meet the newborn and Stacy’s agreed to fly to Arizona to introduce her lovely new daughter to them, but as the date of the flight approached the anxiety built up, the regret for agreeing settled in. Now, she must make a choice.

In Stacy’s mind a film replays the solution for the same problem the last time it came up, ten years ago. She drowned little baby Liz with the excuse that she got into the tub and filled it on her own. The police always sides with the mother...

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Blue on Black Crime

...shut up and stay. On your knees and don’t move, you don’t want to know what happens if you do. What’s in your pocket? A fucking knife? Trying to gamble with your life? Don’t have a wife or someone who cares if you don’t return tonight? Pathetic. Open your mouth and eat this. That’ll teach you a lesson. To walk around these streets with a weapon and threaten civilians. ‘Cause you don’t know no better”

“No. I know my rights and I refuse to do degrading shit to amuse you”
“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”
“I’m talking to you...

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After The Breakup

The brillo pad screeches muffled as it moves off the rough dry blood and scrapes against the tub. Stressed hands hurt from squeezing too long. She’s dressed in black plastic over the bedroom rug while I make things presentable.

Logs in the fire in one room. Off stove but turned knobs in another.

Engine preheated. Trunk slammed. Packed bags ride shotgun. Rubber peels off the driveway in a white cloud of smoke foreshadowing the intended black cloud.

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Just Listen

...not even giving me the chance to explain why I am this way. It’s not fair for her to throw this all away because of claims that I’m crazy and have been for days. This makes me seem out of mind and out of place. I’m dismissed as though my words make no sense, its insolence and disrespectful since I think I’ve earned enough points to be listened to.

I just need her to hear me long enough to see my point and believe it. I’m not trying to deceive her, but she keeps trying to leave and I need her here to see the honesty inside...

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And Then It Was Quiet

And Then It Was Quiet

...tears in her eyes tells me it must be beautiful
She only cries when bad things happen to the good people
During romances and horrors
But of course during dramas
When face to face with great art
When a good song is on

Bright cloud yells bang
They won’t let us run
It’s no fun watching the sun be outshined
There is no one left inside
Empty houses

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